Liang Chaobin rubbed his temples, a headache coming on at Xiao Liang’s nonchalant tone.

He wouldn’t mind seeing Fan Chunjiang make a fool of himself—but if things spiraled out of control, the fallout would splatter all over Nanting Village and the township alike. In the end, they’d still have to clean it up. So he forced himself to steer the conversation back on track.

“Grumbling like this is fine in private,” he said, “but if it really turns into an unmanageable mess, the township will be the one left holding the bag. Let’s drop that for now. Gu Peijun just told Secretary Wang he’ll be tied up handling village affairs and overseeing the factory. He can help with inventory, but he can’t devote himself fully to running the market. He wants you to take the lead—do you think you can handle it?”

“He did bring it up,” Xiao Liang replied. “I do have my grievances, sure. But when it comes to responsibility, I won’t dodge it. And if we pull this off, I won’t be giving up the rewards either.”

“Do you have confidence?” Liang Chaobin pressed.

Xiao Liang shrugged. “To be honest, I’m being thrown in at the deep end. I’ve never done sales, never led a team. But Gu Peijun knows his business—he was too good at it, in fact, which is why Xiao Yujun pushed him out of the factory. If we follow his plan, I think we’ve got a shot.”

“A shot?” Liang Chaobin echoed, uncertain.

“If you want the truth,” Xiao Liang said, “hitting the full target he set is going to be tough. But in two or three months, bringing in one or two million in working capital—enough to keep the factory afloat—that’s achievable.”

He wasn’t about to make bold guarantees. He needed Liang Chaobin—and, by extension, Wang Xingmin—to understand this wouldn’t be easy. But at the same time, he had to give them something to believe in: that if they took the gamble, the factory might just survive without blowing a bigger hole in their finances.

After a pause, Xiao Liang added, “If Secretary Wang thinks the plan is viable, and believes I can shoulder the responsibility, I’d like to apply for unpaid leave. I don’t want anyone using technicalities against me later if we actually hit the reward target.”

Since 1992, the state had been encouraging officials to enter the private sector, even allowing unpaid leave or side work under looser restrictions. Still, there were limits—officials weren’t supposed to earn more than a “reasonable market rate,” a vague standard open to interpretation.

Xiao Liang wasn’t a cadre with rank. As a public employee stationed in Nanting, picking up a few hundred yuan in extra pay from the factory wouldn’t raise eyebrows. But if he took a share of the sales bonuses—far exceeding normal wages—that would become a gray area ripe for dispute.

Unless the township issued a formal directive, he wasn’t going to take that risk. Not when people like Fan Chunjiang, Zhou Jianqi, or Du Xuebing would be waiting for a chance to use it against him.

Liang Chaobin nodded in understanding.

At the same time, he realized that if Xiao Liang took unpaid leave, he would likely remain at the Nanting Juice Factory long-term instead of returning to the township—something that would help wrap up Xiao Yujun’s case cleanly, without leaving loose ends.

It hadn’t occurred to him that every step had already been carefully calculated by Xiao Liang.

…

…

After the conversation, Xiao Liang returned straight to the factory. Gu Peijun, however, didn’t make it back until after working hours.

Xu Lihuan, Wu Qiyan, Zhang Feili, Liu Weiwei, Xu Xiaodong, and the rest of the newly formed sales team were still waiting in the office building, anxious for the township’s decision.

The moment Gu Peijun parked his motorcycle, Zhang Feili and Liu Weiwei dashed downstairs and practically dragged him up to the third-floor meeting room. The others crowded around him.

“What did the township say?”

Gu Peijun glanced at Xiao Liang, who was lounging calmly at the head of the table, and laughed. “You look awfully relaxed. Not worried at all?”

“I thought Secretary Wang might take a couple of days to decide,” Xiao Liang said, tossing him a cigarette. “But when I stopped by the township this afternoon, it was clear they’re under pressure too.”

He forced a mock look of anxiety and added with a grin, “Of course, they were afraid I’d start a fight with Fan Chunjiang in the office, so they didn’t let me sit in on the meeting. I’ve been anxiously waiting for you to come back with the verdict. Can’t you see how worried I am?”

Standing across from him, Zhang Feili couldn’t help but smile. There was something oddly dissonant about Xiao Liang these past two days—but this lighter, teasing side of him felt far more natural.

Xiao Liang quickly looked away from her radiant face, pulled out a chair, and gestured for Gu Peijun to sit.

Gu Peijun did, then said, “There was still a lot of disagreement between Secretary Wang and Fan Chunjiang. But since most of the leadership team happened to be in town today, Secretary Wang called an emergency meeting. The decision is this: since the juice factory belongs to Nanting Village, the village committee and employee representatives will have the final say on the recovery plan. The township will only supervise the process to make sure procedures are followed.”

Xiao Liang wasn’t surprised.

At first, he’d thought Wang Xingmin’s cautious nature might delay things for days. But in truth, Wang had simply recognized that if the Nanting Juice Factory was a ticking time bomb, it was better for it to explode sooner rather than later.

If the collapse happened during Xiao Yujun’s investigation, Wang wouldn’t bear direct responsibility. And if the forces backing Fan Chunjiang wanted to contain the fallout, they’d have to step in and clean up—not dump everything on the township.

Far better than waiting until after Xiao Yujun’s case concluded—when Fan Chunjiang might already have been transferred—and then watching the factory implode completely.

Of course, if Gu Peijun’s plan succeeded, then everyone would come out ahead.

Wang’s decision to let Nanting Village “decide for itself” was simply a more polished, politically safe way of backing the plan.

Truth be told, Wang Xingmin wasn’t incompetent—just lacking in decisiveness.

Gu Peijun leaned in and lowered his voice. “The meeting also approved launching the direct appointment process for the village Party branch secretary.”

In Lishan County, village Party secretaries were still directly appointed by the township. Whether Gu Peijun could shed his acting title quickly depended on how soon that process began.

With Nanting Village in turmoil, everything uncertain and volatile, Gu Peijun was the only viable candidate.

If things dragged on for months and the situation stabilized—if the juice factory transformed from a sinking ship into a ripe prize—countless opportunists would come clawing for a share.

But starting the process now meant Gu Peijun’s workload would only increase.

Even if it was largely procedural, there would be inspections, evaluations, and endless rounds of networking—dinners with Wang Xingmin, Liang Chaobin, and others to show loyalty; more dinners with Deputy Secretary Zhou Jianqi and local Party members to secure support.

“Congratulations,” Xiao Liang said quietly. “Get it done in the next few days.”

Gu Peijun added, “Secretary Wang wants you to prepare your unpaid leave application tomorrow and get it signed by Director Liang and Secretary Zhou.”

Xiao Liang stretched lazily. “Seems they’re eager to get rid of me as a problem.”

Unpaid leave had been around since the 1980s, part of policies encouraging officials and state employees to enter the market economy. It allowed them to suspend salary and benefits while retaining their position, freeing them for up to twelve months to start businesses, take other jobs, or pursue private ventures without restriction.