Chapter 76: A Happy Ending for All

Zhao Zejun picked up the small teacup before him, brought it to his nose for a gentle sniff, then drained it in one go. Smiling, he said, “Director Feng, you’re a true connoisseur.”

“Hardly,” Director Feng waved his hand dismissively. “Back in college, I joined a tea appreciation club—just fooling around, really.” As he spoke, he too raised his small cup and finished his tea. “Xiao Zhao, I heard you’ve applied to the Provincial University of Science and Technology. Who knows, perhaps we’ll be fellow alumni someday. I graduated in the class of ’92.”

“If I’m fortunate enough to be admitted, I’ll have to address you as Senior then,” Zhao Zejun replied. “But students nowadays can’t compare to your generation. Back then, you were the true chosen sons of heaven.”

“Oh, that’s nothing. All I thought about in college was having fun. Looking back, I wasted so much precious time.” Director Feng lifted his head and gazed at Zhao Zejun, his tone sincere. “I truly envy you young people. You can enter university carefree, unlike us back then, worrying about tuition and living expenses. Look at you—your circumstances are so much better. I heard from your principal that your grades are excellent. You should have a good chance of getting into the university. In two months, if you step onto that campus and truly savor your youth, basking in the bright sunlight—what could be better?”

“Director Feng, I understand,” Zhao Zejun said after a moment of contemplation. “I too hope the relocation goes smoothly. If Gaogang Village is a muddy quagmire, then while I won’t call university paradise, it’s at least a picturesque scenic spot.”

Director Feng smiled with satisfaction. “You’re a smart young man. I had Old Li invite you today precisely to talk about the relocation. Let’s discuss your terms.”

Zhao Zejun hesitated briefly. “I’ve already spoken to Old Li about them.”

Director Feng waved his hand. “Negotiating for on-site resettlement is out of the question. If you’re set on staying put…” He paused, then continued, “Xiao Zhao, I hope you can enter university smoothly. Your future should be that of a promising student, not a criminal disrupting public order.”

“So, Director Feng, are you implying that if I refuse to move, you’ll detain me? I don’t recall having done anything wrong.” Zhao Zejun chuckled.

In 2002, electronic technology was sprouting up everywhere, yet for most, digital voice recorders were still a novelty, and few mobile phones had recording functions. Back then, people were far less guarded with one another than they would be in the coming decade. The district and city offices might possess recording devices, but Director Feng never imagined that the young man before him had a pricey imported recorder in his pocket, capturing every word since the conversation began.

That very morning, when Old Li came to tell Zhao Zejun that Director Feng wanted a private discussion, Zhao Zejun, relying on the instincts and experience of his previous life, made a judgment: the stage of heated debate was ending, and it was time to be tactful.

He had gone to the city specifically to buy a compact imported voice recorder.

On one hand, it was a precaution—if the relocation office tried anything underhanded, he’d have evidence. While such evidence might be useless in court, revealing it at the right moment could exert great pressure on the relocation office.

On the other hand, since today’s meeting was private and no formal compensation agreement had been signed, anything discussed could still change. Recording the conversation would serve as a safeguard, preventing Director Feng from coaxing out his bottom line only to renege later.

“Xiao Zhao, aside from on-site resettlement, any other requests you have, feel free to state them. At the city’s relocation mobilization meeting, the leaders said, ‘The meeting ends only when the detailed plan is finalized.’ I’ll borrow that today: we won’t leave until we’ve settled your compensation plan,” Director Feng continued.

Zhao Zejun pondered for a moment. “My first condition remains unchanged: whatever compensation plan I receive, the elderly living in my house should receive the same terms. Their housing sizes differ, so any differences can be compensated in cash.”

“There are only thirteen households in total. That’s acceptable, but only for these thirteen—no more. And their cases must be specially noted as exceptions, cared for by the city—solitary elders and veteran soldiers.”

“That’s fine,” Zhao Zejun nodded. “Not only will they cooperate, but I also guarantee to the relocation office that until the work is complete, I’ll keep my own compensation terms strictly confidential and will offer appropriate support to the relocation effort.”

Director Feng raised an eyebrow. “How will you support us? Are you going to help us persuade each household? That’s unlikely. Once you agree to move, do you really think the villagers will still trust you?”

Zhao Zejun smiled faintly. “But what if I move because I can’t withstand the pressure?”

“Oh? Go on.”

“It’s simple. When I move, I won’t tell anyone about my compensation. On the contrary, I’ll let it appear that I’m leaving because I can’t stand the pressure. Director Feng, if even I—the leading holdout—can’t endure, just imagine what the others will think.”

Director Feng’s brow furrowed as he studied Zhao Zejun.

Zhao Zejun continued, “Additionally, the relocation office can introduce an incentive plan: announce that anyone who voluntarily hands over their keys and moves out within the next two weeks will receive a reward—say, ten thousand, or five thousand. After that, every day delayed, five hundred will be deducted.”

“Xiao Zhao, you and I are thinking along the same lines.” Director Feng’s expression relaxed, and he nodded. “Let’s discuss your terms in detail.”

…

The famed holdout of Gaogang Village, Zhao Zejun, had finally caved!

For four or five days, Zhao Zejun hadn’t shown his face in Gaogang Village. When he appeared one morning, he looked utterly haggard, unkempt, as though he hadn’t washed or brushed his teeth in days.

When others asked where he’d been, he just forced a bitter smile and shook his head, refusing to answer.

Rumors swirled.

“Did you hear? The police station detained Zhao!”

“What Zhao? Isn’t he just a student? He challenged the relocation office—guess he got what was coming to him!”

“Sounds risky. Damn, he probably went too far causing trouble that day, and now the relocation office is cracking down…”

That afternoon, Zhao Zejun and the thirteen elderly households living in his property signed their compensation agreements one after another and handed over their keys.

The only difference was this: the thirteen elders signed their agreements in the bustling relocation office hall, beaming under the TV cameras as they received their compensation, while Zhao Zejun signed privately with two directors upstairs.

The camera lingered on the elders’ smiling faces and their thick, red envelopes.

The television reporter’s voice rang out, measured and resonant.

“The Gaogang Village relocation is a major city development initiative this year. From the beginning, it has received the heartfelt support of the villagers. In the spirit of benefiting the people, Baoye Company has given special consideration to the thirteen solitary and veteran households in Gaogang Village, offering each a free upgrade in housing size to between sixty and ninety square meters, three years of housing subsidies, and thirty thousand yuan in renovation compensation…”

A microphone was held to an elderly woman’s face; the reporter asked, “Granny, are you satisfied with the relocation policy this time?”

The old woman’s smile turned her eyes into slits as she waved her fat red envelope at the camera. “Satisfied, very satisfied. Xiao Zhao is a good man…”

“Cut that last part,” the reporter whispered to the crew.

While the elders cheerfully received their compensation, a long line formed at the relocation office’s entrance—people queuing to hand over their keys.

And throughout it all, the instigator, Zhao Zejun, with a hefty backpack on his shoulders, slipped quietly out the back door alone.

Through this storm, he had secured free house size increases and thirty thousand yuan compensation for each elder—adding up to fifty or sixty thousand yuan more per household than the initial offer.

It wasn’t an enormous sum, but for those elderly folks accustomed to scraping by, it would support them for years.

This was what he could do—repayment for the ‘relocation alliance’ between himself and the elders.

His bond with them had begun that cold, rainy night, and ended today.

From here, their paths would part—each to their own, with heartfelt wishes for well-being.

His backpack was heavy, filled with his compensation agreement and the funds due to him.