Siheyuan: tomb robbing? I am serious about hunting.

Chapter 1137

Mr. Zhang, how confident do you think Dingsheng is in its 'determination to win' today? "The conference room was utterly silent, even the whirring of the air conditioner becoming distinctly audible. The Dingsheng representatives exchanged glances, their eyes filled with panic and unease. Mr. Zhang opened his mouth to retort, but found he had no grounds for argument—Su Qin's every word struck a chord with Dingsheng, leaving them with no rebuttal. Seeing Mr. Zhang's silence, Su Qin softened his tone, offering him a way out. "Of course, Mr. Zhang, we at Hengtong don't necessarily want to fight Dingsheng to the death. In the business world, there are no eternal enemies, only eternal interests. If Dingsheng is willing to withdraw its bid for the East City land parcel, we at Hengtong can consider collaborating on other projects, such as the commercial complex in the South City." He paused, produced another document, and placed it on the table. "I didn't expect Su Qin to be able to persuade Dingsheng to withdraw its bid in just ten minutes, and even secure a partnership opportunity for Hengtong—this was even better than he had anticipated." Mr. Zhang stood up and looked at Su Qin with a complicated expression. "Advisor Su, after today's battle, I'm impressed. I didn't expect Hengtong to have someone like you. It seems we at Dingsheng will need to learn more from Hengtong in the future." Su Qin bowed and said humbly, "Mr. Zhang, you're too kind. The business world is like a battlefield; it's all about knowing yourself and your enemy, and achieving mutual benefit and win-win outcomes. Today, I was simply fulfilling my duty." Mr. Zhang nodded, and without further ado, he hurriedly left the meeting room with the Dingsheng representatives. As the door closed, the Hengtong representatives erupted in applause. The marketing director excitedly walked over to Su Qin and patted him on the shoulder: Chapter 1: First Arrival in Guhuai Village In the autumn of 1975, the wind from the Taihang Mountains arrived earlier than usual. The north wind, whistling through the valley, whirred yellow earth, toppling the roadside jujube trees. Wild jujubes tumbled from their branches, clattering and falling onto the dusty road, sending tiny specks of mud flying. Chen Jianjun, carrying a washed-bleached, triple-patched canvas bag, followed the group of educated youth, trudging along the muddy path of Guhuai Village. The bag contained little of value, just a few patched singlets, a curled-up copy of "Quotations from Chairman Mao," and two white flour buns his mother had slipped him before he left—the family's half-month rations, saved. The buns, wrapped in coarse cloth, were still slightly warm. Chen Jianjun heaved the bag onto his shoulder. The sweat on his forehead trickled down his cheeks, mixing with the dust and leaving dark streaks on his face. He looked up at the sky. It was gray, as if covered by a thick veil. Not even the sun's shadow could be seen. Only the distant outline of the Taihang Mountains loomed large in the gloom, like a crouching beast. The educated youth group consisted of eight people, all from Beijing. The oldest was no more than twenty, the youngest just sixteen. Leading the group was Wang, the commune's official, a man in his forties, his face a reddish-black tan from years of wind and sun. He held a tin horn and would stop every few steps to shout, "Keep up! Don't fall behind! We're almost to Guhuai Village!" Ahead of Chen Jianjun was a girl named Lin Xiaomei, with two braided pigtails tied with red string. She was carrying a bag larger than herself and was panting heavily. Seeing that she was almost unable to catch up, Chen Jianjun reached out to help her lift her luggage bag: "Let me help you for a while, you look tired." Lin Xiaomei looked up and smiled at him, revealing two small canine teeth, and the bangs on her forehead were wet with sweat: "Thank you, Chen Jianjun. This road is too difficult to walk on, my feet are all blistered." As she spoke, she lifted her feet on the stones on the side of the road. Chen Jianjun saw that the soles of her cloth shoes were almost worn through, and there was thick mud on the uppers. "Hold on a little longer, Secretary Wang said we're almost there." Chen Jianjun comforted her, but he was also worried in his heart. They set out from the commune and walked for a full three hours. At the beginning, it was a dirt road, but later there was no dirt road at all. It was all bumpy mud roads. The shoes were filled with mud, and it was difficult to take a step. After walking for about half an hour, Secretary Wang's voice suddenly rang out from the front: "We're here! Guhuai Village is just ahead!" Chen Jianjun and Lin Xiaomei quickly looked up and saw dozens of adobe houses scattered at the foot of the mountain not far away, their roofs covered with thatch, and faint smoke rising from their chimneys. At the entrance to the village stood a massive old locust tree, its trunk so thick it required three people to hug it. Its branches stretched crookedly toward the sky, like countless withered hands piercing the gray sky. The trunk was covered in dense, crisscrossing lines, whether naturally or artificially carved, but the twisted lines resembled human faces in the dim light. The villagers had also wrapped the trunk several times with red cloth. The cloth was faded, its edges frayed, and the wind rustled it, a faint, faint sound like someone crying softly. "This tree is quite old," an educated youth walking ahead couldn't help but sigh. "I've never seen a locust tree this thick in my life." Secretary Wang came over and pointed at the old locust tree. "This locust tree is hundreds of years old and is the symbol of Ancient Locust Village. The villagers worship it as a sacred tree and burn incense here during festivals." Chen Jianjun stared at the old locust tree for a while, feeling an indescribable eeriness about it. The trunk was dark brown and covered with moss. In some places, it oozed a sticky sap that looked like dark red blood in the dim light. A circle of stones surrounded the tree, and on the stones sat several broken bowls with some residual incense ash, clearly left behind by villagers who came to pay their respects. Just then, a wrinkled peasant emerged from the village. He wore a patched blue cloth jacket, a hemp rope tied around his waist. He held a copper pipe with a tobacco pouch embroidered with a small plum blossom. He walked up to Secretary Wang and, smiling, extended his hand. "Secretary Wang, thank you for your hard work in bringing these educated youth here." Secretary Wang shook his hand and said, "Old Zhao, this is my duty. These are educated youth from Beijing who will be sent to work in your village. Please take good care of them." Only then did Chen Jianjun realize that this peasant was Old Zhao, the Party Secretary of Guhuai Village. Old Zhao's face was covered in wrinkles, each one akin to a cloak of dirt. His eyes were small but bright, and when he looked at people, it seemed as if he could see right through them. Old Zhao turned his pipe three times in his hand, his eyes sweeping over the educated youth, finally landing on Chen Jianjun. "You're Chen Jianjun, right? I heard Secretary Wang mention you. He said you're a high school student with a high level of education."