Official title: Refused to stay at the university, started his career in a rural town.

Three days later, in the conference room of the Anyang County Development and Reform Bureau.

The county-wide agricultural industry planning symposium lasted from 2:00 PM to 5:30 PM. Yang Fan sat in the back row, his notebook filled with three pages of notes. The executive deputy county head, Ma Zemin, who chaired the meeting, chain-smoked, turning the meeting room into a chimney.

As the meeting adjourned, Yang Fan was packing his things and preparing to leave.

"Mayor Yang."

Deputy County Head Fang Hang walked around the side of the stage, carrying an enamel mug and smiling warmly. He was the deputy county head in charge of agriculture, in his early fifties, with gray hair, speaking slowly and deliberately, and was known in the county as a "workhorse."

"County Chief Fang." Yang Fan stopped.

"That industrial integration you mentioned earlier is quite interesting." Fang Hang pushed up his glasses. "Your idea of ​​Qingping combining apples, mountain delicacies, and tea into a cooperative—I've been thinking about it for days, but I still can't quite grasp it."

Yang Fan quickly replied politely.

Fang Hang glanced at his watch: "Okay, I have to go see the county head now. You can leave later. I'll treat you tonight, and we can talk about it in detail. Please explain the Qingping plan to me thoroughly, so I'll have a better understanding of how the county coordinates with various bureaus and departments in the future."

Yang Fan hesitated for a moment.

Fang Hang laughed: "What, afraid I'll force you to drink?"

"no."

"That's good then." Fang Hang patted him on the shoulder. "Just grab something simple at the cafeteria."

The private room in the cafeteria wasn't large, and six dishes were laid out on the round table. Fang Hang asked the waiter to open a bottle of Handong Daqu liquor and poured a cup for Yang Fan.

"Let's chat while we drink."

Fang Hang picked up his wine cup, clinked it against Yang Fan's, and downed it in one gulp. Yang Fan followed suit.

"I've read the articles of association of your cooperative," Fang Hang said, picking up a peanut. "Government guidance, village collective investment, and farmer shareholding—who came up with this structure?"

Yang Fan put down his chopsticks: "It was decided by the township."

"Discussion?" Fang Hang laughed. "Xiao Yang, don't try to fool me. The shareholder roster for the nine villages in Qingping Township, how many shares each household holds, how much each share is worth, and how dividends are calculated—can these things be decided without someone making the final decision?"

Yang Fan remained silent.

He put down his wine cup and leaned forward: "Xiao Yang, the core of your cooperative isn't 'cooperation,' but 'guidance'—the government doesn't take the lion's share, but rather gives the profits to the village collective and farmers. To be honest, in all my years working in agriculture in the county, this is the first time I've seen this approach."

Yang Fan said, "County Chief Fang, Qingping is poor, and the people don't have any money. If the government interferes again, this project won't get done."

"Well said." Fang Hang picked up his wine cup and clinked it against his. "Then tell me, what are your next steps?"

Yang Fan talked about everything from tea garden management to brand promotion, from mountain delicacies distribution channels to Hengtong cooperation. Fang Hang listened attentively, occasionally interjecting with a question—not a perfunctory "uh-huh," but a precise inquiry that hit the nail on the head regarding Yang Fan's plan.

"Your small can of tea is priced at ninety-eight yuan a box, a limited edition, with tasting events." Fang Hang counted on his fingers, "Nobody in our county has ever tried this approach before. How did you come up with it?"

Yang Fan paused for a moment: "County Chief Fang, when it comes to tea, it's not about selling the leaves, it's about selling face."

Fang Hang slammed his hand on the table: "That's right! It's all about saving face!"

He poured Yang Fan another cup and filled his own: "Young Yang, to be honest, in all these years I've been in charge of agriculture, I've seen many capable cadres. But there aren't many like you who can think through the entire industry from beginning to end."

Yang Fan picked up his wine cup: "County Chief Fang, you flatter me."

"No need for compliments." Fang Hang tilted his head back and drank. "Your Qingping's planning will become a model for our county. Go ahead and do it with confidence. I'll help you coordinate with all the bureaus and departments in the county."

"Xiao Yang, there's another question." Fang Hang put down his wine cup and tapped his fingers on the table.

"Your cooperative in Qingping has a charter that states 'government guidance, village collective investment, and farmers holding shares.' To put it bluntly, this structure gives the majority of the profits to the village."

He paused.

"Then let me ask you this—what if the cooperative grows bigger and the profits increase, and some villagers get envious and want to withdraw their shares and start their own businesses? What will you do then?"

Yang Fan picked up the enamel mug, found that the wine was gone, and put it down again.

"County Chief Fang, we've thought about this issue." He picked up his chopsticks, dipped them in the soup, and drew a circle on the table. "The cooperative's articles of association have three strict rules. First, shares can only be transferred to the village collective at the original price; private resale is prohibited. Second, the cooperative centrally procures agricultural materials and manages sales channels. If an individual withdraws, both raw materials and sales channels are cut off—their costs will be extremely high. Third…"

Yang Fan pointed out a few things in the circle.

"So, your 'voluntary investment, free withdrawal' policy, while seemingly open, is actually locked up?"

Yang Fan shook his head.

"It's not about locking it down completely; it's about letting the villagers decide for themselves whether it's worth it to move out!"

"What a brilliant 'let him figure it out himself' approach." He slammed his wine cup on the table. "Xiao Yang, the draft you've put together is far more sophisticated than most of the documents I've seen in the county."

He poured a cup for Yang Fan and then filled his own cup.

The two started chatting, with Fang Hang in high spirits. They talked about everything from industrial integration to brand building, from cooperative bylaws to the distribution of village collective profits. Every time they discussed a highlight of Yang Fan's plan, he would raise his wine cup and clink glasses.

Yang Fan initially counted them, but later he couldn't count them anymore.

Fang Hang speaks slowly and deliberately, but his skill in persuading others to drink is impeccable—"Xiao Yang, that's a good point, worth a drink." "I have to toast you for your way of thinking." "Young people have quick minds, let's have another one." Every sentence hits the mark, making it impossible to refuse.

Yang Fan's alcohol levels were gradually rising; his face was flushed, and his speech was starting to become a little unsteady.

Fang Hang picked up his wine cup again: "Xiao Yang, to tell you the truth—if it weren't for you coming to Qingping, we old folks would have had to wait decades longer to turn our impoverished mountain village around. This cup is a thank you on behalf of the people of Qingping."

Yang Fan paused for a moment while holding the wine cup.

Then I tilted my head back and drank it.

As his Adam's apple bobbed, a thought flashed through his mind—every word Fang Hang uttered today had precisely hit the spot he cared about most.

Fang Hang put down his wine cup, leaned back in his chair, and smiled warmly like a friendly uncle: "You young people are really good at thinking things through."

There was a knock on the door.

Liaison officer Xiao Zhang leaned in halfway: "County Chief Fang, it's getting late, there's a meeting tomorrow, what do you think—"

Fang Hang glanced at his watch: "Oh, it's 9:30." He stood up. "Then let's do this, Xiao Yang. Let's get closer from now on."

Yang Fan stood up, his legs feeling a little unsteady.

As Yang Fan stepped out of the cafeteria, a gust of night wind blew, and the effects of the alcohol surged up. He grabbed the doorframe, and the steps in front of him suddenly became two.

Fang Hang stood beside him and asked with concern, "Are you alright?"

"It's alright." Yang Fan shook his head. "County Chief Fang, you go first, I'll cover you."

Fang Hang laughed: "That's ridiculous! You're just a local from Qingping Township, how can you expect me, a local, to go first? You go first, I'll keep an eye on you."

Yang Fan quickly said no need.

Fang Hang waved his hand again, his tone amiable but leaving no room for refusal: "You've been drinking, are you still conscious? You go first, I still have a liaison officer. Xiao Zhang, take Mayor Yang to his car."

Xiao Zhang responded.

Unable to refuse, Yang Fan walked towards the parking area. His steps were a little unsteady, but his mind was still clear.

The moment you open the car door, sit in the driver's seat, and insert the key—

The finger stopped.

Cold sweat seeped from my back.

He recalled the deceptive tactics he had seen while watching short videos in his past life—a leader setting a trap, urging someone to drink, and then a phone call, and the traffic police would appear at the entrance of the residential area on time to check for drunk driving.

Drunk driving!

Although drunk driving is not yet a criminal offense, if a leading cadre is caught driving under the influence, especially given that Zhao Ruilong is currently keeping an eye on Qingping, a single notice from the Discipline Inspection Commission could cost him the cooperative and even the township head his job.

Also, isn't it too much of a coincidence that we're having this drinking party today?

However, Fang Hang's questions were indeed well-prepared, each one hitting the key points of his plan. But because of this, he drank much more than usual.

Fang Hang praised him, and every word he said made sense—not the kind of empty flattery, but a precise recognition that hit the nail on the head regarding what he cared about most: "being understood."

A deputy county head in charge of agriculture comes to flatter the township head?

But if they were deliberately trying to trick him, would they really go that far? Yang Fan was a little puzzled.

But no matter how unpredictable things may be, for safety's sake, don't drink and drive!

Yang Fan pulled out the key, pushed open the car door, staggered to the roadside, and bent over to dry heave.

Fang Hang strode over: "What's wrong?"

Yang Fan waved his hand, his voice muffled, "It's nothing... I just felt really dizzy from the sudden change in temperature." He straightened up and leaned against the tree trunk, "County Chief Fang, I'm afraid I won't be able to leave today."

Fang Hang's gaze froze for a moment.

Immediately, that kind smile returned to his face: "It's alright, Xiao Zhang, take Mayor Yang to the guesthouse."

Xiao Zhang took Yang Fan's arm, and Yang Fan leaned half of his body on Xiao Zhang's shoulder, his legs weak, and followed him toward the guesthouse.

Fang Hang stood there, watching the two figures disappear around the corner.

The night wind ruffled his hair a little, so he took off his glasses, wiped them, and put them back on.

Then he took out his phone and dialed a number.

When the call connected, his voice was as clear as if he hadn't drunk a drop of alcohol: "President Du, this Yang Fan is extremely cautious; he didn't dare drive."

There was a two-second silence on the other end of the phone.

Du Bozhong's voice was unhurried: "What a pity, he escaped a disaster."

Fang Hang hung up the phone, put it back in his pocket, and the corridor lights cast a long shadow of him. He stood there for a while, then turned and walked in another direction.

Footsteps echoed in the empty courtyard, one after another, unhurriedly.

In the guesthouse room, Yang Fan leaned against the door.

The footsteps in the corridor faded into the distance.

He opened his eyes.

The effects of the alcohol were still there, but her eyes were as clear as ice water.

He walked to the window and lifted a corner of the curtain. The courtyard was empty; Xiao Zhang was no longer there. The streetlights cast the shadows of the sycamore trees on the ground, which swayed violently in the wind.

Yang Fan took out his phone, scrolled through his contacts, paused at Wu Xiang's number for a moment, thought about it, and then put it down.

It's best not to spread this uncertain information. Just remind Wu Xiang when we get back tomorrow morning.