Chapter 1467 - A Dangerous Signal
Jiang Shan frowned at the copy of Lingao Times spread before him. This publicly circulated newspaper served as the Senate's official mouthpiece, its content often reflecting the latest developments, policies, and future directions of the governing body. Sharp-nosed naturalized citizens and natives alike studied it carefully, and even transmigrators with access to the classified Weekly Bulletin and Venus subscribed to copies specifically to divine the policy winds blowing from the Senate and Executive Committee.
A brief article on the third page had caught his attention—and set his jaw tight.
Judging by its title alone—"Housing Security in Lingao County Sees Initial Results"—it appeared to be nothing more than standard propaganda from the Propaganda Department, the usual hymn of praise for the General Construction Company and Planning Academy meant to inspire gratitude among naturalized citizens. But Jiang Shan detected something unpleasant lurking beneath the surface.
The article reviewed the history of residential construction in Lingao, cataloguing housing projects for naturalized citizens, square meters commenced and completed—a litany of achievements credited to the General Company. Nothing objectionable there. But in the latter half, it turned its attention to the terraced housing allocated to high-ranking surrendered pirates in the early years and the Transmigrator Residential District project. Not only did it calculate per capita square footage for both, but it employed an "extended feature" reportage style to profile the housing situations of a naturalized worker, a navy officer from the former pirate ranks, and a transmigrator.
Though the prose maintained the Propaganda Department's characteristic tone of "vigorous optimism" and "happy living," Jiang Shan read between the lines.
The naturalized workers were one matter. But that navy officer—a former "shopkeeper" under Zhu Cailao—lived in a spacious three-bedroom, two-living-room terraced house, dwelling harmoniously with his three wives and concubines. By contrast, the transmigrator Cheng Mo occupied a cramped one-and-a-half-room unit, the smaller room serving as both study and workshop. His maidservant slept on a cot in the living room.
From the standpoint of intent, no one could fault the article: a transmigrator's housing being no more spacious than a naturalized officer's—on par with a naturalized worker's—perfectly illustrated the spirit of transmigrators who did not covet wealth or rank, who eschewed material comfort, who served the people with hard work and simplicity. How glorious. How correct.
But Jiang Shan knew that for transmigrators, the same words carried an entirely different message: Transmigrators live worse than naturalized officers! A naturalized citizen has three concubines, each with her own room, while a transmigrator's only secretary sleeps on a cot in the living room!
There are venomous fangs hidden in this article, he thought darkly. Clearly, it used the housing construction issue to imply that the Executive Committee paid insufficient attention to transmigrators' quality of life—even less than to those early surrendered pirate "shopkeepers."
Under ordinary circumstances, Jiang Shan might have dismissed his suspicions as oversensitivity. But recently, the Administrative Office had been circulating documents within a limited scope, soliciting opinions on "Maidservant School Reform" and "Determination of Maidservant Legal Status and Inheritance System."
He distinctly remembered that the consultation document on maidservant school reform mentioned a large accumulation of maidservants due to sluggish placement—"Transmigrator demand for maidservants is weak."
Weak demand was indeed a fact. Jiang Shan himself had no interest in purchasing a second maidservant, though he knew the current crop was far superior to those of earlier years. But after an article like this was published, transmigrators who read it would easily draw the connection: The reason demand is weak is because the allocated housing is too small.
He checked the author's name—an unfamiliar byline: "Zi Su" (Perilla). But the seasoned command of vernacular Chinese and professional journalistic techniques all pointed to a transmigrator's hand. Nine times out of ten, it was either Panpan or Cheng Yongxin. Panpan was a foreign woman; though her Chinese writing wasn't bad, Jiang Shan was familiar with her style—this had to be Cheng Yongxin's work.
Combining this with several recent articles by Shan Liang and others on the internal BBS—all touching on maidservants and transmigrator housing—he understood completely what Cheng Yongxin intended.
"You really do fear the world isn't chaotic enough," he muttered.
Since the Lin Xiaoya case, Jiang Shan had been "gently watching" Cheng Yongxin's activities. Though they still met weekly, the two never mentioned Senate hot-button issues, as if deliberately avoiding them.
But this avoidance did not mean tacit approval of her activities. By now, he had a clear picture of the threads of Cheng Yongxin's work. Until seeing this newspaper, he had considered it all within acceptable limits.
Today's article was a signal.
If her past activities had merely been minor schemes, this article announced a formal offensive—not babbling about women's rights, democracy, or whatever else, but a concerted effort to control the position of public opinion. She intended to start with Lingao Times, the most widely circulated and authoritative outlet, and seize discourse power step by step.
Jiang Shan understood perfectly that despite Lingao Times having no classification level and being publicly distributed—seemingly unimportant—its function and status were actually the highest among Senate media. Cheng Yongxin choosing this newspaper as her starting point was obviously well-considered.
The PHS phone in his drawer rang suddenly. It was Wu Mu.
"This is Jiang Shan—yes, I've seen it—yes, there's meaning between the lines—you see it that way too? Indeed, the flavor is a bit off—haha." Jiang Shan laughed. "I knew you people knew everything. True, she and I are sort of partners in life, but not the like-minded kind. Right, work is work, personal life is personal life. I've always been clear on public versus private, putting Senate interests first—okay, I understand."
He put down the phone and exhaled a long breath of stale air. Then he picked it up again: "Please ask Section Chief Wang to come to my office."
Just as Jiang Shan had anticipated, once the article appeared in Lingao Times, "Maidservant Rights," "Marriage Law," "Inheritance System," and "Housing" instantly became sensitive words within the Senate—as charged as "democracy and freedom" had been in the old world. They appeared everywhere on the BBS, and transmigrators discoursed loudly in the Farm Teahouse, the Cooperative Restaurant, even the Industrial Zone Transmigrator Canteen. Ever since Cheng Yongxin had leaked the possible abolition of the maidservant school to the maidservant circle through Sun Shangxiang, even transmigrators with zero connection to the Grand Library faction or the Legal Club were discussing this major matter concerning their pillow-partners' rights.
As undercurrents surged through the Senate and various figures calculated their moves, the man who almost always sat in the office of the First Deputy Director of the Political Security Bureau strolled slowly to appear outside Xiao Zishan's door.
"Zishan, your days haven't been easy lately, have they? Many comrades are watching the dish before placing their chopsticks."
"Hehe, nothing escapes your nose. Director Xiong, you never visit without a reason. I hear your Little Wu has had some luck in love recently, winning the favor of the aloof Miss Carnation. Quite impressive."
Pot-bellied Zhao Manxiong-ski sniffed the air with theatrical vigilance. "Carnation—looks elegant on the outside, but full of thorns within. Moreover, that Carnation is a fake. Knowing she's a substitute yet acting quite brazenly, plotting some 'worrying about the country and people' matters—she has quite the style of women in Eileen Chang's writings. Pity our Little Wu doesn't understand romance. Haha."
"Comrade Little Wu's theoretical comprehension is still a bit lacking," Xiao Zishan smiled. "He lacks understanding of the Great Leader's allusion about eating the sugar coating and firing the shell back."
"Leaving that aside—the Flower Girl has, after all, exposed your hidden intention to dispose of the maidservant school, based on rumors. This matter isn't huge, but it isn't small either, and the waters beneath are inevitably too muddy. If handled poorly and stirred up by others, I fear it won't merely raise a storm in the maidservant school; transmigrators will hardly remain unaffected either. Allocated maidservants, whether the Executive Committee acknowledges their status or not, have already become an indispensable part of transmigrators' lives. And the maidservant school is their window to the new world. The pillow talk stirred up by abolition is enough to form a massive storm in the Senate."
"Abolition—we didn't say that." Xiao Zishan picked up his signature large tea mug, drank a mouthful of authentic West Lake Longjing like a cow, and touched his somewhat thinning forehead. "We're just discussing transformation. Transformation."
Director Xiong removed his glasses and wiped them, pretending not to see Xiao Zishan's scenery-spoiling drinking style. "Brother Zishan, you and I are both people with experience. 'Transformation' is easy to say, hard to do. All those state-owned enterprises back then—said they were transforming, and what was the result? Waists snapped from turning but never turned around; money, grain, and equipment all went into private pockets. Maphead led the CCCP to transform so happily—transformed Big Brother into heaven, Second Brother into birth, and the result was twenty years without catching breath."
"Old Xiong, looks like you came prepared. Let's exchange ideas." Though Xiao Zishan's qi-cultivation skills had achieved some success over the years, Director Xiong was no ordinary person. His ideas still piqued Xiao Zishan's interest.
"Ideas, I have none." Zhao Manxiong spread his hands. "But I thought of a person—someone fairly matched with Miss Flower, perhaps someone who can break the deadlock. It just depends on whether you dare to use him."
"Dare to use?" Xiao Zishan immediately sat up straighter. When the experienced Old Xiong asked if he dared to use someone from his pocket, it definitely wasn't a naturalized citizen—it had to be a transmigrator. As the Senate's chief steward, he knew all the transmigrators. Even if not intimately familiar, he could at least name them. Yet there was one he might not dare to use—who was this?
"Brother Zishan, this person, I estimate you know him too. I came late, but reportedly he put in some effort during the transmigration back then. Pity he's a schizo. After transmigrating, he caused some trouble—not big, but not small—and was restricted in movement. The Black Four—do you still remember?"
(End of Chapter)