Chapter 124
Chapter 124
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 124
Chapter Title: Liquor Game (2)
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“Ugh, now this is a real headache. Things have gotten damn tiring.”
Pfft.
A short way upriver from the coast, past the mouth of the river, stood the local government office.
Inside the off-white concrete building, visible through the window, was the Fuzhou City Party Secretary, a man who looked to be in his late fifties.
He was plump, and today he seemed especially vexed, sitting in his office with a furrowed brow.
“No matter how the power structure in Beijing shifts... that [Shanghai Capital] outfit, was it? Looks like we’re stuck taking orders from some shady money-grubbing bastards.”
“Since it’s a direct order from that old monster in Beijing, there’s no dodging it, is there?”
The aide flashed a sly grin. He lowered his voice as he gazed at the Party Secretary.
“And it’s our last chance to fleece them good.”
“Fleece them? They’re getting booted anyway—what’s there to squeeze out of them?”
“Heh heh heh. Desperate men on the chopping block will thrash around to the bitter end, won’t they?”
“Hmm...?”
“The guys who built that massive factory won’t go down without a fight. In the end, they’ll have only one hand to reach for.”
The Fuzhou Party Secretary mulled over his aide’s words.
One second, two, three—before long, a bright incandescent bulb lit up over his head. An idea as radiant as the promise of a big score, even if it was just a side hustle of power.
“That’s it! Promise to make the impossible possible, then wash our hands of it when it’s done!”
“Exactly. As wise as ever, Party Secretary.”
The Party Secretary slapped his ample belly and shot up from his chair.
Having spent his life kicking around the boondocks, he clearly wanted to turn his luck around for good with this deal. He bypassed his secretarial pool entirely, lunging for the phone and fumbling for a number.
“Party Secretary?”
“Hold on. I need to call the head of that Ammunition Group outfit right now. Their number...”
“No need for that.”
The aide, brimming with confidence, gently set down the phone the Party Secretary had grabbed.
He pulled a schedule from his briefcase and carefully handed it to his boss, eyes gleaming with greed.
“They reached out first this morning. Said to meet regardless of the reason.”
“Huh? The head of their Fuzhou branch?”
“No. Someone... much higher up.”
Much higher up.
The Party Secretary’s lips curled in anticipation at the words.
Surely... above the local branch head meant at least that French guy Michel, president of Ammunition Electronics, or if they were pulling strings, some high-level exec from group HQ.
Gulp. The sound of him swallowing filled the room.
Leaning forward like a kid begging for candy, the Party Secretary prodded his aide.
“Out with it! Quick!”
His face flushed beet red.
The aide stepped half a pace closer, lest anyone overhear, borrowed his boss’s ear, and whispered.
Like a fisherman boasting of a monster catch.
“The Chairman of Ammunition Group, Han Seo-jun himself, is entering the country secretly in three days.”
“The Chairman? In person?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Oh ho...”
The Party Secretary mentally tacked a zero onto the multiplier in his head.
He had no clue that the zero he’d added was right next to the multiplication sign in the first place.
Never dreaming the final result would be zero, he clapped his aide on the shoulder with a greedy grin.
“Heh heh heh... This is shaping up to be bigger than I imagined. Good work. No one’s sharper than you.”
“You flatter me. All I want is to help you shine through this, Party Secretary.”
The aide bowed humbly, but his whole body screamed otherwise.
He clearly planned to dip his spoon into the big pot of gravy too.
“Hmm...”
The Party Secretary eyed his aide.
He hadn’t climbed past mid-level yet, but this time, a golden parachute seemed fair.
Decision made, the Party Secretary flashed a hearty smile and replied.
“Fine! You’re in charge at the meeting too. Let’s cook up a feast!”
* * * *
A high-end restaurant in downtown Fuzhou.
Past the ornate front gate entwined with two golden imperial dragons, up the ebony wooden stairs, a hidden private room revealed itself.
A round table lacquered red in layers. Piled high atop it were mountains of food and liquor no one could dream of finishing.
“Aigoo, a pleasure to meet you. I’m the Fuzhou City Party Secretary. I’d heard you were young, Chairman, but you look remarkably youthful.”
Over a massive roast suckling lamb, the Party Secretary bowed toward me.
Plump build, classic corrupt official vibe.
Mouth stuffed with an apple symbolizing greed, like the lamb on his plate, he beamed obliviously at the fate awaiting him.
“I’ve been remiss. It’s Ammunition Group’s semiconductor China production base, and somehow I’ve never paid my respects till now.”
“Well, better late than never—we’re finally face-to-face. Though it took your house catching fire first.”
The Party Secretary laced his polite words with a deliberate jab.
A classic play: seize the initiative from the start, demand a king’s ransom.
“Haha... Why not warm up with some preliminaries before the heavy stuff? Allow me to pour you the first round, Party Secretary.”
I filled a porcelain cup to the brim with baijiu clocking over 50% ABV.
Faint fruity notes mingled with the heady grain aroma rising from it.
Staring at the baijiu rippling in the cup—potent enough to intoxicate with the scent alone—I recalled the flight here.
‘First, the broad strokes of the plan. Simply put... we’ll lull them into complacency, slacken their guard, then launch the great escape.’
A few hours earlier.
High above Chinese airspace.
With an hour till Fuzhou International Airport, I’d gathered Kim Won-cheol and Aide Yoo Se-na in the private jet for a briefing.
‘Michel’s on board. Three thousand peddlers will move in perfect sync on the same day.’
“Ah, so that’s what the order to disassemble the precision semiconductor gear down to the screws was about.”
I nodded at Uncle Kim Won-cheol’s response.
Every machine was already broken down into loads a single peddler could backpack.
The issue: the Public Security Bureau cops encircling the factory.
They’d loosened a bit after days passed, but no room for carelessness.
Hence my hasty brainstorm: booze. The hard stuff, enough to fog their minds till morning.
‘Request they pull back the cops on some pretext. Bribe them upfront, and they’ll bite.’
‘Those black-hearted bastards are plotting to stab us in the back anyway—happy to grease their palms.’
‘Just buy us one night. One night’s all we need.’
One night.
Till the deep darkness lifted, just before dawn. Three thousand peddlers on the night train would smuggle it all to Hong Kong.
Scale bordering on a mass breakout. So I turned to the tense-faced Aide Yoo Se-na and made my calm request.
‘Count on you, then, Aide Yoo Se-na.’
“W-what do you mean?”
She flinched, shoulders jumping like I’d suggested something wild.
No idea what spooked her, but I decided to trust her.
She’d downed six bottles of soju the night before and still showed up fresh next morning.
‘I’ll handle the rest. Just help set the mood.’
“Ah, right... got it.”
The plane nosed down toward the airport.
Feeling the descent, I continued my monologue.
‘Drunk on liquor, drunk on subtle beauty. Lull their minds right into the cups for a spell.’
* * * *
“Hey! Hustle up and board! Slackers get the boot! Lazy bums dawdling around—how do you expect to make a dime?”
Like a cotton field overseer cracking at black slaves centuries back, a man stood with a short whip in hand.
The whoosh of the lash swung from his veined forearm hit the peddlers’ ears, spurring them into frenzy.
“Y-yes, sir...! Got it!”
“Aigoo, one hit from that’d kill ya... Hey, folks ahead! Move it, hop on quicker!”
Three thousand souls in motion at once meant inevitable chaos.
Two hours late already from delays, the peddler coordinator’s mouth went dry.
“Whew, full final payment only after Hong Kong... At least we’re rolling now.”
The night air thickened with dusk, orange sunset yielding to navy skies.
And with it, black smoke belched from the lead car. The rusty freight train’s wheels creaked into motion.
Simultaneously, the second hand on the coordinator’s watch ticked right on schedule.
“Hey! Engineer! Over here!”
“Yes, boss! What’s up?”
“This rustbucket—when’s it hitting Fuzhou?”
“Lemme see... Around 4 a.m. tomorrow, I reckon.”
Even rushing, dawn was tight.
The coordinator stuffed a fat wad of bills into the engineer’s pocket, eyes blazing with resolve to seal the deal.
“3 a.m. Get us there no matter what! Engine blows, repairs on me separate.”