Chapter 93: Wine at the Graveside

He Zhihua also glanced over in surprise, muttering, “Isn’t that one of the workers from our factory?”

“How does he have the money to be spending here?”

Upon hearing this, Chen Nianhua’s expression soured. A laborer from his own factory was holding court here, playing the wealthy patron. How could that sit well with him? The mentality of a nouveau riche gnawed at him. Especially after recognizing Chai Jin, He Zhihua’s anger flared—after all, this was the man who had struck his son earlier that day. How could he possibly have a good temper?

Only Feng Haodong remained silent, his face particularly grim. Suddenly, he understood why Chai Jin had been unwilling to sit with him. After a moment’s thought, he picked up his glass and stood.

Chen Nianhua and He Zhihua were caught off guard. “President Feng, what are you doing?”

Feng Haodong’s smile was tinged with coldness. “I’ve spotted an old acquaintance from Jiangnan Province. I’m going over to offer him a toast.”

The two men laughed heartily. As He Zhihua poured more wine, he added, “If President Feng’s acquaintance is our acquaintance too, then of course we should go toast him as well.”

“Come on, Chen, let’s go.”

The two rose with their glasses, following behind Feng Haodong, convinced they were about to meet someone important. In the south, anyone worthy of President Feng rising to toast was a figure of no small significance.

But as they watched where Feng Haodong was headed, their expressions grew increasingly uneasy.

“That worker from our factory is President Feng’s acquaintance?”

“That can’t be…”

When Feng Haodong stopped at their table, the two men felt a wave of bitter regret. They had hoped to rub shoulders with the powerful, only to find themselves face to face with a laborer from their own factory—not a situation that left them any room to maneuver. But the words had already been spoken, and now they could only press on awkwardly.

Liu Shan and his group merely found Feng Haodong’s approach curious; none of them got up. But when they saw the two factory bosses behind him, they instinctively shot to their feet, a response born of habit.

Feng Haodong raised his glass with a smile, taking a sip with Chai Jin, and spoke as if among family: “What’s going on? Are you at odds with these two?”

Chai Jin managed a wry smile. “A humble worker like me gets nervous eating with such big bosses. You know how it is, Dong—I'm just a country boy at heart.”

Feng Haodong was genuinely speechless and shook his head before raising his glass to the rest of Liu Shan’s group. “Come, let me toast you all.”

They quickly understood and raised their glasses in return. Behind him, Chen Nianhua and He Zhihua also approached with their drinks. Since this was President Feng’s circle, no matter their doubts or disdain, they had to put on a proper show now that they had come over.

Chen Nianhua took the lead. “President Feng, who is this young man?”

Feng Haodong frowned deeply. To address someone as “young man” in this context, in a tone dripping with seniority, was hardly appropriate. He didn’t know how much Chai Jin had made in Zhonghai, but given the potential of the “Little Li Bai” liquor market, if production could keep up and the market opened, it would be more than enough to put their contract processing factory to shame. If you were genuinely close to Chai Jin, you could call him “young man,” but here, at a formal toast, such a term was meant to put him in his place.

Feng Haodong was about to explain when Chai Jin, who had been holding his glass, suddenly set it down and said icily, “Old Huang, our boss’s wine—let him drink with them. My age and status aren’t sufficient.”

Old Huang caught on immediately, raising his glass to clink with Chen Nianhua’s. “Boss, I’m just an ordinary worker on the plug-in team. To have the honor of drinking with you is a lifetime’s fortune for me. I’ll finish my drink while you sip at your leisure.”

Chen Nianhua’s face turned an ugly shade. He had tried to assert his superiority, only for one of Chai Jin’s men to return the gesture, knocking him down a peg in the process. Moreover, this old hand had deliberately announced his humble position, humiliating him further.

Most galling of all, he couldn’t refuse to drink—doing so would be an insult to Feng Haodong. Forcing a laugh, he replied, “You’re too kind.” Noticing Feng Haodong’s gaze lingering on him, he gritted his teeth and drained his glass.

As for Old Huang, sly as ever, he only took a sip despite his boast of finishing the glass. Making matters worse, he turned to He Zhihua. “President He, I often gaze up at your portrait hung high in the factory hall. I have always admired you. This toast is for you!”

He Zhihua nearly exploded. What did he mean by the portrait hanging in the hall? That official photo was hardly a “portrait.” Was Old Huang cursing him to an early grave? Still, he swallowed his anger, clinking glasses with a pale face and downing his drink in silence.

But Old Huang pressed his advantage, taking another small sip and muttering, “This wine seems to have a strange aftertaste.”

Then, he poured the rest of his glass onto the floor.

“Is he toasting me as if at my graveside?” He Zhihua fumed, feeling like a balloon ready to burst.

Yet Old Huang kept the tone in hand—after dumping the wine, he immediately refilled his glass, raised it respectfully to the two bosses, and said, “Thank you both for giving me a way to earn a living. I’ll finish this in your honor.”

He downed the drink in one gulp, with such exaggerated sincerity that the two bosses, however irritated, had no grounds to get angry.

Chai Jin watched the whole affair with new respect for Old Huang. The old fox had clearly once been factory management; he handled these sharp social exchanges with skill and ease.

Originally, Chai Jin had intended for Old Huang to make some money here and then part ways, but now he found himself wanting to keep him around.

Feng Haodong also cast a meaningful glance at Old Huang before smiling, “I won’t keep you from your meal any longer.”

Chai Jin smiled back. “Alright, Dong, you’re busy.”

With a wry smile, Feng Haodong led Chen Nianhua and He Zhihua back to their table.

Liu Shan and Su Wenbin, unable to decipher the subtle games at the table, still felt a sense of satisfaction. After the others left, Liu Shan gave Old Huang a thumbs-up.

“Impressive.”

“Impressive, my foot. This is just dinner. If I ran into those two in an alley, I’d have to brawl with them!” Old Huang grumbled, taking a swig. Clearly, he was still angry over He Kai bullying Liu Shan and the others.

Chai Jin quietly held his glass near his lips, smiling slightly. “Now that you’ve toasted the boss as if at his graveside, I suppose I’ll have to quit too.”

Old Huang laughed heartily, glancing at the pile of five or six thousand yuan on the table. “I really don’t understand what’s so great about your job. You’re not really going to miss it, are you?”

Chai Jin chuckled. “If you’re all leaving, there’s no reason for me to stay.”

“I’ll resign tomorrow.”

“Come on, let’s eat. Let’s not waste our lives talking about meaningless things.”

The group raised their glasses and clinked them together.