Chapter 26: A Different Kind of Public Relations

Li Zheng was a man who rarely smiled or spoke without necessity. He adjusted his glasses, looked up, and said coolly, “You’re here for a loan, aren’t you?”

“Go back. It doesn’t meet the regulations.”

With that, he headed straight for the Xiali car parked at the side.

Chai Jin, unruffled and smiling, handed over his documents. “Manager Li, I’d appreciate it if you could find some time to look at this.”

“It concerns the livelihoods of hundreds at the county distillery who will lose their jobs.”

Li Zheng hesitated, but in the end, took the papers. “Fine, I’ll read it when I have time. You can go now.”

“I have other matters to attend to.”

“Alright, thank you.” Chai Jin didn’t press the issue. Li Zheng’s attitude was plain enough.

It was their first meeting, and to push further would only backfire.

A first meeting should be left at that.

Chai Jin’s decisive departure left Li Zheng feeling a little puzzled.

The wave of state-owned enterprise reform was already sweeping vigorously across the county.

Local and outside private capital had begun to move, and wherever money was involved, the banks were never far behind.

Chai Jin was far from the only one seeking a loan.

Many had bold ambitions—some with only a million in hand, yet dreaming of swallowing state-owned factories worth several million.

But what to do when funds were short?

Naturally, they turned to the bank, pitching all sorts of leveraged schemes.

The idea was simple: deposit one million in the bank, spin a tall tale, and ask for two million in return.

Such tactics were commonplace in another life, but in this era, they were taboo.

It smacked of capitalism—something forbidden. The bank lent only to state-owned enterprises.

Li Zheng’s father was a veteran of the Long March, with the purest revolutionary credentials and a particular loathing for capitalist ideas.

So he refused them all.

But Chai Jin intrigued him. Here was a young man who, unlike other private entrepreneurs, didn’t arrive bearing gifts of cigarettes and liquor, nor did he pester him with relentless entreaties.

But it was mere curiosity.

After getting in the car, Li Zheng tossed Chai Jin’s proposal onto the passenger seat, with no intention of reading it.

When Chai Jin returned, Wang Xiaoli was delighted and bought two movie tickets.

The cinema was screening Stephen Chow’s “Fight Back to School.”

The nonsensical gags had the audience roaring with laughter.

The glow of the screen flickered across the girl’s face.

Her fair, delicate features suddenly reminded Chai Jin of a movie star.

Joey Wong.

From the side, Wang Xiaoli was practically her double.

Smiling, he shook his head. “In an age without Photoshop or plastic surgery, girls were all so pure and lovely.”

“Like a spring of sweet water flowing through the world, quietly nourishing the heart.”

His thoughts drifted back to Li Zheng.

When the film ended, the audience lingered in afterglow, discussing the scenes they’d just watched.

Chai Jin alone felt nothing.

It wasn’t that he lacked interest—he’d seen all of Stephen Chow’s films five or six times in his previous life.

Now, they no longer made him laugh; only nostalgia remained.

On the way back, Wang Xiaoli rode pillion on his bicycle, her arms wrapped around him.

Her Joey Wong-like face, jostled by the ride, subconsciously nestled against his back.

Chai Jin showed no reaction.

At the entrance to the apartment complex, Wang Xiaoli hopped off, beaming. “Thanks for going to the movies with me, hehe.”

Chai Jin gave a wooden smile. “It’s nothing. I’ll be off.”

“Oh, okay. Be careful on the road.”

“Mm.”

A simple farewell, but on this biting winter night, warmth lingered between them.

Suddenly, fireworks blossomed in the sky above the city, their bursts lighting up the dark night.

Wang Xiaoli mustered her courage and called out, “Chai Jin!”

He turned, puzzled.

She took a deep breath. “I... I!”

“What?” It was too noisy for him to hear.

“I, I... ah, forget it, I’m going!”

Unable to get the words out, Wang Xiaoli wished she could sink into the ground from embarrassment.

She stamped her foot, pushed her bike, and hurried into the complex.

Chai Jin scratched the back of his head. “Was there something she wanted to say?”

He shook his head helplessly and walked away.

...

The next day, Liu Qingwen arrived in town.

His resilience surprised Chai Jin; just yesterday, he’d been sprawled in the infirmary, groaning as if at death’s door.

Today, he was lively as ever, a true indestructible cockroach.

He’d been plotting another visit to the salon, but Chai Jin ruthlessly cut his plans short.

He was sent to stake out the bank instead.

For four or five days, he kept watch.

Eventually, he figured out Li Zheng’s schedule and home address.

Every morning at six, Li Zheng left home on the dot and had breakfast at a rice noodle shop near the bank.

Then came a day’s work, and at six in the evening, he returned home, without fail.

A highly disciplined life.

Now it was Chai Jin’s turn.

Every day, he took breakfast at the same shop as Li Zheng, always sitting directly opposite.

This went on for over ten days.

Finally, on the twenty-eighth, as Li Zheng ate breakfast as usual, his gaze landed on Chai Jin.

He took his bowl from the shopkeeper, paused in thought, then walked over to Chai Jin’s table.

He sat down, smiling. “Young man, why do you look so familiar?”

Feigning uncertainty, Chai Jin’s face quickly brightened with “surprise.” “Are you Manager Li?”

“Haha, yes, I work at the bank next door. Have we met somewhere before?” Li Zheng asked casually, taking a seat.

Chai Jin offered a wry smile. “What a coincidence. I came to see you about something, but you must have been too busy to remember.”

“Oh? When was this?”

Anyone else would have seized the moment to put forward their request.

But Chai Jin did nothing of the sort. “It’s nothing—it didn’t meet the regulations, so best not to mention it.”

This only piqued Li Zheng’s curiosity, and he pressed for details.

Reluctantly, Chai Jin told him the story, but made no requests, only emphasizing one idea:

He badly needed funds, but would never do anything against the rules; he wouldn’t even mention a loan.

They chatted about all sorts of things, with the heart of the conversation revolving around layoffs.

Li Zheng was feeling the pressure too.

They both understood: if private entrepreneurs received funds, the bank would earn interest, and those failing enterprises could be revived in private hands, easing the unemployment crisis.

To some degree, this would resolve people’s livelihoods.

But whether this was “socialist” or “capitalist,” no one dared move without a clear directive from above.

Such was the climate.

That breakfast lasted a good hour or two.

Li Zheng seemed to have found a kindred spirit and finally stood up with a smile. “Alright, young man, it’s time I went to work. Good luck to you.”

“Thank you.”

Chai Jin rose respectfully to see him off.