I feel right at home in the world of the courtyard house.

A large-scale meeting is in full swing on the playground of a factory in Dengzhou.

The platform was packed with workers, and a row of people were tied up on it, wearing tall hats and signs. They were dejected and listened to the slogans shouted from below.

His name was hanging around his neck, a big name with his crimes written on it: capitalist roader, corrupt official, restorationist.

The sign around the neck of the person in the very center was particularly eye-catching—"Mastermind, Traitor," listing almost every possible accusation.

The director of the Revolutionary Committee of the Shandong Provincial Metallurgical Bureau was now ashen-faced. He never imagined things would turn out this way.

He originally thought his reputation would still be effective, after all, he had served as the director of the Revolutionary Committee for so many years and had dealt with many people from the original Revolutionary Committee of the factory area. In the past, everyone who saw him flattered him and followed his lead. He came over with full confidence to "mediate" and try to suppress the matter—but as soon as he arrived, the other party turned on him on the spot and pinned him down.

These past two days, he truly experienced what it means for time to drag on endlessly. He used to be the one messing with others and showering them with compliments; this was the first time he'd ever received such praise, and it was truly awful.

What chilled him even more was that he knew he was finished—his political career was over.

This incident happened because he first tried to cover it up, then he was detained and made such a fool of himself. Even if he doesn't go to jail after he gets out, he won't have a good ending.

Sometimes he wonders if he should have been tougher and resisted directly, even sacrificing himself in the factory. That way, he could atone for his mistakes and make things easier for his children. Otherwise, his whole family would be doomed.

He tried to lift his head to look, but the position was too uncomfortable for him, so he could only turn his head to the side. Then he looked at the indignant employees, their faces full of anger as they shouted and cursed at him. His previous thoughts vanished instantly. Better to live than die. He wasn't guilty of anything, was he? He only resorted to this tactic for the sake of stability. The higher-ups should understand him, right?

However, the scene in the crowd below the stage was quite different.

"Old Song, what are you doing here?" A middle-aged employee in his forties recognized the familiar face next to him and exclaimed in surprise.

"Why can't I be here?" Old Song glanced at him sideways.

"Aren't you related to that factory director? If he sees you working there, won't you lose face?"

The other person chuckled maliciously, "Give me a break! Who's related to him? This guy turned his back on everyone after he got back to work. I asked him to help me get a different job, but he refused. What kind of relative is that? He deserves to be in this situation!"

Old Song said with righteous indignation.

"So... is it true that they embezzled and accepted bribes to buy fewer machines?" The coworker changed the subject again.

Old Song snorted, "Who cares if it's true or not? Whoever's on stage, we'll listen to them, that's always right. Besides, isn't this great? It's like going back to the old days. Ever since the Revolutionary Committee was ousted, when have we had a chance to catch our breath? It's all just work, work, and more work. I've done more work in the last six months than in the previous years combined. My old bones are practically falling apart."

Old Song said angrily, glancing sideways at his coworker.

The coworker chuckled, "It's true, you don't know, but these past few days I've really felt uneasy not getting up early. I can't even sleep in, haha."

"That's right!" Old Song clapped his hands matter-of-factly. "All you talk about is superiority, but what's so superior about it? It's letting us sleep in until we naturally wake up, doing less work and getting more money, that's what superiority is, isn't it?"

"Old Song, you're really insightful. What you said makes sense." The coworker then looked around again. "Hey, where's the rest of our team?"

Old Song chuckled, "Don't bother looking, they're not here. They're playing cards in the workshop."

"Why didn't you call?" a coworker asked in confusion.

"I don't have any money," Old Song said matter-of-factly. "Besides, I have things to do at home; I need to go back and check on things later."

"Then I'll have you bring me something back. I need to stay here and join in the fun," the coworker said.

"What is it?" Old Song asked.

"On our new production line, the machine our team is responsible for, I saw a nice light inside, so I took it off. Could you take it home for me later? I'll use it as a table lamp for my child."

"Damn, you're really fast!" Old Song's eyes widened. "I've been eyeing that light for ages, and you took it apart the moment I stopped working these past two days!"

"First come, first served, hahaha." The coworker laughed smugly.

The two exchanged a smile, while the surrounding chants continued unabated, and the performance on stage continued.

In the office building facing the playground, a person stood by the window, quietly watching the bustling noise below. Behind him stood a group of people, relaxed, chatting and laughing, occasionally whispering.

One of them approached, speaking with fervent respect: "Director Fei, what do you think? This is what it means to have the people's support! With your prestige, I told you long ago, all you had to do was give a call, and the workers in our factory would immediately respond. Taking down these people would be a piece of cake."

Director Fei didn't turn around, but the corner of his mouth twitched slightly. He stared at the crowd below the stage, his gaze calm and restrained, before speaking after a moment: "Old He, stop with the pleasantries. The hard battle isn't over yet. We need to get official recognition first, otherwise we're still operating illegally."

"Isn't this just a matter of time?" Committee Member He said with a confident smile. "Didn't we do the same thing back in '66? It can't be wrong. Besides, there's a strong wind blowing right now, and we're just going with the flow. Who dares to say anything? What about the higher-ups? We represent the grassroots workers now. We want self-governance. If our factory doesn't listen to them, we'll say we'll listen directly to the central government. What can they do to us?"

As Committee Member He was speaking, he turned around and shouted to a group of people behind him.

The group of people behind him immediately echoed him, their voices filled with excitement and pride.

Director Fei remained seated by the window, his gaze fixed on the throng of people outside. The crowd below was a dense, dark mass, chanting slogans incessantly. A faint smile finally formed on Director Fei's lips, but it vanished quickly, as if he had just remembered something.

After a moment, he tilted his head and said, "Xiao Lin."

"Director Fei, I'm here!" A young man squeezed through the crowd, a eager smile on his face, nodding obsequiously as he appeared behind Director Fei, bowing low.

Director Fei turned and looked him up and down, then smiled: "Xiao Lin, no, Committee Member Lin."

"Director Fei, you can just call me Xiao Lin. I'll always be Xiao Lin in front of you," Xiao Lin said respectfully, with a fawning expression.

"That won't do. They absolutely must use their official titles during work hours." Director Fei's tone was gentle but firm. "Committee Member Lin, I have a task for you: make sure their testimonies are complete. The fact that the new production line lacks crucial safety equipment must be confirmed; they must admit it. Without this, we have no legitimate grounds for action."

"Understood, Director Fei, please rest assured."