Siheyuan: I just came across and wanted to chase me away

Chapter 1148 Yi Zhonghai is very happy

"Go back home without worry. There are still some pigs waiting for you to eat at home. Don't let the children go hungry." Yi Zhonghai waved his hand, his tone softening and carrying the kindness of an elder. "I'll remember this. I'll let you know as soon as I hear anything."

Qin Huairu thanked him several times before turning around and heading home with a half-basket of vegetables in her arms. She was in a hurry, her mind still on the corn porridge simmering on the stove. She had put it on the coal stove before leaving home in the morning, and it was probably getting too thick by now. She had to hurry back to turn off the heat so it wouldn't burn.

As Yi Zhonghai watched her figure disappear around the corner of the workshop, the gentle smile on his face instantly vanished, replaced by a cold, hard line at the corners of his mouth. He sneered inwardly, muttering to himself: "Hmph, sending laborers to the countryside, she makes it sound so easy. If it weren't for the fact that we live in the same courtyard, constantly running into each other, and I didn't want the neighbors to think I was heartless, who would bother with this trouble? Sending laborers to the countryside, huh? Is it really as serious as she makes it out to be? Maybe she's just looking for an easy job to slack off."

He straightened the wrinkles in his clothes and turned to walk back to his workshop. When he spoke with Director Zhu earlier, he had specifically mentioned that he had worked at the steel rolling mill for thirty years, rising from apprentice to a level eight fitter, and witnessing three changes of factory directors. He wanted the new director to know his importance—he knew the factory's old rules and connections inside and out, and wasn't someone who could be easily fooled. As for Qin Huairu's son, Banggeng, going to the countryside, it was just a favor he mentioned casually. If it worked out, he'd gain a reputation for being "kind-hearted"; if not, it wasn't worth the effort—after all, whether his retirement benefits could be increased and whether his words would still carry weight in the factory were the most important things.

The wind rushed in from the factory gate like an untamed donkey, carrying the roar of the machines running in the workshop and a strong smell of rust. It lashed at people's faces, with a roughness unique to the industrial age, making their skin feel tight. Yi Zhonghai pulled his sleeves up, tucking his exposed wrists into the sleeves of his faded work clothes—the autumn wind already carried a chill, especially in the evening, it seeped into one's bones.

He walked unhurriedly towards the workshop, his shoes crunching over the metal scraps on the ground, his mind racing with calculations: In a couple of days, he'd find an excuse, like reporting on the maintenance of the old equipment, to mention the old workers in the workshop to Director Zhu, telling him about their hard work from dawn till dusk, and casually bringing up the matter of the iron rod. Whether it worked out or not was up to Zhu's luck; he'd already done his part, and if the neighbors asked, he'd have a reputation for "doing his best." As for himself, he'd better figure out the new director's temperament first—did he like flattery, or did he value solid performance? Once he understood him, his words would carry more weight in the factory, and his retirement benefits would be more secure.

A day passed quietly amidst the hustle and bustle of the steel rolling mill. The massive factory buildings swallowed and spat out batches of glowing red-hot steel billets, overhead cranes clattered overhead, and the shouts of workers and the roar of machinery mingled together until the setting sun cast long shadows of the factory buildings, like giant pythons lying on the ground. As soon as the bell rang to signal the end of the workday, workers walked out in twos and threes, some carrying tool bags, others clutching freshly bought roasted sweet potatoes, chatting and laughing with a sense of relief at the end of the workday, leaving all their fatigue at the factory gate.

Zhu Tao stood at the window on the third floor of the office building, watching the crowd gradually disperse below. His fingertips tapped lightly on the windowsill, which was covered with a thin layer of dust, producing a rhythmic "tap-tap" sound. He usually had a personal driver; the black sedan was parked downstairs, and the driver had already polished the car until it gleamed, even cleaning the mud from under the tires. The driver was standing by the car with his hands in his pockets, ready to take him home at any moment. But when he thought about where he was going tonight and what he needed to discuss, he changed his mind—this matter was too important; the more people who knew, the greater the risk. It was best to avoid being seen by others.

The driver then tiptoed in, holding the car keys in his hand, his back slightly bent, and respectfully asked, "Director Zhu, where are you going? Do you need a car? I'll drive over right away, and I'll buy you a bottle of hot water on the way."

Zhu Tao turned around, shook his head, and said in a flat tone as if he were saying that the weather was nice today: "Never mind, I'll just go for a walk and get some fresh air. No need to bother me." He paused, as if he suddenly remembered something, and added, "I won't take up any of the country's resources. The factory's fuel coupons are in short supply. It's good for me to walk around by myself. Consider it exercise."

The driver opened his mouth, intending to say, "This is your job compensation, it's no trouble at all," but he swallowed the words back. After all, Zhu Tao was the new factory manager, and he had established rules from the start, making his word absolute. It was said that a few days ago, he had publicly deducted a director's perfect attendance bonus for being five minutes late, so no one dared to say a word in his presence. The driver could only obediently nod: "Okay, Manager, I'll wait here for you. If you need a car anytime, just call my office, and I guarantee I'll be there within ten minutes."

Zhu Tao grunted in agreement, picked up the Zhongshan suit jacket draped over the back of his chair, put it on, buttoned the top button, and walked straight out of the office building. The setting sun cast a long, thin shadow on him. No one knew that this newly appointed steel mill director, avoiding all possible gazes, was heading towards the old alleys in the south of the city, his steps unhurried, his destination clear—Li Jianjun's father-in-law, Zhang Li's house.

Zhang Li's house was in a narrow alley, barely wide enough for two people to walk side by side. It was a single-story house with a small courtyard, most of the plaster on the walls had peeled off, revealing the yellow earth underneath. A few old, chipped flowerpots were piled up by the door, the soil inside hardened. A few withered morning glories climbed the wall, their wilted vines drooping down like an old woman's disheveled hair. Zhu Tao walked to the courtyard gate, and without even knocking, pushed open the slightly ajar wooden door. The hinges creaked open with an old, groaning sound.

In the courtyard, Zhang Li was sitting on a small stool, holding a small watering can, idly watering the half-dead jasmine plant. Most of its leaves were yellow, and it looked beyond saving. Hearing the noise, he didn't even look up, his tone lazy: "Who is it? Don't you know how to knock before coming in?"

"Teacher, I'm here." Zhu Tao's voice carried a different respect than it did at the factory, and even contained a hint of deliberate humility.

Zhang Li finally looked up, squinting as he scrutinized the face for a long time. His reading glasses slipped down to the tip of his nose. He was initially bewildered, then a hint of surprise flashed in his eyes—this face looked familiar, but he couldn't quite place it. It wasn't until Zhu Tao approached that he suddenly slapped his thigh, nearly dropping the spray bottle: "You are... Zhu Tao?"