Chapter 2605: Departure

"In your dreams. Those penny-pinchers at the Finance and Taxation Bureau won't agree so easily." Li Yao'er laughed.

"The Finance and Taxation Bureau?" Zhang Xiao chuckled. "I went to see Wang Qiyi. The Senate loves to criticize the tax farming system, but you have to admit—in certain areas, it's the only thing that works. Otherwise you won't collect a single wen. Director Wang told me that collecting taxes in rural markets is dangerous business. His finance cadres value their lives too much to stick their necks out as pioneers. Where your administrative authority can't reach, their tax collectors won't go."

"That old fox," Li Yao'er said. "So there's still plenty of uncollected taxes out there. If you can get that money, your funding problem is solved."

"Exactly. The real issue remains extending state power into the countryside." Zhang Xiao leaned forward. "Wang Qiyi did offer some suggestions. Simply put: one principle, two fronts, four methods. The principle is dismantling the clans. The two fronts: in areas we effectively control, we push our agenda forward wherever conditions allow. In areas we don't control, we adapt to local circumstances, make the best of what exists, and use clan power to accomplish our goals. The four methods: First, strike hard against those who resist our plans and refuse to align with us—break the clans apart. Second, protect and guide those who cooperate, helping them transform. Third, give local cadres flexibility—no forced orders, let them work according to their actual conditions. Fourth, shield cadres whose methods run a bit... aggressive. If they can't stay, the southern colonies have plenty of room."

The irony wasn't lost on her. Ever since the Senate had landed on the mainland and implemented the Two Guangs Strategy, their stance toward the clans had softened considerably. The old rhetoric of violent suppression had given way to moderate talk of "reasonable control, effective utilization, gradual transformation."

The so-called "principle" was understood tacitly among the administrative Senators: "In principle..." always preceded "but starting from reality..."

The reason for this softening was obvious. Clan autonomy was a low-cost model of grassroots governance—particularly attractive to a government strapped for resources. Implementing direct administrative control all the way down to the village level required both money and manpower the Senate simply didn't have.

Li Yao'er studied Zhang Xiao with new eyes. She hadn't expected this tech-focused Senator to adapt so quickly to his role as county magistrate. He was growing into the position. The old saying proved true: those not in a position rarely understand its demands.

"How did you arrange the inspection route?" she asked.

"Jiujiang, Longshan, and the Longjiang area—east and south of Xiqiao Mountain, inside the Sangyuan Enclosure."

Li Yao'er frowned. "Aren't Longshan and Longjiang under Shunde County's jurisdiction? Won't it cause problems if we go without notifying them?"

"Director Xiao thought ahead," Zhang Xiao said. "Besides serving as Executive Deputy Magistrate of Nanhai County, I also hold the title of Inspector of Guangzhou Special City. That gives me authority to weigh in on matters in other counties—I just need to report to Prefect Liu. Besides, we're already bringing a large delegation. Adding Shunde's people would only crowd the inspection."

Zhao Hening still had a child's eagerness. Hearing she might go, her eyes lit up—but Zhang Xiao's mention of "too many people" made her worry she'd be left behind in Guangzhou. She clutched Li Yao'er's hand, half pleading, half pouting. "Chief, I'm excellent at raising silkworms. You have to bring me!"

Li Yao'er smiled. "I knew you'd want to go. Don't worry—I can read that mind of yours."

"Really?" Zhao Hening's face broke into a grin. "Then I'll go pack!" She darted off before anyone could say another word.

Li Yao'er glanced at Zhang Xiao. She didn't know him well, but something about the man struck her as peculiar. What transmigrated man didn't want to build a harem and play the stud? In the early years, when the Senate's foundation was still shaky and no maids were distributed, there had even been a "Maid Revolution." Once conditions improved, warmth and comfort bred wandering thoughts—even her own husband Mei Fa was no exception. She remembered negotiating with him for a full day and night just to move from their apartment in Bairen New City to the Agricultural Committee housing. They'd finally reached an agreement: she could move, provided his maid allowance increased from two to four. Zhang Xiao was different. For years, by all accounts, he'd kept away from women and men alike. People called him "The Last Luddite"—a pointed joke, though some whispered cruder explanations. Hard to imagine how any normal man survived that way.

Could he have some physical defect? She studied the thick beard on his chin. He certainly didn't look like a eunuch. Maybe he's waiting for someone?

The thought prompted a warning. "Listen here," Li Yao'er said. "Don't you dare set your sights on Hening. She's Zhao Yingong's goddaughter."

Zhang Xiao raised an eyebrow, apparently surprised. "Goddaughter? Even if she were his real daughter, that wouldn't be impossible. At worst, I'd have to call him father-in-law..." He grinned. "I'm joking."

After receiving Zhang Xiao's notification, the various departments of Nanhai County quickly arranged personnel for the grassroots inspection. If not the department head, then the deputy. Preparatory work began in earnest, and all travelers were required to submit detailed inspection plans.

Beyond examining the Mulberry Dike system, this inspection involved another major matter for Nanhai County: selecting a new location for the county seat. Currently, both Nanhai and Panyu counties were attached to the prefectural city, their administrative offices housed within Guangzhou itself. They functioned more like district governments than true county authorities. Their reach into the vast rural hinterland was minimal. For residents of remote villages and towns, traveling to the county seat to handle official business meant journeys of many li, creating endless inconvenience.

Though Zhang Xiao came from a technical background without deep administrative experience, he'd run modern pharmaceutical factories within the Senate system. Organizing drug projects from laboratory bench to large-scale production involved far more than poking glass jars and burning alcohol lamps. Even in an ideal communist society, people still faced three fundamental constraints: insufficient time, limited resources, and the need for collaboration. These were the limitations of being human.

Where did hundreds of raw materials, reagents, consumables, and packaging materials come from? How did you coordinate with suppliers and downstream partners? How did you set quality standards? How did you plead poverty to the Planning Academy? How did you handle the Planning Department's endless bureaucratic nonsense?

How did you choose a process route and make it work? If it couldn't be realized, how did you solve the technical bottlenecks? Without modern instruments, how did you ensure analytical methods remained reliable and stable? How did you transfer knowledge?

What specifications did process equipment, utility systems, and production workshops need to meet? If you couldn't explain these clearly to the Ministries of Machinery, Chemical Industry, Metallurgy, and Light Industry, a single misaligned interface could mean scrapping everything and starting over.

While conducting process development and scale-up, how did you design clinical trial protocols? How did you run double-blind controlled trials? How did you collect, tabulate, and analyze clinical data? The Senate had no FDA or CFDA enforcing standards, but human lives hung in the balance. Senators themselves would eventually depend on these drugs to extend their lives. There was no room for carelessness.

After large-scale production began, how did you plan output? How did you schedule operations? How did you arrange equipment maintenance? A dropped link anywhere in the chain meant running out of steam mid-production, or discovering too late that sterilization was skipped, or learning only after receiving a production order that no materials were available. There was a reason factory workers were the most organized social group.

The most critical problem was the shortage of technical talent. In the beginning, Senators had to do everything themselves, with naturalized workers and students assisting. When workers lacked basic knowledge, Senators had to break concepts down and spoon-feed them. When they lacked practical experience, Senators had to demonstrate each step by hand. When they lacked safety awareness, Senators had to put their own lives on the line to keep this crew of illiterate and semi-literate laborers from killing themselves. But this process also served to identify and cultivate talent. Unless promising technical cadres could be found, the burden on Senators never lightened. Once potential was spotted, how did you train them? How did you accelerate their growth into cadres who could work independently? This weighed heavily on every technical Senator's mind. Over time, most had developed what they called "Fiery Golden Eyes" for spotting talent and a personal "Sunflower Manual" for training and deploying people. Cha Wuchu often remarked that Zhang Xiao was a true all-rounder.

The phrase Zhang Xiao kept on his lips was: "An incompetent general works his army to death." Reporting project progress at his weekly meetings was an absolute nightmare for the naturalized cadres. Zhang Xiao understood the work intimately, but his subordinates often didn't. His questions frequently touched on concepts they'd never heard of. Not knowing something once was forgivable—go study in the reference room afterward. But if you still couldn't answer at the next meeting, prepare to be dressed down. As projects advanced to later stages, the scope broadened enormously. Zhang Xiao probed every detail, and department heads couldn't possibly know everything happening at lower levels. To avoid bearing responsibility, some started bringing subordinates to answer questions for them. Gradually, meeting attendance swelled. Zhang Xiao finally erupted, cursing and demanding that department heads stop bringing entourages—they must be responsible themselves. Those who couldn't figure things out should figure them out before coming. Whoever could master the material would be the cadre. Technical Senators who couldn't manage all this had long since left the industrial sector for other paths.

All of this made the requirements for drug project leaders extraordinarily demanding. They had to be versatile players with conviction and ideals, and they had to hold real authority—otherwise projects simply couldn't move forward. It was no exaggeration to say that modern pharmaceuticals were the brightest jewel in the crown of the Senate's industrial system.

(End of Chapter)