Guide to Rising to Power as a Wife in Beijing's Elite Circle

Chen Nuo had been sitting in front of the computer for three hours.

On Sunday afternoon, Fang Jingxiu was called to an emergency meeting at the ministry, and she had the study all to herself.

On the table were all of Director Yao's publicly available materials from the past five years, including his performance reports, lists of projects under his supervision, press releases from meetings he attended, and even several theoretical articles he had published in internal publications.

There was nothing there.

It's so clean, so very clean.

Every project has a complete process, every signature has a corresponding basis, and every public statement is steady and watertight.

Director Yao is like a template official generated according to standard procedures, without any flaws.

Chen Nuo rubbed his sore neck and took a sip of the now-cold tea.

Following the approach Fang Jingxiu had taught her, she investigated Director Yao's family relationships. His distant cousin did indeed own several companies, but their businesses were open and transparent, and had no overlap with the areas under Director Yao's jurisdiction.

She looked into the art market.

Director Yao does indeed appreciate calligraphy and paintings, but each purchase comes with a formal invoice, the source is traceable, and the price is reasonable.

She checked the property.

He only owns one old house allocated by his work unit, while his wife owns a small apartment with a clear loan record, and the monthly mortgage payments are deducted from her salary card.

It's too clean.

It's abnormally clean.

Chen Nuo leaned back in his chair, staring blankly at the ceiling.

Her initial guess was that Director Yao might be taking kickbacks through project outsourcing.

The broadcasting system outsources a large number of propaganda projects to film and television companies every year, which is the most common way to embezzle funds.

She spent a whole day investigating along this line, sifting through all the projects related to his area of ​​responsibility, but found nothing.

All winning bidders are legitimate enterprises, all bidding processes comply with regulations, and all project acceptances have complete documentation.

dead end.

Later, she thought that perhaps it was through personnel transfers that she could receive benefits. The broadcasting system has a tight staffing structure, and many people want to be transferred in.

She also checked the backgrounds of all the new employees who were in charge during Director Yao's tenure.

No.

All recruitment and transfers were conducted normally, and no one's resume was problematic.

It's another dead end.

Later, she even considered investigating his children's overseas studies.

Fang Jingxiu once said that many officials spend their money on their children's overseas education, with the older generation trying their best to hide it and the younger generation trying their best to show it off.

Director Yao's son is indeed studying abroad, but Chen Nuo had someone check and found that the source of the tuition fees was clear; it was money his wife had saved from doing business in her early years, and there were complete tax records.

It's all dead ends.

Chen Nuo stared at the computer screen, the initial excitement long gone, replaced only by exhaustion and frustration.

Did he really not embezzle?

impossible.

Fang Jingxiu once said that all officials are corrupt.

Director Yao has been in this position for so many years, overseeing only lucrative areas. How could he possibly be clean?

But where is the evidence?

She couldn't find it.

It gradually got dark outside the window, and dusk settled in.

Chen Nuo got up to pour himself a glass of water and stood by the window, lost in thought.

Downstairs is the bustling Anning Street, and the distant horizon is dyed orange-red by the setting sun.

In this city, how many people are on their way home from get off work? How many are worrying about dinner? How many are scavenging for food on the street and still can't get anything to eat? No, why can't they get anything to eat? Aren't people donating money?

and many more.

Donate money.

Chen Nuo's hand, which was holding the water glass, suddenly stopped.

She recalled a document she had inadvertently come across while organizing files some time ago.

That was last year's corporate social responsibility report from the broadcasting system. One of the figures was that the total amount donated by all employees of the system to the earthquake-stricken areas of Sichuan Province exceeded...

How much was it again?

She put down her water glass, walked quickly back to her computer, and opened the report.

found it.

In response to the Sichuan earthquake, employees of the broadcasting system donated a total of 12,847,563 yuan.

More than 12 million.

She didn't feel anything when she saw the number; she just thought everyone was very kind-hearted.

but now……

She continued scrolling down.

The donations were transferred to the disaster area through the Black Cross headquarters.

Next, continue.

Follow-up: None.

Chen Nuo stared at the blank space for a long time.

She suddenly remembered a detail.

She was still in elementary school when the Sichuan earthquake struck.

During that period, there were disaster reports everywhere. Seeing the collapsed houses, children who lost their parents, and people who were trapped under the rubble for more than ten hours, she cried several times.

She donated all her saved New Year's money to the Red Cross.

She also took a picture of the donation receipt and posted it on her WeChat Moments: "My humble contribution, wishing my compatriots peace."

Now, of the more than 12 million yuan in donations, 63,000 yuan belonged to her.

and then?

Did that money actually reach the disaster victims?

Chen Nuo's fingers began to tremble.

She opened the search box and started searching.

Sichuan earthquake, Black Cross Society, whereabouts of donations.

Sichuan Province earthquake, post-disaster reconstruction, and the use of funds.

Earthquake in Sichuan Province: Affected people and compensation standards.

Each line she read chilled her heart more and more.

The official report sounds impressive, stating that funds were used properly, reconstruction work was proceeding in an orderly manner, and affected people were properly resettled. But a closer look at the figures reveals something fishy…

Total social donations received: approximately 8.7 million yuan.

Expenditure on post-disaster reconstruction: approximately 3.2 million yuan.

Balance: 5.5 million yuan.

balance?

More than a year has passed since the earthquake, where is the remaining 5.5 million yuan in donations?

She continued her investigation.

Earthquakes were discovered in more than just Sichuan Province.

Five years ago, there were floods in the southwest, torrents in the northeast, and droughts in the northwest.

After every major disaster, the Black Cross receives a large amount of donations.

Each report outlines the regulations for the use of funds.

But each time, there are hundreds of millions or even billions of dollars left in the accounts.

What about that money?

Where did the money that ordinary people saved up from their meager savings to donate to disaster victims end up?

A terrifying thought suddenly popped into Chen Nuo's mind.

She started to adjust Director Yao's area of ​​responsibility. Wasn't he in charge of propaganda?

Does the Black Cross's propaganda also fall under their system's jurisdiction?

It's not directly managed, but there is overlap.

The Black Cross Society has a long-term strategic partnership with the broadcasting system.

Every year, a large number of public service announcements, fundraising campaigns, and disaster reporting are done with the help of the broadcasting system.

Director Yao is in charge of this part of the work.

in case……

Chen Nuo's hands trembled even more violently.

If Director Yao didn't directly embezzle project funds, but instead used his position to collude with people within the Black Cross Society to misappropriate donations...

She continued digging.

The more they dug, the more alarmed they became.

The Black Cross's accounts are not entirely closed to the public, but the only publicly available information is the total amount and major items.

Where exactly did that money go? Who handled it? Who approved it? And who ultimately ended up in their pocket?

No results found.

But one number completely stunned her.

In the Sichuan earthquake, among the donations that the authorities announced had been used, there was an item called temporary living allowance for disaster victims.

The standard is 20 yuan per person per day, which will be distributed for three months.

20 yuan a day.

Three months, 1800 yuan per person.

The official statistics for the number of people affected by the earthquake in Sichuan Province at that time were...

Chen Nuo did the math.

Even if all the disaster victims are included, the total expenditure of this money is only...

She stared at the numbers on the calculator, speechless for a long time.

Of the 8.7 million yuan in donations, the amount that actually reaches ordinary people is probably less than a fraction.

What about the rest?

That money, that money donated by millions of people like her, that money that carries the most basic goodwill of ordinary people towards their compatriots.

Where did you go?

Chen Nuo closed his eyes.

She recalled that when she donated 63,000 yuan, she hoped to help a child, feed a family, and provide a place for someone who had lost their home.

She never imagined that the money might never have reached the disaster victims.

She never imagined that someone would use that money to buy a villa, send their children abroad, and live a life of luxury.

She never imagined that the worst thing in the world was not blatant robbery, but taking advantage of kindness.

They exploit the sympathy of ordinary people who have lost everything in the disaster for their fellow sufferers, turning their hard-earned money into cash in their own pockets.

Chen Nuo opened his eyes and looked at the cold numbers on the computer screen.

8.7 million yuan in donations, 5.5 million yuan in surplus.

The actual amount used by ordinary people is probably only tens of thousands.

剩下的那些呢？

It all ended up in the pockets of Director Yao and his ilk.

She suddenly remembered a sentence that Fang Jingxiu had said before:

"The most profitable business in the world is profiting from human suffering."

She didn't quite understand at the time.

Now she understands.

Chen Nuo sat in front of the computer for a long time without moving.

The sky outside the window had completely darkened, and the city lights were gradually coming on.

There's no way of knowing how many people are eating, watching TV, or scrolling through their phones in those tall buildings in the distance.

The money they donated may be sitting in an official's overseas account.

The few hundred yuan they scrimped and saved might be going towards paying tuition for the son of some corrupt official.

The meager donations they made with tears in their eyes during the disaster may be being treated as a joke, discussed by others at a drinking party:

"How much did you receive today?"

"Not much, maybe tens of millions."

"Those ordinary people are really easy to fool; they hand over their money as soon as they hear about donations."

"They're stupid, what else would we eat if they weren't?"

Chen Nuo's fingers slowly clenched.

Now she knows.

All the donations she made were useless.

The money that people who were trapped under the rubble for dozens of hours, the children who lost their parents, and the people who lost everything overnight—it was all taken away.

The help they needed was taken away.

The hope they needed was also taken away.

Meanwhile, those who took the money are in a high-end restaurant, drinking bottles of wine worth hundreds of thousands of yuan, laughing and discussing when the next batch of donations will arrive.

What the hell kind of world is this?

Chen Nuo's eyes slowly reddened.

It wasn't for my own 63,000.

It is for those who truly need help.

They had just experienced an earthquake, losing their homes, their loved ones, and everything.

They thought society would help them, that the donations would reach them, and that there was still kindness in the world.

They didn't realize that the money would never reach their hands.

They didn't know that during their most difficult time, someone was profiting from their suffering.

Those who have just experienced the disaster must feel incredibly bitter to have their money embezzled.

Chen Nuo couldn't figure it out.

All she knew was that if she were sitting in the shoes of that disaster victim who had lost everything, she would know this.

She might go crazy.

The study door was pushed open.

Fang Jingxiu walked in, carrying a cup of hot milk.

When he returned from the meeting, he had changed into his pajamas, his hair was slightly disheveled, and he carried the chill of the night breeze.

Seeing Chen Nuo sitting motionless in front of the computer, he frowned slightly.

"What's wrong?" He walked over, placed the milk on the table, and glanced at the computer screen. "What did you find?"

Chen Nuo slowly raised her head.

"Brother Xiu," she said, her voice a little hoarse, "I found it."

Fang Jingxiu didn't speak, he just looked at her.

"Director Yao," Chen Nuo said, enunciating each word clearly, "he didn't directly embezzle project funds. He used donations from the Black Cross Society."

Fang Jingxiu's eyes flickered slightly.

"Regarding the Sichuan earthquake," Chen Nuo continued, "the total amount of donations was 8.7 million yuan, but only tens of millions of yuan were actually used for the benefit of ordinary people. The rest remained in the accounts. And those surpluses, through the cooperation projects between the Black Cross and the broadcasting system, were transferred layer by layer and eventually ended up in the pockets of Director Yao and his ilk."

She paused, her voice growing even colder:

"My donation of 63,000 is also included."

Fang Jingxiu remained silent for a long time.

Then, he reached out and pulled her into his arms.

Fang Jingxiu's palm slowly stroked her back, one stroke at a time.

"Today," he said, "you've seen another side of the world."

Chen Nuo looked up at him.

Fang Jingxiu lowered his head and placed a kiss on her forehead.

“Chen Nuo,” he said, “you’re not seeking justice for that 23,000. You’re seeking justice for those who had no idea the money had been embezzled.”

He paused.

"Those people have no ability to investigate, no channels to investigate, and don't even know they should investigate. They just foolishly believe that their kindness will be rewarded."

"But you are different."

"You have the ability, the connections, and the brains."

"So," he looked at her calmly, "you have to investigate for them. Seek justice for them. Make those people pay the price for them."

Chen Nuo looked at him, her eyes reddening again.

But this time, it wasn't because I was sad.

It's because she knows what she should do.

That night, the light in the study stayed on very late.

Chen Nuo meticulously reviewed the publicly available donation data, comparing each item with the Black Cross's accounting records, and meticulously noting down any discrepancies.

Each one represents the blood, sweat, and tears of an ordinary person.

Each one represents the life-saving money that a disaster victim should have received.

Each and every one of them represents a life lost in the hands of Director Yao and his ilk.