Chapter 30: The Storm Gathers, Winds Fill the Hall

At the gate.

Wang Qiang gazed serenely out the window as patches of dark clouds drifted by. The sun was half obscured, its light somewhat dimmed, as if rain could fall at any moment.

Time ticked by, minute after minute.

Liao Wenfeng, Rao Xiaoyan, and the other HR staff grew increasingly grim as they waited. If the delay had been just a minute or two, it would have been understandable, but now five minutes had passed with not a sound from outside.

A young woman from HR could no longer hold back her complaint. “Why aren’t they here yet?”

Rao Xiaoyan cleared her throat. “We’ll just have to wait.”

The room fell silent once more.

About three minutes later, at 8:08, the sound of tires skidding on the pavement was heard outside. The rattling of a bicycle chain came to a stop.

Wang Qiang lifted his eyelids slightly. Standing at the gate was a woman who looked to be in her fifties, her hair streaked with gray. She glanced nervously at the guard’s office, hesitated for a moment, and then spoke softly, “Old Yang, could you open the gate for me?”

Old Yang looked back, as if seeking instructions.

Rao Xiaoyan stood up and walked out, not rushing to announce any punishment, but raising her voice as if for those inside to hear. “Sister Sun, why are you late?”

Sister Sun replied plaintively, “My husband, Old Zhou, is in the hospital. I went to pay the fees.”

Liao Wenfeng shook his head, clearly aware of her situation.

Rao Xiaoyan put on a stern face. “Don’t be late next time. Go on, get inside. Old Yang, open the gate.”

Old Yang hurried out to open the gate.

Wang Qiang patted Director Liao on the shoulder. “Well?”

Liao Wenfeng frowned. “Xiao Wang, you might not know about Sister Sun’s hardships. Her husband has been bedridden for years and the family is dirt poor. We can’t dock her pay…”

Wang Qiang replied bluntly, “Rules are rules. My suggestion is to penalize her immediately. If you’re unwilling, then there’s no point in continuing this.”

Liao Wenfeng had no choice but to sigh. Placing both hands on his knees, he stood up, walked to the doorway, and called out, “Sister Sun, wait.”

Sister Sun, who had just stepped inside, turned pale at his words. She forced a smile, as if pleading for leniency.

As the general manager, Liao Wenfeng felt conflicted. He glanced back at Wang Qiang’s impassive expression, then at Sister Sun’s wretched face. Gritting his teeth, he said, “You were late today. There’s a two-yuan fine. Manager Rao, write her a ticket.”

Rao Xiaoyan protested quickly, “Director Liao—”

“No need to argue. Write the ticket!” Liao Wenfeng waved his hand irritably.

Rao Xiaoyan, seeing she had no choice, took out a ticket from her bag and began to fill it out.

Sister Sun’s lips quivered, but she said nothing. Her eyes reddened, and her hands trembled on her bicycle handlebars. It was plain to see that she needed those two yuan more than anyone.

But now, because she was late, the money was about to slip from her grasp. Thinking of her husband lying in his hospital bed, Sister Sun felt a sting at her nose and nearly burst into tears several times.

Just as Rao Xiaoyan was writing the ticket, something unexpected happened.

A figure strode out of the guardroom and walked unhurriedly to Sister Sun’s side, producing a green banknote from his pocket. “Auntie Sun, here’s fifty yuan. Director Liao asked me to give it to you.”

It was Wang Qiang.

Liao Wenfeng looked taken aback.

Rao Xiaoyan’s hand froze mid-writing.

Old Yang and the other four HR colleagues exchanged bewildered glances.

No one could fathom why Wang Qiang would take money out of his own pocket to help Sister Sun.

Sister Sun stared at Wang Qiang in disbelief. “No… I… I can’t take this!”

Wang Qiang pressed the money into her hand, speaking sincerely, “Director Liao knows about your husband’s health. He wanted to buy some supplements for a visit, but as you know, the factory’s busy and he hasn’t had time. Since we ran into you this morning, he asked me to give you the money to buy something nutritious yourself.”

Sister Sun, honest and humble, still tried to refuse, but Wang Qiang was insistent. All the tears she had held back finally came pouring out, falling in heavy drops onto her bicycle seat. She hadn’t expected such warmth in the factory. She knew the fine was justified, but to receive fifty yuan in return moved her deeply, and she could no longer contain her tears.

Once he had given her the money, Wang Qiang turned without emotion and returned to the guardroom.

Sister Sun gave Liao Wenfeng a grateful look, accepted the ticket, and pushed her bike inside.

After she left, Liao Wenfeng was the first to break the silence. “Weren’t we fining her? Why did you give her money?” He certainly hadn’t given Wang Qiang any cash for Sister Sun.

Rao Xiaoyan, Old Yang, and the four HR colleagues all looked at Wang Qiang in confusion.

Wang Qiang replied solemnly, “A fine is a fine. Giving money is something else. Since we set this rule, no one can break it—not even you, Director Liao. If you’re late one day, Manager Rao will have to write you a ticket, too.” He paused. “But Auntie Sun’s family is in dire straits; she needs money now more than ever. Even though we fined her for being late, law and rules should not be devoid of humanity. We can’t let a fine push her family further into hardship, or my conscience wouldn’t allow it. So I gave her fifty yuan from my own pocket.”

The guardroom suddenly fell silent.

Old Yang gazed at Wang Qiang for a long moment, then sighed deeply and looked away.

Rao Xiaoyan and her HR colleagues felt a tumult of emotions. For some reason, they felt as though Wang Qiang had just given them a lesson.

As for Liao Wenfeng, he was silent for a moment, then nodded. “Xiao Wang, you’re right.” He took out his wallet and handed Wang Qiang fifty yuan.

Wang Qiang was startled. “What’s this for?”

“Take it,” Liao Wenfeng said firmly. “Since you gave it to Sister Sun in my name, it should come from me.” He smiled. “You’ve made me look like a good man—don’t refuse, or I won’t like it.”

Wang Qiang smiled back and accepted the money. Since Director Liao was willing, he let him take the credit for the good deed.

After another brief conversation, the clock on the wall ticked to 8:31.

As impatience began to mount, a few boisterous voices were heard outside.

“Wonder what the cafeteria’s serving for lunch today?”

“Hey, it’s Thursday—braised pork’s on the menu.”

“Meat? That’s great news.”

The chatter stopped as everyone turned their attention outside. Wang Qiang saw Old Zhen and three other workers in their forties or fifties dismounting from their bikes.

“Old Yang, open the gate,” Old Zhen ordered.

Old Yang didn’t move a muscle.

One of the workers with a stubbly beard shouted, “What are you standing there for? Open the gate!”

Old Yang looked troubled but said nothing.

They had already noticed Wang Qiang and the others, but clearly didn’t care.

Old Zhen snorted, “Old Yang, what’s wrong with you? When I tell you to open the gate, you open it. Do you want the blame for us being late?”

Wang Qiang nodded at Liao Wenfeng.

Liao Wenfeng’s face darkened as he stood up, pointing at the four men. “Whose fault is it you’re late? Look at the time! If you don’t want to work, get out!”

Old Zhen sneered, “I don’t think it’s your place to tell me if I want to work or not.”

Liao Wenfeng’s hands trembled with rage, his chest heaving. He laughed bitterly, “Fine! Fine! Not my place, is it? Old Yang, keep an eye on them. None of these four are coming in. Today counts as absenteeism!”

The four men had played cards late into the night and couldn’t get up in the morning. They knew they were in the wrong, but now that they were late, they had no intention of admitting it. Lowering their heads meant accepting a fine, and from now on, each late arrival would bring the same penalty, hitting their wallets. Naturally, they chose to stand their ground.

Caught red-handed, Old Zhen and the others exchanged glances, each seeing resolve in the other’s eyes—a do-or-die determination.

Old Zhen shouted, “Fine! You’re the big boss, huh? I’m a state enterprise employee, you know that?”

The other three chimed in angrily.

“Liao, think about this!”

“You really think you’re our boss?”

“Are you letting us in or not? If not, we’ll report you to the township!”

Liao Wenfeng clenched his fists, veins bulging with rage as he weighed the pros and cons. Ever since he’d been brought in as general manager, he’d struggled to manage precisely because of these workers’ special status.

Earlier, two workers had threatened to go to the township, but he knew they wouldn’t really do it—otherwise, they’d have quit on the spot when he started issuing fines.

But these four were different—veteran troublemakers, with Old Zhen reportedly having a relative in the township government. There was a real chance they’d file a complaint.

Not just him—this was what Lu Dahai feared most as well.

For a moment, faced with their defiant glares, Liao Wenfeng hesitated.

Just then, a voice spoke behind him. “Let them go complain.”

The words startled Liao Wenfeng. He turned and whispered to Wang Qiang, “Xiao Wang, let me explain the situation. In the factory…”

Wang Qiang cut him off. “Do as I say. If the township really gives you trouble, I’ll handle it.”

Liao Wenfeng still looked uncertain.

Seeing his hesitation, Wang Qiang brought out his trump card. “What did Boss Lu tell you?”

“Alright!” Liao Wenfeng steeled himself, turned to face the four, took a deep breath, and uttered words he hadn’t dared say in nearly half a year since taking the job, “Want to complain? Go ahead!”

Old Zhen froze.

The other three were equally stunned.

None of them had expected Liao Wenfeng to actually call their bluff.

“Fine, we’ll complain! We’re going right now!” Old Zhen snapped, swung his bike around, and said to the others, “You coming?”

“Yes!”

“Why wouldn’t we?”

“Liao, you’re finished—you’ll see!”

After leaving their threats behind, the four of them pedaled off toward the township government—they really were going to complain.

Wang Qiang watched their retreating backs for a while, then noticed the sunlight had vanished from the ground. Looking up, he saw that heavy, ink-black clouds were pressing down on the sky, blotting out the earlier crimson hue, weighing so heavily it seemed as if the heavens might fall, suffocating the world into silence.

With a sudden gust, the wind whipped a plastic bag across the ground, breaking the stillness. The flowers and grass along the roadside bowed low, trembling before the storm.

Wang Qiang murmured to himself, “A storm is brewing—ominous winds fill the house.”