Zhang Feli was a little stunned as well, surprised by Xiao Liang’s attitude toward her over the past two days. But she didn’t dwell on it. She simply took her notebook and sat down beside him with Liu Weiwei.

“I don’t need to say much. Everyone knows we’re in a fight for survival now,” Xiao Liang began evenly. “How do we change the factory’s situation? How do we clear inventory as fast as possible and bring cash back into production? Speak freely.”

He looked around the room.

“The juice factory doesn’t belong only to Nanting Village—it belongs to all of you here as well. I don’t want to turn this place into a one-man show between Director Gu and myself the moment I take office.”

His tone was polite, even generous—he was giving them room to speak.

But the nine of them had only just been told they were being transferred to the sales department. Their minds were still reeling. What could they possibly say?

Even when Xiao Liang called on them directly, their responses were half-laughs, half-mumbles, vague and perfunctory. Every answer was a polite deflection, a way of kicking the ball back to him—waiting to see whether this young man actually had real ability or was just posturing.

“Since no one wants to speak—or maybe you just don’t have anything ready yet—then I’ll go first,” Xiao Liang said without any irritation.

That was fine. Today, he intended to overwhelm them with competence.

He took a sip of tea and tapped the table lightly. Zhang Feli and Liu Weiwei snapped back to attention and raised their pens.

Then he began.

And he didn’t start with sales.

Instead, he spoke from the ground up—raw material procurement, production management, workplace safety and sanitation, employee training, administrative structure, HR systems, warehouse logistics, quality control… He covered everything. Broad, yet precise. Simple enough for anyone to understand, but detailed enough that no one could dismiss it as empty talk.

Every person in the room found themselves pulled into his orbit—because every department they belonged to was mentioned.

At noon, Zhang Feli and Liu Weiwei were sent out to buy boxed lunches. Xiao Liang paid out of his own pocket and brought back ten meals for the team.

By the time afternoon faded into evening, he was still talking.

Five-thirty came and went.

Seven hours straight.

In the era after the internet boom, “talking big” was considered a basic managerial skill. But in 1994, it was something else entirely—it was almost disorienting.

Xiao Liang finally paused, taking a sip of cooling herbal tea brewed with monk fruit and dried chrysanthemum to soothe his throat.

“That’s it for today,” he said. “Sorry for talking your ears off. I hope it gave you something to think about. Tomorrow, I hope someone can step up and share some of the load—so I don’t have to do all the talking alone.”

Then he looked at Zhang Feli and Liu Weiwei.

“Most of you aren’t used to taking meeting notes, so you two will have to work a bit harder. Organize everything I said today, compile it, and print copies for everyone tomorrow as study material.”

Zhang Feli and Liu Weiwei froze.

Their pens had already run dry. Even with selective note-taking, there was no way they had captured everything he said.

But Xiao Liang didn’t give them a chance to explain.

He picked up his canvas bag and left the office building, heading straight for the 5:30 bus back to the city.

On the ride through Yunshe Town, the same girl boarded again.

Lin Xi.

She was tall and physically mature compared to most girls her age, but her face still carried a childlike softness. She peeked in, spotted Xiao Liang sitting at the back, and seemed to confirm something in her mind.

The hesitation from earlier that morning was gone.

She bounced over and sat beside him.

Xiao Liang only smiled faintly and said nothing.

When she got off at the next stop, he continued on alone.

That evening, after he returned home and dinner was being prepared, Gu Peijun called—this time in advance. He and his father were coming over to discuss something.

Less than twenty minutes later, the doorbell rang.

Gu Peijun and Gu Xiong arrived carrying two boxes of Luzhou Laojiao.

“Since Gu-ge has to ride back tonight, he can only drink tea with me,” Xiao Liang said quickly, before his mother could object. “My dad and my brother will accompany Director Gu for a couple of drinks—can’t let him bring such good liquor over and leave empty-handed.”

Only then did the tension ease.

For ordinary families in this era, two boxes of Luzhou Laojiao—worth six or seven hundred yuan—was already a heavy gesture.

Gu Xiong sipped his liquor and sighed.

“I was ready to come help you deal with a few stubborn employees if things got difficult,” he said. “Didn’t expect you to settle them in a single day. Truly… youth is something else.”

He had heard the full story: Xiao Liang had gathered the nine core employees and talked nonstop for an entire day, dissecting every detail of production and operations.

Gu Xiong had initially believed internal resistance would be the hardest obstacle.

After all, Xiao Liang and Gu Peijun were young. Too young. That alone made it hard for people to trust them. Their experience was also clearly limited.

And the workers? Most came from Nanting Village or nearby villages. Many were even Party members. If they refused to cooperate—or worse, dragged things into open conflict—there would be no easy solution. They hadn’t been paid in two months anyway. Threats of dismissal meant nothing. If anything, they could turn the entire village against the leadership.

Some even had ties to township officials.

For example, Zhang Feli was the daughter-in-law of Zhou Jianqi, the township Party deputy secretary. Liu Weiwei was the niece of Deputy Mayor Liu Hui—she had been placed in the factory precisely because things had once looked promising.

That was why Gu Xiong had personally gone around the village that day, speaking to relatives of employees, trying to ease tensions in advance.

And yet—

Xiao Liang hadn’t argued, hadn’t negotiated, hadn’t compromised.

He simply talked.

All day.

When Gu Xiong later ran into Xu Xiaodong and Xu Lihuan—the latter a veteran production manager with over ten years in the factory—they were still dazed from the meeting.

Xu Lihuan had military experience, had worked under the old factory director Zhou Haiming for years, and was considered one of the most seasoned hands in the factory.

And yet even he had never encountered anyone like this.

Not just talkative—but precise. Every word locked onto production logic, operational structure, real technical detail. It wasn’t just beyond Xu Lihuan’s ability—it was beyond even his understanding framework.

If Xiao Liang’s throat could take it, Xu Lihuan believed he could talk like this for four or five days straight without repeating himself.

Before this, Xiao Liang had been known as the quiet, scholarly type—the accountant who dealt with ledgers and audits. Cold, reserved, not easy to approach.

Even though his audit work had been crucial in exposing Xiao Yujun’s financial crimes, the factory workers didn’t really understand what role he had played. To them, it was just background noise.

They didn’t even necessarily respect Gu Peijun that much—so why would they think highly of Xiao Liang?

But today, everything changed.

Xiao Liang’s silence before hadn’t been lack of ability.

It had been disdain.

At least that was what they now believed.

As for Xu Lihuan—

He didn’t know about the others.

But he was convinced.

He was completely convinced.