Chapter 539 - Drawing a Line

The compensation structure for indigenous officials was divided into three components. The first was the "position salary," determined by the specific office held. The second was the "rank salary," decoupled from the official's current post and linked instead to tenure and contributions to the transmigrator regime. Under this system, a senior clerk at the grassroots level could earn more than a junior mid-level official. Xiao Zishan championed this approach, believing it allowed indigenous cadres to find contentment in grassroots and specialized work, avoiding the trap where increasing skill led to promotion away from the front lines. As long as one excelled in their role, the financial rewards would be substantial. The final component was "allowances and benefits," granted based on the nature of the work, weighted heavily toward dangerous, physically demanding, and arduous posts.

The meeting then devolved into a long discussion on a series of related issues. This plenary session of the Executive Committee dragged on through the night. By the time it wound down, everyone was exhausted and famished, yet before adjourning, the Committee members were obligated to review the session communiqué word by word—not only to resolve issues lingering from before the General Assembly but also to carefully calibrate the masses' reaction. The taste of democracy was indeed not easy to swallow.

In the final stage of the meeting, everyone agreed to create the position of Secretary-General of the Executive Committee. This official would not be a Committee member but would be responsible for managing the Committee's paperwork and administrative affairs.

"I think Mu Quan would serve well; his meeting stenography is quite competent..." Ma Qianzhu began, but Wu De interrupted him.

"Director, don't forget we've just established the cadre system—"

"Oh, right. We should recruit openly," Ma Qianzhu corrected himself. "Then let's recruit. Post the opening on the internal BBS."

"All right, I'll handle it," Xiao Zishan agreed. "I also need a Head of the Organization Department. I'll recruit for that position simultaneously."

"Use your discretion," Wen Desi cautioned. "Not just anyone can be Organization Department Head; the position is critical, so choose carefully."

"I know."

After the meeting, the Committee members turned off the lights and walked out of the conference room, groggy with fatigue. The sky was faintly brightening; reveille was already blowing in the military camp. Several members hurried off to eat and sleep without a word.

Ma Qianzhu, however, felt invigorated by the cold morning breeze. Realizing he couldn't sleep, he headed back to his own office.

Hou Wenyong had already arrived for work and had cleaned the large outer office used by the indigenous clerks. It was spotless. Like all indigenous people taken in, educated, and employed by the transmigrated collective, he harbored immense gratitude toward the collective. He did not see himself merely as a paid "employee" or a "cadre" in Newspeak, but viewed the relationship as a master-servant bond involving close personal loyalty.

If not for the strict restrictions on indigenous entry and exit at the Executive Committee compound, Hou Wenyong would likely have slept there—he considered his presence natural.

With very few exceptions, all indigenous personnel in Bairen Fortress lived concentrated in a dedicated compound within the city. After 21:00 each night, all indigenous personnel were required to return to the dormitories, which were then locked by sentries. They could not leave until 6:00 a.m. By that time, some workaholic Senators had already begun their office hours. There was little entertainment in Lingao; everyone slept early and rose early.

Ma Qianzhu instructed Hou Wenyong, "Make a cup of tea. Strong!"

"Yes, Chief!" Hou Wenyong responded and started to back out, then hesitated. "Chief, you haven't had breakfast yet. Should I call the canteen to send some over?"

"No need. Organize the materials on the desk first." Ma Qianzhu felt his thoughts were somewhat scattered; he needed to sit down, drink tea, and sort them out systematically.

Hou Wenyong brought him hot tea and closed the door carefully as he withdrew. He could already read Chief Ma's mood from his face. Ma Qianzhu opened one of the countless drawers beside him and took out a lunch box. Inside was Russian-style black bread baked by the canteen. Originally intended for the Army because it curbed hunger effectively and didn't spoil easily, the canteen staff found it time-consuming to bake, and wheat yields were too low to feed even the transmigrators regularly. Consequently, it was made in small quantities for Senators. But sales were mediocre; most Senators had no interest in the sour, rock-hard bricks.

He took a chessboard from another drawer and set up an endgame simply for study—his habitual method for pondering major issues.

Ma Qianzhu gnawed on the black bread, fingers moving over the chessboard, his mind racing.

Although many of his plans had been rejected, the determination of status and remuneration for indigenous cadres at this Executive Committee meeting pleased him greatly—massive social reforms relied on indigenous cadres for implementation. He had always believed that the key to building a new society was relying on "cadres," and vast numbers of them.

Like the yamen of a Ming dynasty county: a few officials reliant on a swarm of "petty clerks" of base status to govern—it would be a miracle if administration functioned effectively. Ma Qianzhu had always admired bureaucracy; he firmly believed that the primary reason modern society achieved social control and executive power unattainable by ancient or traditional societies was the establishment of a massive, structured bureaucratic machine.

If the transmigrated collective wanted to build a modern society, it could not do so without training and deploying its own cadres in large numbers.

Since Wu De had left office, the Civil Affairs Commission had fallen directly into Ma's sphere of influence. And the power to appoint indigenous cadres lay under the jurisdiction of the Civil Affairs Commission's Cadre Department. This gave him greater initiative to reform the entire civil affairs system of Lingao.

Although Ma Qianzhu had lost the Planning Commission—the position that once gave him stranglehold control over the collective's resources—as Secretary of State, he had legitimately become the collective's "Premier." To a certain extent, his actions were now less constrained. Through the State Council, he could effectively impose his will and philosophy on various ministries and commissions, rather than relying on his past resource-allocation power to influence goals indirectly.

What Wu De handed over was an operation beginning to show results, but many initiatives were just starting and needed continued implementation. He wondered: who should serve as the Civil Affairs People's Commissar?

Open recruitment? Ma Qianzhu scoffed involuntarily. Hiring cadres directly without long-term cultivation and probation was absurd. As he ate bread and mentally arranged personnel files, the office door was slammed open.

Dugu Qiuhun barged in, dropping into a grand armchair without even looking at Ma Qianzhu.

"I can't work like this! They're all coming at me," he cursed angrily, directing his ire at the air. "Is it easy for me? Who did I do this for? Wasn't it for everyone's benefit..."

Ma Qianzhu didn't even look up, focusing on tearing the bread into small pieces and feeding them into his mouth.

"Now they treat me like a criminal—pronouncing me 'guilty'! What is this?! Want me to be an agricultural technician! I won't be a farmer raking muck!"

Ma Qianzhu said nothing. He took a sip of hot tea, shook the hard bread crumbs off his clothes onto the floor, and picked up the newly published Lingao Times Internal Edition from the desk.

Dugu Qiuhun grew restless; his tone softened. "Big Ma, you have to back me up. I did all this listening to you..."

"I only told you to be a good sentry for Bairen Fortress and manage external security," Ma Qianzhu interrupted coldly. "I didn't tell you to lead a police squad into the city."

"Wasn't I afraid rioters would storm the Executive Committee?" Dugu Qiuhun said, sounding aggrieved. "You don't know how many people were badmouthing you behind your back those days. I was afraid rioters wanted to use the opportunity to harm you..."

"I walk straight and sit upright; why fear gossip?" Ma Qianzhu snorted. "Your actions only substantiated the rumors."

"This... this... I didn't mean to..." Dugu Qiuhun was flustered. "I didn't expect to be used by people, that crafty old..."

"Are you planning to get slapped with a slander charge too?" Ma Qianzhu cut him off sharply.

"You can't just leave me to die." Dugu Qiuhun was getting desperate. "We're tied to the same boat."

"All 521 of us are tied to the same boat." Ma Qianzhu moved another chess piece, unhurriedly. He turned his head. "Go quietly to Wu Nanhai's place for a month of confinement and write a profound self-criticism. Old Wu is a good man; he'll look after you. Afterward, go work hard under Ye Yuming to redeem yourself. Don't say another word. I've spoken to him; he'll try to arrange some administrative work for you."

"Big Ma, you..." Hearing that his future involved dealing with mud, Dugu Qiuhun looked despairing.

Ma Qianzhu waved his hand, signaling him not to interrupt. "You made the mess; clean it up yourself."

Dugu Qiuhun's face went pale—whether from fear or anger was unclear, but the emotion was volatile enough to make him jump up and shout.

"Ma Qianzhu, don't think I don't know what game you're playing! You're sacrificing the rook to save the king! You used me as a gun before, and now you want to draw a line!"

Ma Qianzhu simply gazed leisurely at the chessboard, chewing his black bread, as if he hadn't heard the outburst. Only after Dugu had vented did he speak slowly.

"Qiuhun! Remember, never form factions or stick labels on yourself—you'll make mistakes that way."

"Fine! I'll take responsibility for what I did! From now on, I work for myself!" Dugu Qiuhun rushed out.

Ma Qianzhu, face wooden, packed up the chessboard. Losing Dugu Qiuhun was a major loss, but after this incident, if he didn't draw a clear line, it would become a fatal wound in his political life.