Chapter 75: Not Picking It Up?

"Yang Jinfang."
"Li Zhihao."
The young man was still tossing out ID cards one after another without so much as a glance at the people in front of him. He simply flipped them out, casual and indifferent.

Soon, a cluster of people in front began to bend down, scrambling to pick up their IDs. But as time passed, the crowd of several hundred gradually fell silent, all casting peculiar looks toward the scene unfolding ahead. Even those stooping to collect their IDs straightened up, looking curiously at the others around them.

The young man at the table was abruptly interrupted by the sudden quiet, his hand pausing mid-air, the next ID card left unflicked. He glanced up, puzzled, and saw Chai Jin standing motionless before him. The young man's face darkened, that same arrogant, aggressive air of someone used to wielding borrowed power seeping out.

Despite the silence, he barked gruffly into his megaphone, "Why are you standing there? Take your ID and go over there to register!"

The atmosphere instantly became stifling, the only sound left the creaking of the aging ceiling fan overhead. Everyone was suppressing their fury.

Chai Jin's face was as cold as ice. He pointed to his ID card lying on the ground and spoke with a heavy, frosty voice, "Pick it up."

Suddenly, a wave of hot blood surged through the crowd behind him. Being treated like livestock by a fellow worker, the humiliation had been simmering in their bellies for a long time. But needing this job, everyone kept their anger in check.

Now, with someone ready to take a stand, fists clenched throughout the crowd.

The young man still failed to grasp the situation, spoiled by habit. Raising his voice through the megaphone, he leaned close to Chai Jin’s ear, his chin lifted arrogantly. "I told you to pick up your ID and get over there! If you don’t want the job, then take your card and get the hell out of the factory. I’ve put up with you enough—just now at the gate you were dragging your feet too."

His two colleagues behind him glared at Chai Jin, their faces dark.

Chai Jin remained icy. He gave a slight, chilling smile. "You won’t pick it up?"

"How many times do I have to tell you for you to get it—"

The young man strode closer, megaphone still in hand, as if ready to throw Chai Jin out himself.

But this time, Chai Jin did not hold back. With a calm, precise motion, he raised his hand, drew in a breath, and struck.

Slap!

A crisp, resounding smack landed squarely on the young man's face, snapping his head to the side and sending the megaphone clattering to the floor. The sharp crack of the slap seemed, in the suffocating heat of June, to be the perfect antidote for several hundred stifled souls.

That smack vented the bottled-up resentment of the crowd, every person gritting their teeth. Yet still, the crowd did not move—barely restraining themselves.

The youth reeled, stars dancing before his eyes, and took a long moment to recover. "You dare hit me in my own factory? I’ll—"

Slap!

Chai Jin delivered another blow, harder this time, sending the youth staggering sideways. Rolling up his sleeves unhurriedly, Chai Jin advanced step by step, grabbed the scruff of the young man's shirt, and landed another withering slap.

This one came with a loss of control.

Slap, slap, slap—an unbroken string of crisp smacks, like a piece of beautiful music performed, quietly soothing the hearts of the hundreds present.

The young man’s two colleagues finally reacted. One rushed out for help.

Within a minute or two, a group of security guards armed with sticks burst inside. Most southern factory guards in this era were just local toughs, and they charged in, fierce and ready to brawl.

At last, the simmering crowd could no longer restrain their outrage.

Someone shouted, "So what if we don’t work at a place like this!"

"We left our homes behind to earn an honest living with our own labor, not to sell our dignity for scraps!"

"We're not beggars!"

"That's right, rotten factory! I can’t take it anymore!"

"If you’ve got the guts, try to lay a hand on us!"

Hundreds of men and women surged, forming a wall before the security guards. The guards, furious, hurled curses, but dared not actually make a move.

The standoff blazed, tension mounting by the second.

Meanwhile, behind the crowd, Chai Jin continued to rain slaps on the arrogant youth until, finally, the young man’s sense of superiority collapsed and he begged for mercy. "Stop, I get it, I was wrong, okay? Please, brother! Which one’s your ID? I’ll get it for you!"

Like a whipped dog, he crawled to the pile of ID cards to search for Chai Jin’s.

It was his first time, after two or three years in the factory, encountering someone who dared stand up to him—and he had no choice now but to bow his head.

More and more security guards flooded in, and the situation grew increasingly volatile. Just as an all-out riot seemed inevitable, a clear and graceful figure hurried in from the gate.

It was the girl from the Mercedes parked outside.

The guards, fearful for her safety, quickly surrounded her as she approached.

The girl, holding a megaphone, anxiously called out, "Can you let me say something? Everyone, please calm down for a moment and let me hear what happened."

Hundreds of furious voices recounted the humiliation of having their IDs tossed to the ground.

Hearing this, the girl instinctively looked toward the back of the crowd. There, Chai Jin stood coldly, while the young man crawled at his feet, searching for his ID—like a master holding a dog on a leash.

When the girl recognized Chai Jin, her bright eyes filled with surprise and uncertainty. "Could it really be him? Wasn’t he in Zhonghai? What’s he doing in Shenshi?"

Chai Jin was the flashpoint of the conflict, and only he could calm the crowd.

The girl called out anxiously, "Hey! Over here! Do you remember me? We met in Zhonghai!"

Chai Jin glanced back, finding her vaguely familiar, but couldn’t place her. "No, I don’t remember."

Nearly pleading, the girl said, "Can you please ask them to calm down? It’s my first day managing the factory for my father, and already there’s such a mess. I promise I’ll make this right for you."

Chai Jin frowned at her. Inciting hundreds to riot was never his intention; if the young man hadn’t thrown his ID, Chai Jin wouldn’t have gotten involved at all. It was his own business to stand up for himself, but if it caused an all-out factory riot, the responsibility would be his as well.

After a moment’s thought, he spoke. "Let it go, everyone. She’s most likely the factory owner’s daughter. If you have grievances, talk to her properly—don’t make trouble."

The crowd immediately quieted.

The girl let out a heavy sigh of relief, patting her chest. "Let’s talk things out. I know my staff were in the wrong, but if you have any demands, please tell me."

Demands?

All they wanted, really, was an apology.

But would a simple apology be enough to soothe the humiliation they’d suffered?

Yet it wasn’t as if they could ask for compensation.

So, for a moment, the hundreds fell silent, unable to put their feelings into words.

If possible, they’d rather forgo the apology and just give that wretch a few more slaps themselves.