“Why aren’t you asleep yet?”

It was past midnight when Xiao Xiao finally dragged himself out of the bedroom, looking slightly more composed than before. He saw Xiao Liang still sitting at the dining table, writing under the desk lamp, and asked listlessly.

Xiao Liang closed his notebook and motioned for his brother to sit. He pulled out a pack of Hongmei cigarettes from the glass cabinet, poured a bit of water into a glass to use as an ashtray.

“It looks like what happened to me was just bad luck—wrong place, wrong time. But the truth is, I’m just a nobody, someone they could push around without consequence. If Dad hadn’t been removed from his post, would something like this have happened to me? If he were still Deputy Director of the Municipal Party Office, would the Tian family have dared to look down on us and climb higher? Would Tian Wenli have walked away from you? If Dad hadn’t fallen, would we have endured so many cold stares these past two years? Even relatives—people from the Xiao family—have treated us like strangers.”

Xiao Liang spoke slowly, guiding him step by step.

“I’m not saying this to complain about fate. Maybe Dad will never get back what he lost—but why can’t the two of us stand up for ourselves first?”

Xiao Xiao was in the midst of the worst emotional blow of his life. He didn’t stop to question why his younger brother suddenly sounded so mature. Instead, he sank deeper into silence and confusion.

He had worked in the municipal government for nearly three years—his perspective was broader than most—but even so, he knew that the position their father once held was a peak many officials would never reach in a lifetime.

If they couldn’t count on their father making a comeback, then what could the two of them possibly achieve on their own?

Seeing a flicker of clarity return to his brother’s eyes, Xiao Liang gestured toward the bedroom. Better to talk there than risk their parents overhearing and coming out to scold them for indulging in unrealistic schemes.

The small apartment their mother had recently been allocated was still under renovation, intended as a future marital home for Xiao Xiao and Tian Wenli.

Whenever Xiao Liang came back to the city, he still shared a room with his brother, just like when they were kids.

Inside, a simple wardrobe stood by the door. Two single beds lined opposite walls, their headboards pressed beneath the south-facing window. Between them sat a long wooden plank serving as a desk, crammed with years’ worth of books.

Xiao Liang set the glass ashtray on the desk and began:

“The case involving Xiao Yujun definitely goes deeper, but someone at the county level has already stepped in. It won’t be pushed any further. I don’t take that personally. After this, I’ve decided I won’t be the kind of person who can’t tolerate even a grain of sand in his eye.”

He paused, then continued:

“But I’ve suffered for this, and the town can’t just brush it off. Before I came back tonight, I already dropped a hint to Secretary Wang Xingmin—I said I’d continue following up on the Nanting Juice Factory corruption case. In truth, with interference from above, there’s not much more to dig up. What matters now is what happens to the factory next.”

“I’ve spent the past couple of months auditing their accounts. With Xiao Yujun and He Hong arrested, no one in the town understands that factory better than I do. I intend to take it over.”

“…What?”

Xiao Xiao was stunned.

All these days, they’d been scrambling just to clear Xiao Liang’s name. He hadn’t imagined his younger brother had already been planning this.

“Even if the town agrees to let you take over, what can you actually do? That factory’s been gutted after years of mismanagement. If it had real value, they’d never hand it to you. And if they want to compensate you, there are easier ways than dumping a failing factory on you.”

Xiao Xiao wasn’t naïve. He understood how things worked.

If there were profits to be had, countless people would be circling, eager to carve out their share. There was no way it would fall to Xiao Liang.

The only reason they might offer it to him was precisely because it was a mess—an unwanted burden.

“And even then, you wouldn’t truly control it,” Xiao Xiao added. “The factory belongs to the Nanting Village collective. At best, the town could assign you as a liaison—station you there to oversee things. You wouldn’t have real authority.”

He couldn’t see what Xiao Liang hoped to achieve.

Xiao Liang flipped open a copy of the Dongzhou Evening News and spread it out in front of him, pointing to a full-page advertisement for Red Peach Q.

“A health supplement?” Xiao Xiao frowned. “You’re thinking of switching the factory to produce something like this? But the production line isn’t suited for it.”

He knew the factory well enough. The existing hot-fill line produced 300ml bottled juice. Health supplements, especially oral liquids, typically came in tiny 10–20ml glass vials. The scale and equipment didn’t match.

“Supplements don’t have to be oral liquids,” Xiao Liang said with a faint smile. “They could be small-bottle decoctions. As for the formula and production process—can you handle that?”

Xiao Xiao blinked, caught off guard.

He had connections with the municipal pharmaceutical factory through his work, even some personal relationships—but they didn’t produce herbal decoctions. He had no confidence he could secure a formula or set up production.

Xiao Liang glanced at his watch—it was already two in the morning. He patted his brother’s shoulder.

“You can handle it. Start by reaching out to your contacts at the pharmaceutical factory—see what leads you can find. I’ll take a shower. I have to head back to the town early tomorrow.”

In 1994, entering the health supplement market wasn’t about breakthrough formulas or cutting-edge technology. Most products were little more than repackaged basics, dressed up with extravagant claims.

There was no rule saying supplements had to be oral liquids—they could just as easily be bottled decoctions.

The real challenge lay elsewhere:

Breaking into a market that had been expanding wildly since the late ’80s and had now descended into chaos.

Surviving the sweeping regulatory crackdown that would hit in the next couple of years.

Building a marketing system strong enough to generate profit—without being devoured by its own distribution network.

And, of course, none of it would matter without production.

Which was why Xiao Liang needed the Nanting Juice Factory’s sterile hot-fill line.

Otherwise, he’d have nothing but ideas—and no way to turn them into reality.