Liu Jun said nothing more, letting his actions replace words. Being an old married couple, sweet words were no longer necessary—a long embrace spoke volumes more than any words could.
Indeed, when Liu Jun appeared before the company employees the next morning, he had already regained his composure and confidence. With the air of an old sage, he issued a warning regarding Mr. Wang’s research into unremarkable razor blades—and their even more unremarkable reuse: in matters of technological improvement, one must not dismiss small innovations. As proclaimed by the small golden characters on an azure background at the entrance of the R&D center: “Technology transforms the world, we improve technology.” Technology must always remain Tengfei Company’s top priority. At this moment, all the employees could not see Liu Jun’s fears, wavering, doubts, and self-denial from the early morning hours. They repeatedly absorbed Liu Jun’s forceful indoctrination: Technology! Technology!! Technology!!!
In terms of management, as Cui Bingbing had said, there were no adjustments—daily operations continued as usual, and the heat treatment branch factory was also being enthusiastically launched. In reality, wanting or not wanting made little difference. What they needed to do more urgently was to renegotiate contracts and adjust inventory now that copper prices had fallen. Taking advantage of the National Development and Reform Commission’s strong suppression of oil prices, they first found ways to fill the company’s diesel tanks. These were rare breathing opportunities during a period of soaring CPI, and no business owner would let such price opportunities slip by.
After more than a month of despairing decline, stocks began to recover their upward momentum. During this period, there were various rumors about the China Securities Regulatory Commission, so the most common public reaction to the stock index’s recovery was that this represented a glorious victory of resolute struggle by stockholders. In such an atmosphere of triumphant, uplifting stockholders turning over to become masters, many believed there were no heights that couldn’t be scaled. Precisely because there was the benchmark of the 6,000-point high, Liu Shitang invested all his resources, buying on dips to build a solid foundation. The stock index rose just as he had hoped. However, the higher it climbed, the more Liu Shitang worried. His fearful mood exceeded even Liu Jun’s—this was the vigilance cultivated by a lifetime of weathering storms. During those days, he couldn’t eat or sleep properly, like a red-eyed gambler. Every day, he went to bed with the world spinning before his eyes. His in-laws would remind him to pay attention to cardiovascular disease whenever they met, saying that at his age, high blood pressure and stroke were most feared. Therefore, when the stock index rose to a certain level and the stocks he had accumulated guaranteed at least breaking even, Liu Shitang completely cleared his positions—he couldn’t take it anymore. For the first time in his life, he felt his physical strength had limits.
On the night he cleared his positions, Liu Shitang felt such a sense of loss, like a good employee unexpectedly laid off. But the next day, after going to the hospital’s physical examination center with the health checkup package his son had bought him, he felt completely refreshed. Overnight, his blood pressure had dropped to normal levels. Suddenly, his headaches were gone, his bloodshot eyes cleared, his bad breath disappeared, his appetite returned, and his body felt robust. However, he couldn’t just let the huge amount of cash sit idle, so Liu Shitang discussed this problem with his daughter-in-law, Cui Bingbing. Unfortunately, that evening it was Liu Jun’s turn to watch Dandan, so what Liu Shitang saw at his son’s house was a son practicing the three obediences and four virtues, not his daughter-in-law, which rather displeased him.
Liu Jun suggested that if he was afraid of high blood pressure, he could let a fund manage the money. Liu Shitang said he had spent a lifetime in the economic field, and his experience was superior to those young fund managers—not. Liu Jun suggested buying reliable bank financial products. Liu Shitang said his daughter-in-law worked at a bank, and the bank’s financial products were just so-so. Liu Jun said ruthlessly, “Why not buy one of those luxury apartments in the city center that opened nearly half a year ago and still haven’t sold out—over seven million for a nicely renovated unit, six hundred thousand for a garage, and whatever grade of V8 car the remaining money can buy. From now on, property fees and living expenses will all be covered by me, your son. Do you dare?”
Liu Shitang replied, “You think I can’t do it?”
Liu Jun thought his father would always be the penny-pinching boss of that small street enterprise, content to live in an old residential complex in the bustling city center despite having tens of millions hidden away. Unexpectedly, three days later, his father gave him a “surprise.” Liu Shitang, still sharp as ever, single-handedly bought that nearly eight-million-yuan expensive house Liu Jun had mentioned with full payment, negotiating a discount and spending another hundred thousand or so on the garage. Moreover, both properties were registered under Liu Jun’s name. But Liu Shitang firmly refused to change cars—that six-hundred-thousand-yuan garage still housed his old Buick that he’d driven for several years, worth perhaps less than a hundred thousand on the used car market. Liu Shitang said people shouldn’t be too high-profile; the money for a V8 car was better saved for good food, drink, and entertainment. To outsiders, Liu Shitang also claimed the house was a gift from his filial son, saying his son treated him incredibly well, giving him whatever he wanted and fearing he wouldn’t accept it.
Liu Jun felt quite ashamed carrying such a reputation as a filial son, since his father’s house and car were all earned through his father’s efforts. He asked his father not to bestow such credit on him. But Liu Shitang’s meaning was clear: having a filial son was his greatest pride as a father, and having a capable son was also his greatest pride as a father. People live for face, and he was willing to let his son take all the credit while playing the role of an old geezer to the end—so what? Thus, Liu Shitang happily furnished the house. After barely filling one bedroom with furniture, he moved in. The building was over thirty stories high, housing only one old man and a fifty-something housekeeper, rather like Wu Gang and Chang’e in the Moon Palace. After living there for just a month, the stock index turned downward again. Liu Shitang felt so smug that when chatting with fellow stockholders, he praised his wisdom without caring that his listeners’ hearts bled.
Only a week later did Liu Jun begin to suspect something. Why didn’t the old man let him negotiate for a discount on Shen Huadong’s construction project? How did he manage to get a decent 5% discount? He had been immersed in the stock market for years, refusing to leave no matter what—how could he suddenly quit so decisively when he said he would? He had always been careful with money, using at most one-tenth for consumption and the rest for reinvestment—how could he suddenly spend everything just for enjoyment? Such abnormal behavior surely hid something. But Liu Shitang kept his mouth tightly shut, refusing to say anything, and Liu Jun couldn’t get any information out of him.
Liu Jun witnessed this winter’s first snowfall from the floor-to-ceiling windows of his father’s new home. The new house had central air conditioning with centralized heating, making the desolate scene outside the windows even more stark. This year’s weather was particularly cold, with rain and snow across north and south China. Even this city, which hadn’t seen snow for several years, was now covered in snowflakes. Liu Jun had voluntarily come on his day off to help his father install furniture. Although he knew his father, an old technician, could easily handle a few pieces of furniture himself, he was carrying the reputation of being a great filial son and naturally needed some actions to match the name. He brought Dandan along, but unfortunately, the little one wasn’t impressed by the three-hundred-square-meter space. Instead, she kept trying to squeeze into small cabinets, then loudly calling for Grandpa to find her—a classic game of covering one’s ears while stealing a bell.
Liu Jun occasionally looked up at the grandfather-granddaughter pair, worried that Dandan might be too boisterous and disturb Grandpa. This thought suddenly made him realize his father was approaching seventy. Thinking of the old man living alone in such a big house made his heart ache. The matter of remarrying had been discussed until their ears were calloused, and he was too lazy to bring it up again. From the way his father bought this house, he sensed there was someone behind the scenes. Since the old man was unwilling to talk, he would respect his privacy.
Despite living in a Western-style luxury house, the family’s meals remained the same old flavors unchanged for decades. A bowl of seasonal beef brisket and vermicelli soup, a dish of braised crucian carp with scallions, a plate of pan-fried hairtail, plus stir-fried bok choy and stir-fried mung bean sprouts—Liu Jun noticed his father’s taste had also become lighter. Cui Bingbing had to accompany a visiting inspector from the head office that weekend, so this meal was shared by three generations of the Liu family. Liu Shitang mentioned that Old Huang from the former Forward Factory had asked for his help. Old Huang’s youngest son had attended a third-tier university and would graduate next year. He had started job hunting at the beginning of his senior year, but after half a year, he still had no prospects. He hoped to get into Tengfei, which had good benefits and wages.
Upon hearing it was Old Huang, Liu Jun frowned. “Won’t Little Huang inherit Old Huang’s temperament? If he has Old Huang’s personality, I wouldn’t dare hire him. The new Labor Contract Law will be implemented right after New Year’s Day in a few days. Who would dare try a troublesome newcomer? Moreover, according to the new law, our company can’t do anything to new employees. Once they’re trained, they’ll fly away, and we’ll have no recourse. At least there used to be some constraints. I think this year’s college graduate employment will suffer from this new law.”
“If you don’t want him, don’t hire him. I don’t owe Old Huang anything—I’ve had enough of his attitude before. The new law says employees who work for ten years must sign long-term contracts, right? Our new company has been around for ten years. What about that first batch of people?”
“Several have already shown their true colors, dawdling at work. I have a huge headache. I never imagined the new law could be written this way—very ideologically heavy. You can see the public servants still have Marx’s approach in their hearts, viewing business owners as exploiters who must be stripped of their rights. They don’t consider how much this increases companies’ employment costs. A garment factory in our industrial zone has already moved entirely to Vietnam—they left when the draft was released, unable to bear the employment costs. I’m doing okay, but those labor-intensive industries will suffer.”
“Don’t look at how all levels of government now focus on money. When it comes to laws and regulations related to working people, they still distinguish very clearly between capitalist and socialist—this is a matter of principle. Don’t be confused about this.”
“I suppose so. But we think the country is wealthy now, especially with so much foreign exchange from exports that it’s hard to handle. They want to use this method to drive away labor-intensive enterprises and achieve ‘replacing dragons with phoenixes.’ The starting point is good—I’ve always thought many companies treat workers too much like cattle and horses. But the method is wrong; it puts companies in too passive a position. What other countries’ unions should do, our country uses this new law to solve, which greatly infringes on business owners’ rights.”
“What can you do about it? Since you’re running a company here, you have to listen to the country. Stop complaining—it affects your work mood.”
“I don’t want to complain, but the industrial zone recently convened meetings of all companies to study the new Labor Contract Law, threatening to resolutely implement the new law starting New Year’s Day, as if we’ve already become suspects. While they hold meetings above, we’ve already spread countermeasures below—outsourcing non-essential personnel through labor dispatch companies. Our factory can’t close; we have too many assets to handle. Those labor dispatch companies renting offices can open today and close tomorrow without consequences. There are many other methods—for every foot the law rises, the devil rises ten feet. Ultimately, it depends on how the implementation details are released. Otherwise, who would dare use workers on long-term contracts? They also say no more upheaval, but this is too much upheaval. Some factories are also preparing to upgrade equipment, using more mechanical operations to replace manual labor. When employment costs rise, it inevitably leads to using machinery to replace people. The new law has catalyzed this step, essentially causing premature birth. So many companies are caught off guard, and their first thought is relocation—moving to Vietnam, where labor is cheaper. If this step had developed naturally, many companies would have consciously and gradually used machinery to replace manual labor. The current labor shortage has already made some manufacturers consider this issue, gradually creating recruitment demand for college students with professional foundations. But now, premature birth has led to the opposite result—college students will find it even harder to get jobs in the future.”
Liu Shitang sighed that in just a few years since leaving the front lines, the world had changed dramatically, becoming unrecognizable to him. He understood what his son was saying, but couldn’t think of it proactively, showing he had faded from society’s mainstream. But his son was the expert, so Liu Shitang was content with retirement, at most sighing a few times. “Will housing prices continue to fall? But someone told me my apartment… apartments in the city center have limited ups and downs.”
“If it’s for living in, don’t worry about rises and falls. I heard that property speculators from Shenzhen and Hong Kong have started selling, and some who were restricted by bank financing can’t hold on anymore. But things are still okay here.”
“When stocks fall, trading volume is particularly small. After falling for so many days, the trading volume is now getting smaller. Real estate is actually the same—business psychology is the same in every industry. Second-hand housing is in trouble.”
Liu Jun sat up straight. “You still have contact with her?”
“Nonsense! I’m reminding you to be careful when Qian Hongming asks you for loans in the future. Heartless woman.”
“Hmm, he asked me for a loan recently and repaid it within a few days. Recently, copper futures have turned upward again, and his cash flow pressure has been resolved. His biggest income comes from futures and arbitrage, plus lending money. Real estate isn’t that big a portion.”
Hearing that his son understood the situation, Liu Shitang felt relieved. He always worried that his honest and simple son would be taken advantage of. “But if he lends money to people doing stocks and real estate, and if this market continues like this, won’t he be unable to recover that principal?”
“Yes, and many loans are to companies that need to bridge financing for ten to twenty days to handle their turnover. What I’m most worried about now is that banks are currently tightening credit, being very strict with loans. Even Mr. Song’s Donghai Group has encountered small difficulties with loans—he specially held a coordination meeting about this the day before yesterday. Our loans have also been notified to maintain the status quo, with no hope for increases. This includes opening letters of credit, which now occupy other loan quotas. Previously, banks gave Hongming Trading Company considerable letter of credit quotas. Will they tighten up in the future? Will those companies’ lending quotas to Hongming also encounter bank restrictions? If funding becomes tight in this area, Hongming will need to adjust his strategy. But generally, year-end is when banks are most restrictive with lending. Once the new year starts, loans immediately open up—credit officers are waiting for their commissions.”
“So you see, in any case, don’t lend money to Qian Hongming anymore. He’s unreliable, and you’re not after his interest. Promise me?”
Liu Shitang pressed persistently, and Liu Jun could only agree.