Xiao Changhua’s brows knitted even tighter.

A few simple sentences from his younger son Xiao Liang were obviously not enough to dispel his doubts. If anything, they only made the situation more opaque. The more he thought about it, the more unsettling it became—everything felt off, layered with hidden currents he couldn’t quite see through.

He lit a cigarette and said, “So the two of you stayed up all night yesterday with the lights on just to write that production restructuring plan? Let me take a look.”

Xiao Xiao, though he had already heard bits and pieces from Gu Peijun the night before, still found it all hard to believe. He didn’t quite know what to say and finally added,

“The main draft was written by Xiao Liang. I just helped revise and copy it out—barely changed anything. Oh, the rough draft is still in our room.”

Xiao Liang had instructed Gu Peijun to rewrite the document cleanly and then burned the original draft himself, just in case anything slipped through and tipped Wang Xingmin off that he was the one orchestrating everything behind the scenes.

But the version Xiao Xiao had helped copy… he hadn’t thrown that away.

Xiao Changhua put on his reading glasses, took the draft, and scanned it briefly. Then he couldn’t help muttering, “Your handwriting is terrible.”

Xiao Liang smiled a little awkwardly. “I’ve been practicing in Yunshui for a while now. It’s still nowhere near yours—or my brother’s.”

In school, Xiao Liang had always been exceptional in science, but mediocre in literature. And no matter how hard he tried, he had never managed to write with the neat, disciplined hand his father and brother possessed. It had always been a small regret of Xiao Changhua’s.

Ge Minglan, who worked in relatively peripheral union and women’s federation roles and didn’t really understand production management, leaned in to take a look—but Xiao Liang’s handwriting was so messy it quickly made her dizzy.

Earlier, Xiao Liang’s claim that “Wang Xingmin is bold enough to back this up” had somewhat reassured her. Still yawning, she waved a hand.

“You father and sons take your time. I’m going to shower and sleep.”

Xiao Changhua read through the draft from beginning to end. Then he looked at Xiao Liang in silence for a long moment before finally asking,

“I’ve never had any contact with your township Party secretary Wang Xingmin. But from what you’re describing… he doesn’t strike me as someone particularly bold or decisive. Does he?”

Xiao Liang knew his mother could be reassured with half-truths, but his father wouldn’t be fooled so easily. He feigned innocence.

“Dad, you’ve never met him—why would you think that?”

Xiao Changhua exhaled a slow breath.

“I haven’t met him, no. But this case involves a lot of people. They wouldn’t act blindly. You’ve been investigating the juice factory for three months—if someone planned to move against you, they must have studied Wang Xingmin in depth already. If their real target is him, then his personality would have been carefully analyzed.”

He took another drag from his cigarette, his expression growing heavier.

“Maybe I should’ve paid more attention these past months. I was too absorbed in my own work… I didn’t keep an eye on what you boys were getting into.”

Xiao Liang understood clearly.

If Wang Xingmin truly were the decisive, fearless type, then people like Xiao Yujun or Fan Chunjiang would never have chosen to pick off a “soft target” like him first. That approach would only alert the enemy.

But the fact that his father could infer this without ever meeting Wang Xingmin—that alone proved his instincts were still sharp. Years of being sidelined to the Party History Research Office hadn’t dulled him completely.

“I didn’t expect Wang Xingmin to immediately stand up for us anyway,” Xiao Liang said. “The initial report was anonymously submitted by Gu Peijun to the township. I only recognized his handwriting later.”

He continued calmly, laying it out step by step.

“After I escaped from the car accident scene, I found Gu Peijun first. Then I obtained direct evidence of Xiao Yujun’s embezzlement of factory assets. Gu Peijun submitted that to Wang Xingmin.”

“As for Xiao Yujun’s misconduct toward Lin Xuetong’s daughter—I’d already heard rumors. I passed that information to Lin Xuetong. I didn’t expect it to be true, but it turned out it was.”

There were things he couldn’t fully explain, so he only outlined the key points.

Xiao Changhua narrowed his eyes. “And Yuan Wenhai?”

That question carried more weight than it seemed.

After being demoted to the Party History Research Office and falling out with his half-brother, Xiao Changhua had been in a period of emotional low tide. He had assumed both of his sons would inevitably be dragged down by his situation, and he hadn’t had the energy to intervene.

But now, thinking it through carefully, he realized something strange—the situation surrounding Xiao Liang was far more complex than he had imagined.

“Yuan Wenhai is actually a fairly upright person,” Xiao Liang replied. “That night he personally escorted me to the county Public Security Bureau, but he opposed Chen Shen’s attempt to take coercive measures against me. He also saw inconsistencies in the case and allowed Officer Sui to investigate in Yunshui.”

“That move disrupted a lot of people’s plans. It made Wang Xingmin realize they didn’t actually have solid evidence against me, which helped push him toward striking Xiao Yujun first.”

Xiao Changhua sighed softly.

“So you really have changed a lot after two years in the township.”

He paused, then added with a trace of self-reproach, “These past couple of days I even regretted my decision back then. I thought sending you two into the system would give you a good starting point. I never expected… maybe you should’ve gone into academia instead. But now that things have already happened, there’s no point dwelling on regrets.”

Xiao Liang didn’t respond to that. Instead, he turned to his brother.

“What about Professor Xu Yushan? How did it go today?”

Xiao Xiao shook his head. “I met him, but only briefly.”

He had gone to Dongzhou Institute of Technology that morning on leave, but without proper introduction, the meeting had been perfunctory at best. Less than five minutes in total before he was politely shown out. He hadn’t even been able to enter the lab.

Still, he hadn’t given up. Through other teachers and graduate students, he managed to learn that Xu Yushan’s research focused on low-molecular oligosaccharides and their covalent compounds with proteins and lipids—studies related to digestion, gut health, and sleep improvement.

In twenty years, when the mystique around “health supplements” had long faded, these formulas would no longer be secrets. But right now, in 1994, they still carried an almost mystical aura.

Xiao Liang vaguely remembered that oligosaccharides were indeed a major component in health supplements. He hadn’t expected Dongzhou Institute of Technology to already be researching them.

It suddenly became clear to him—the so-called “miracle effects” of health products were never truly secrets in the industry. They were simply wrapped in layers of traditional medicine culture and aggressive marketing, which made ordinary people treat them as mysterious.

If they used oligosaccharides—or even melatonin—as a base to develop a new product, integrating it into the juice factory’s existing production line would require some technical adjustments and possibly new equipment.

But if no herbal extraction was involved, the process might actually be simpler than juice pressing, blending, and bottling.

If his brother could take charge of that side, they wouldn’t need to recruit outsiders. They could start preparations immediately and seize valuable time.

And crucially—it wouldn’t interfere with solving the current inventory crisis.

Xiao Liang explained briefly to his father:

“Dongzhou’s fruit resources are limited. Purchasing concentrated juice for blending is too expensive. Even if we stabilize the factory now, long-term development through fruit drinks alone won’t go far. We need a new product line.”

“My brother’s been restless at his unit anyway. I want him to help explore the technical side of a new product. If it doesn’t work out, he can always leave his job. There’s no need to stay stuck on a single tree.”

In most families, no one would ever agree to someone leaving a coveted government position like the Municipal Economic Commission.

But Xiao Changhua had been through enough political ups and downs to see things differently now. He also knew that after breaking up with Tian Wenli, Xiao Xiao staying in that system would only mean more humiliation and subtle hostility from colleagues.

His expression darkened slightly as he considered it all.

And for once, he didn’t immediately object.