Courtyard House: Drunk and tipsy, the whole courtyard exposed at the start.

"You write the songs, I play the guitar, my brother manages the accounts, and Mancang will be our bodyguard! We'll definitely be more popular than these British guys!"

"Yes, yes, yes! Our song is definitely better than theirs!" Qin Mancang chimed in.

Zhang Yaoyang (Zhang Dabiao) waved his hand with a smile, and then slapped someone on the back of the head.

"Forget it, I'm tone-deaf. If I sang, I'd send you all packing."

"Besides, I don't do things that require me to be in the public eye, I have no interest in that."

In Hong Kong, he is known as Roy Cheung, not Zhang Dabiao, the musician and artist from mainland China.

What he prefers is staying behind the scenes, watching the numbers in his bank account slowly rise. That sense of security in quietly making a fortune is much better than standing in the spotlight and receiving cheers from thousands.

------------

At the end of the month, Zhang Dabiao's more than one-month "sick leave" finally came to an end.

His severely injured body, which he had punched, had long since recovered thanks to the refresh function of the home and the meticulous care of Mu Wanqing and Qin Jingru, and was even more robust than before.

He hopped on the gleaming sidecar motorcycle, and with a loud "putt-putt-putt" roar, sped off, heading straight for the Ministry of Foreign Trade.

The familiar aroma of tea and the smell of ink from documents still lingered in Director Zhao's office.

"You little rascal, you finally decided to show your face!"

Upon seeing Zhang Dabiao, Director Zhao immediately stood up from behind his desk, looking him up and down with concern on his face.

"How are you feeling? What did the hospital say? I heard you almost went to meet Marx!"

Zhang Dabiao coughed twice in agreement, took out a thick stack of receipts from his satchel, and slammed them on Director Zhao's desk.

His face still looked somewhat sickly pale—he had been resting too much lately and hadn't been getting much sun.

"Director Zhao, look, this is my medical record and the hospital's prescription."

He pointed to the most conspicuous "critical condition notice," sighed, and his voice revealed weakness and helplessness.

"My body is completely broken. The doctor said I can't take any strenuous activity, and I can't get emotionally agitated. I need to rest for a long time."

Director Zhao picked up the critical condition notice and his eyelids twitched involuntarily when he saw the words "internal organ damage".

Seeing his reaction, Zhang Dabiao continued, "So... Director Zhao, I've come today to talk to you about something."

"I'm afraid I'm not up to the task of working at the Ministry of Foreign Trade."

"With my frail body, I'd be lucky if I didn't cause trouble for the organization, let alone contribute to the country."

The moment those words were spoken, the air in the office seemed to freeze instantly.

Director Zhao's hand holding the medical record froze in mid-air. He looked up, his gaze complex as he looked at the young man before him.

The smile on his face slowly disappeared, replaced by an indescribable shock and seriousness.

give up?

Giving up the benefits of a deputy section chief? Giving up a secure job that countless people would kill for?

Director Zhao looked at Zhang Dabiao's "pale" face, then looked down at the shocking critical condition notice, and fell into a long silence.

The office was so quiet that only the ticking of the clock on the wall could be heard.

Director Zhao remained silent for a long time before slowly putting down the medical record in his hand, his fingers tapping unconsciously on the table.

He knew exactly what was going on.

Zhang Dabiao, though young, is as cunning as a monkey.

Whether this critical illness notice is real or fake is not important; what is important is that it is a perfect excuse, a reason that no one can refute.

Director Zhao knew the true colors of those people in the ministry all too well; they were all eyeing Zhang Dabiao’s patents and foreign exchange with such fervor that their eyes were practically red.

If Zhang Dabiao really came in with the benefits of a healthy deputy section chief, he would be devoured alive by those people within three days.

All sorts of open and covert attacks, all sorts of buck-passing and scapegoating, could drive him crazy.

Moreover, the atmosphere within the ministry has indeed been somewhat off in the past year, with a storm brewing.

The guy's decision to withdraw at this time was, I must say, a brilliant move.

Thinking of this, Director Zhao sighed deeply, his tone softening.

"Da Biao, are you really sure?"

Zhang Dabiao nodded solemnly, his attitude resolute.

"I've made up my mind, Director Zhao."

"I can return the house my employer allocated to me, as well as this motorcycle. I don't want my salary either."

"If the department needs my design services in the future, as long as I have any new ideas, you can contact me anytime, and I will never refuse."

These words were spoken with sincerity and righteousness, without leaving any room for error.

Director Zhao looked at him with a hint of appreciation in his eyes.

This kid is not only smart, but he also knows when to advance and when to retreat. He's got the makings of someone who can achieve great things.

"Alright."

Director Zhao stood up and patted Zhang Dabiao on the shoulder.

"I will bring your situation to the departmental meeting for discussion."

He lowered his voice and added a pointed remark.

"Perhaps... this really is the best choice."

------------

In the afternoon, the atmosphere in the conference room of the Ministry of Foreign Trade was unusually tense.

When Director Zhao announced that Zhang Dabiao had requested to resign from his position and give up his permanent position and benefits due to health reasons, the entire conference room erupted in chaos.

"What? Give up his permanent position? Is he out of his mind?!" A deputy director in charge of personnel was the first to slam his fist on the table.

"This is utterly ridiculous! The organization values ​​him so much, giving him the待遇 of a deputy section chief, and this is how he acts? He doesn't know what's good for him!"

"Exactly! Those patents should have belonged to the company! Now he wants to just walk away and keep all the benefits for himself? No way!"

A group of leaders, who were waiting for Zhang Dabiao to come in so they could "reap the rewards," were all indignant, spitting as they spoke, as if Zhang Dabiao had committed some heinous crime.

Director Zhao watched the group's disgraceful behavior with a cold eye, without saying a word.

After they had finished cursing, he leisurely slammed Zhang Dabiao's critical illness notice, along with a thick stack of hospital diagnostic certificates, onto the center of the conference table with a loud "thud."

"Have you finished speaking?"

Director Zhao's voice wasn't loud, but it carried an undeniable air of authority.

"If any of you don't believe me, you can go to the hospital to verify it yourselves."

"How much foreign exchange has he earned for the country? In just these three years, it's equal to the combined contributions of all of you here! How many awards has he won internationally, how much glory has he brought to the nation? And what about you?"

"Now that his health has collapsed and he's barely escaped death, what are you doing? Instead of thinking about how to comfort this hero, you're scheming to take advantage of his little possessions?"

"Where are your faces?!"

A barrage of questions, like a machine gun, silenced the entire conference room.

The leaders who were shouting the loudest just moments ago are now all mute, heads bowed, their faces alternating between pale and flushed, wishing they could disappear into the ground.

That critical illness notice, written in black and white, was like a resounding slap across the face of each of them.

Ultimately, the meeting reached a consensus in an awkward and strange atmosphere.

Zhang Dabiao's deputy section chief rank benefits and monthly salary of ninety yuan—

It has been withdrawn.