Me! A high-ranking official!

"Director, I've already left the office and was just about to go to..." Wang Pingping's voice was light and cheerful on the other end of the phone.

"Back to the office." Zhao Jianguo's voice was deep and authoritative. "Notify all the directors in the bureau that there will be a meeting at six o'clock in the small conference room. Go back now and take notes. I'm on my way."

"Huh? But I already have plans..."

"Wang Pingping," Zhao Jianguo interrupted her, his tone devoid of any warmth, "This is a direct order from Director Zhang, and it's also a project that the new county party secretary, Secretary Zhou, is overseeing."

There was a two-second silence on the other end of the phone before Wang Pingping gave a helpless reply.

At six o'clock in the evening, the small conference room of the Culture and Tourism Bureau was filled with so much smoke that it could choke a person to death.

Several old air conditioners were whirring and panting heavily. Several department heads from the bureau, each holding a thermos, sat around an oval conference table and held a "brainstorming session" that lasted for two whole hours.

"If you ask me, since Secretary Zhou has spoken, we have to go all out!" Old Li from the planning department slammed the lid of his teacup shut, spitting as he spoke. "That wretched place, Xiaozhai Village, you won't even hear a sound without throwing in thirty million! We have to ask the county for money—road repairs, landscaping, building an antique-style archway—not a single penny less, and we can't get anything done!"

"Director Li, you've taken too big a step," Sister Wang from the Marketing Department said, pursing her lips as she flipped through a few pages of hastily prepared drafts by Zhao Jianguo. "City people are shrewd these days. Who has time to go to the countryside to look after dilapidated houses? You think you can get people to spend money on a few chickens and ducks? You're too naive. If they invest money and it doesn't even make a splash, who's going to take the blame for the year-end performance review?"

A group of people expressed their opinions, some wanting money, some pouring cold water on the idea, but they all boiled down to one core idea: this matter is difficult to handle, so don't get involved. After two hours, they had written tens of thousands of words of nonsense, without offering a single constructive suggestion.

Zhang Baocheng sat in the main seat with his eyelids drooping. Seeing that everyone had almost finished arguing, he stubbed out his cigarette and cleared his throat.

"Alright, alright, everyone's opinions are very pertinent and insightful." Zhang Baocheng adopted the air of a bureau chief, his gaze naturally falling on Zhao Jianguo, who was quietly taking notes in the corner: "Jianguo, you've just arrived, this is precisely the time for you to take on responsibilities. You must fully absorb the insightful opinions from the directors just now. Work hard tonight, make this plan solid, detailed, and feasible! Meeting adjourned!"

As soon as he finished speaking, the directors, as if they had received a pardon, grabbed their notebooks and ran away faster than rabbits.

Zhao Jianguo looked at the empty conference room and the notebook filled with nonsense in front of him, and rubbed his temples speechlessly. What is bureaucratic tai chi? This is it. With a single push, all the bombshells finally landed squarely on his head, the one who wrote them.

Back in his office, he resignedly turned on his computer, filtering out the empty talk from the directors, sifting through information online, and meticulously examining every detail: How are the daily wages for NPCs calculated? What are the maintenance standards for the courtyard? How can fire hazards be avoided…

The office was so quiet that only the sound of typing could be heard. The ashtrays on the desk quickly piled up into a small mountain. It wasn't until 3:30 in the morning, when my eyes were so dry that they felt like I was rubbing sand, that a seven- or eight-page "Xiaozhai Village Immersive Cultural Tourism Pilot Program" was finally completed. The program was logically sound and included a specific implementation budget.

He printed it out, neatly arranged the papers on the table, dragged his leaden legs back to a nearby budget hotel, and slept until eight in the morning.

The next morning, he went to Zhang Baocheng's office with the proposal in high spirits, only to find it empty. He waited until almost 11 o'clock before Zhang Baocheng walked in, carrying his bag and yawning.

As soon as he entered, he noticed that Zhang Baocheng had two huge dark circles under his eyes, and his eyes were bloodshot.

"Director Zhang, the proposal is finished. Could you please review it?" He quickly went up to him and handed over the proposal.

Zhang Baocheng sank into the boss's chair, casually flipped through a couple of pages, and nodded without even reading all the subheadings: "Hmm, not bad, quite solid writing. I heard you stayed up until midnight last night? You've worked hard, Jianguo. You need to have this kind of workaholic spirit to do your job. Alright, you can go back and rest now."

That's it?

His heart sank. This was no ordinary speech to fool the old county magistrate. This afternoon, he was facing Zhou Qingyan, who had just taken office and was about to start his own business. Zhang Baocheng didn't even need to look at it. If he was stumped by questions about the specific details during his report this afternoon, he would make a huge fool of himself!

"Director Zhang, I think there are a few key points that I need to verbally report to you..." He forced himself to stay and began to quickly recount the core data and operating model in the plan.

Zhang Baocheng was clearly not listening. He stood up, walked to the washstand in the corner of the office, turned on the tap, and the sound of the running water instantly drowned out his voice.

Zhang Baocheng bent over, scooped up cold water with both hands and splashed it on his face, making a "slurping" sound. After he finished speaking rapidly about the most crucial cost control, Zhang Baocheng was haphazardly wiping his face with a towel and throwing the towel on the shelf.

"Alright, Jianguo, I know, I know." Zhang Baocheng waved his hand, interrupting Zhao Jianguo, his tone revealing impatience and exhaustion: "You can just write your little things down on paper. Go back and get some rest. Ugh, I went night fishing at Houhe Reservoir last night and caught a big one. I was fighting it until four in the morning, and the line even broke! I'm so sleepy. I need to catch up on some sleep on the sofa, otherwise I won't be able to think straight when I see Secretary Zhou this afternoon."

After saying that, Zhang Baocheng ignored Zhao Jianguo's expression, walked directly to the guest sofa, pulled up his trouser leg, and lay down straight.

He stood there, looking at the bureau chief who had already closed his eyes and was about to snore, and a bitter, absurd smile welled up in his heart.

He was just scolded to his face by the county party secretary yesterday afternoon, and he still had the leisure to go fishing at the reservoir until 4 a.m.? How thick-skinned must Zhang Baocheng be? Or rather, this old fox has truly taken the "dead pig is not afraid of boiling water" approach to the extreme.

When the boss wants to sleep, the subordinates have no choice but to keep quiet.

He silently turned and left, gently closing the door behind him.

It was past 2 p.m., and the sun was at its strongest.

Instead of enjoying the air conditioning in his office, he took an A3-sized map of Xiaozhai Village, which had just been printed from the print shop, and walked through the broken bricks and tiles of the village, his steps uneven.

Having worked his way up in the county government office for several years, he knew all too well what it meant to be "grounded in the mud." If a leader really took a liking to a project, their questions would never stop at the paper level; they might ask something like, "How many households live next to that old locust tree at the village entrance?" If you couldn't do your job ahead of your leader, you'd be in trouble at any moment.

Under the big banyan tree at the village entrance, he handed a handful of melon seeds to a few old ladies who were fanning themselves with palm-leaf fans to cool off. He struck up a conversation and drew the number of households left behind and the number of elderly people willing to take risks on the map in red and blue pens. It was a quick and easy way to get a pretty good idea of ​​the situation.