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

As Zhao Lichun spoke at the provincial party committee standing committee meeting, the plane trees outside the window in Jingzhou were releasing their fluffy seeds.

"Handong's economic work is progressing steadily and positively." Holding his teacup, he spoke calmly and unhurriedly, "The GDP growth rate in the first quarter was three percentage points higher than the same period last year, the scale of foreign investment continued to expand, and infrastructure construction progressed steadily. These achievements are the result of the wise policies of the central government and the joint efforts of cadres at all levels throughout the province."

The meeting room was filled with smoke. Some of the Standing Committee members were drinking tea, some were taking notes, and some were staring at the ashtrays in front of them. No one spoke.

Zhao Lichun put down his teacup.

"but--"

When this "but" came out, someone paused for a moment while holding a teacup.

"Faced with these achievements, I have noticed a worrying trend among some grassroots cadres." Zhao Lichun opened his notebook without looking at the specific contents.

"They get a little success and then become arrogant! They think they're amazing. They even start to challenge organizational principles and the leadership of the Party."

He closed the notebook.

"This phenomenon is only in its early stages. But if it is not stopped in time and allowed to spread, it will cause big problems in the future."

The meeting room was so quiet that you could hear the ticking of the second hand on the quartz clock on the wall.

"I'm bringing this up here today not to criticize some junior comrades, but to hope that everyone—especially the principal leaders of various cities and counties—will go back and seriously reflect on whether there are similar problems in their jurisdictions. If so, correct them; if not, strive to improve."

Zhao Lichun picked up his teacup, blew away the tea leaves, and took a sip.

"Comrade Lichun has finished speaking. If anyone has anything to say, please speak up. Otherwise, the meeting is adjourned!"

The sound of chair legs scraping against the floor rose and fell. The Standing Committee members, notebooks tucked under their arms, walked out without whispering to each other.

Everyone knows who Zhao Lichun is targeting.

Ningzhou, Anyang, Qingping.

But there was no name, and no specific location.

He was referring to nothing but "phenomena," nothing but "signs," nothing but "probable tendencies."

You want to argue? Argue about what? Argue that "being arrogant is bad"? Argue that "pride is wrong"?

You can only listen. Then go back and think about it—is he talking about me? If so, what should I do? If not, should I still be on guard?

Zhao Lichun didn't mention Qingping Township or the cooperative at all. He employed a strategy of besieging the enemy's stronghold and attacking their reinforcements, subduing them without a fight.

This is the level of a provincial-level cadre.

The news reached Ningzhou that afternoon.

When Party Secretary Zhao Guangping received the call, he was in his office approving documents.

The call was from an old acquaintance in the province. He only said one sentence: "Secretary Zhao said at the meeting that some cadres are getting arrogant."

Zhao Guangping held the microphone but didn't speak.

"No names were mentioned."

"understood."

After hanging up the phone, Zhao Guangping sat in his chair for a long time.

A member of the provincial standing committee said in front of the other eleven members of the provincial standing committee, "Some cadres are getting cocky."

The sentence itself is nothing special—just a routine reminder, a normal warning.

But it's not everyday life, it's not normal.

It was a supporting document to the Jingzhou Daily's article, "Beware of Turning Back the Wheel of History." The newspaper set the tone, and the Provincial Party Committee Standing Committee gave it a final push—the two things combined meant they weren't separate matters anymore. It was a signal.

The matter in Ningzhou is being watched closely, and under a magnifying glass.

Zhao Guangping lit a cigarette and took a puff.

He recalled the cooperative proposal submitted by Anyang County. He had read the articles of association—government guidance, village collective investment, and farmer shareholding—it was beautifully written.

But he was unsure: could this plan still be implemented? How should it be implemented? Would implementing it again invite further criticism?

He stubbed out his cigarette and made a phone call.

"Old Zhou, let's have a short meeting. Just a few of us from the Standing Committee, to discuss the cooperative in Qingping."

The municipal party committee standing committee meeting that evening lasted less than forty minutes.

No one has expressed their opinion, not because they don't want to, but because they don't know what opinion to express.

Zhao Lichun's speech had reached the ears of every member of the Standing Committee. Everyone knew that someone in the province was watching this matter, but who was watching? To what extent? Would there be any further action? Nobody knew.

If you don't know, then don't comment.

After the meeting, a member of the Standing Committee with provincial connections secretly made a phone call. The reply on the other end of the line was only eight words: "Let's wait and see, no rush to express our opinion."

Eight words, no explanation, no analysis, no advice. But that's enough. "No rush to express an opinion" is itself an expression of opinion.

The next day, in the conference room of Qingping Township Government.

A row of enamel mugs were placed there, but no one was in the mood to drink tea.

Wu Xiang sat at one end of the table, with Yang Fan to his left. Organization committee member Sun Xiaohong twirled her pen twice without stopping, while propaganda committee member Zhou Dequan stared at his notebook without turning a single page. Deputy township head Zhao Dayong clenched his fists, remaining silent.

Wu Xianggang finished reading Zhao Lichun's speech.

"That's the situation." Wu Xiang put down the fax, his eyes behind his gold-rimmed glasses were bloodshot.

"At the provincial party committee standing committee meeting, it was said that 'some cadres are getting cocky.' They didn't name names, but everyone knows in their hearts that they were probably referring to us."

No one responded.

Zhao Dayong stood up, then sat down again. He opened his mouth, then closed it again.

Han Zheng leaned back in his chair and tapped his knee twice with his fingers. He was the secretary of the Discipline Inspection Commission, a man of few words, and he didn't intend to speak today either.

The meeting lasted less than twenty minutes and ended without any resolutions or next steps; it was merely a study of the spirit of the provincial party committee standing committee meeting.

It's not that I don't want to deploy it—it's that I don't know how to deploy it.

The cooperative has stopped operating; there's no official document stating it should be shut down, but there's also no document stating it can continue.

Zhao Lichun's speech is out, and everyone understands the province's meaning. If the report is sent forward again, is it sending Zhao Guangping to be the one to run into the line of fire? Or is it sending Wu Aiguo to be the one to run into the line of fire?

Nobody dares to take the blame.

Yang Fan and Wu Xiang returned to the office.

The water in the enamel mug had gone completely cold. Yang Fan didn't refill it; he just picked it up and took a sip.

"Secretary Wu."

Wu Xiang stood by the window without turning around.

"Do you think—is there still a chance for us?"

Yang Fan put the jar down. The chipped piece of iron ware gleamed gray under the fluorescent light. "I don't know," he paused, "but I do know one thing."

Wu Xiang turned around.

"If we relax now, the people of Qingping will fall apart."

Wu Xiang's Adam's apple bobbed slightly.

"But how are we supposed to tell the people?" He tugged at his collar. "Should we say the cooperative is suspended indefinitely? That the province won't allow it anymore? That our previous promises are worthless?"

Yang Fan did not respond.

Wang Defa's voice came from the courtyard. He had come all the way from Wangjiaping, saying that the village's walnut trees had begun to sprout new buds, that every household had turned over their mushroom fields on the mountain, and that everyone was waiting for news from the cooperative—"Mayor Yang, is the cooperative still going to be established?"

Chen Ming stopped him in the courtyard, his voice low: "Uncle Wang, you should go back first. The township will give you an explanation—"

"What explanation do I want?" Wang Defa's voice grew louder and louder.

"What I need is a definite answer! We've already signed the shareholder roster, prepared the land, and bought the fertilizer. We're just waiting for the cooperative to handle the planting and harvesting—and now you're saying you'll stop?"

Yang Fan put the enamel mug he was holding on the table, stood up, and Wu Xiang called out to him from behind.

Yang Fan did not turn around.

In the courtyard, Wang Defa saw him walk out of the office building and stop. He clenched his fists, and his eyes were a little red.

"Mayor Yang."

"Uncle Wang."

Wang Defa opened his mouth, then swallowed his words. He then squatted down, took out a cigarette from his pocket, lit it, and took a drag. The smoke drifted through the courtyard.

"I just want to ask—are we still going to continue this cooperative?"

Yang Fan squatted down without saying a word.

The courtyard remained quiet for a long time.

"Let's do it," Yang Fan said. "As long as I'm still here, the cooperative won't fail."

Wang Defa looked up, stared at Yang Fan for a long time, then stubbed out his cigarette and stood up. "Mayor Yang, I believe you."

He brushed the dirt off his pants. "But our goods can't wait too long!"

Wang Defa turned and left. The old yellow dog in the yard chased after him for a few steps, then lay back down on the threshold.

Yang Fan squatted on the ground, and Wu Xiang came out of the office building and stood next to him.

"Old Yang."

"Um."

"Do you even believe what you just said—'As long as you're still here, the cooperative won't fail'?"

Yang Fan stood up and remained silent for a while.

"have no idea."

Wu Xiang didn't ask any more questions.

The two men stood in the courtyard for a long time, while Old Huang, who worked at the gatehouse next door, fell asleep on the table. The phone rang, startling Old Huang awake. He wiped the drool from his mouth and answered the call.

"Hey? Qingping Township." He listened for a while, then covered the receiver, turned around and shouted, "Secretary Wu, Township Head Yang, the county committee is calling."

Wu Xiang strode into the reception room and picked up the microphone.

"I am Wu Xiang."

The conversation on the other end of the phone lasted a long time. Wu Xiang listened, occasionally humming in agreement. Finally, he said "I understand" and put the receiver down.

"Secretary Wu will come tomorrow."

Yang Fan raised his head.

"He said he was coming to do research." Wu Xiang looked at him. "Before he came, he asked us to clarify the entire process of the cooperative from now until the end, and also to arrange to visit the villagers and see what their situation is like."

It's a survey. It's not a halt, nor an approval. It's not support, nor opposition.

That's great! At least the issue of the cooperative hasn't been downplayed!

But the provincial authorities are still focused on this remote, remote area. At the provincial, municipal, county, and township levels—every link in the chain is waiting for someone else to make the first move.

Can the cooperative wait?