Chapter 2838 Dingding and Fang Fei

He outlined the fundamental requirements: candidates could be heroes themselves or their comrades-in-arms. The qualifying criteria were strict—model figures must have received at least one First-Class Merit Medal, or one First-Class Valor award supplemented by several other decorations. Speakers had to be fluent in New Speech and possess natural eloquence. The backgrounds of these exemplary individuals should represent a balanced cross-section of society and its various groups: local natives, new migrants, old migrants, northern migrants, those from Jiangsu-Zhejiang, those from Fujian-Guangdong... Beyond this, dedicated slots were reserved for locally enlisted and volunteered Li and Miao people, as well as Japanese and Korean soldiers from the National Army. The guiding principle was equality—no group should appear particularly favored, nor any seem particularly martial.

After the initial screening, relevant deeds would be forwarded to the Propaganda sector for drafting promotional materials. Wei Aiwen had originally intended to add dedicated writers to the Political Department staff, but the Senate controlled military headquarters staffing with an iron grip, particularly for "non-military positions." The standard solution was outsourcing.

Fortunately, the collaboration with Cultural Propaganda was well established. They understood this particular "client's" needs—if not intimately, then at least thoroughly. Naturally, for each piece he would either personally compose or review the relevant "writing guidelines" to ensure the "contractor" remained on track.

Wei Aiwen rattled off his assignments in a single breath, then inquired about the review status of the storytelling adaptation of Rising Wind in Lianyang. The novel was set against the backdrop of bandit suppression and pacification in the Lianzhou-Lianshan-Yangshan region, penned by the area's director, Huang Chao.

Though fictional in form, eighty percent of the content drew from real people and actual events. Combined with Director Huang's masterful prose, the narrative pulsed with life and vitality, earning widespread acclaim upon publication. It had become Cultural Propaganda's next major adaptation target. The chapter titled "Night Raid on Daliang Market" was currently being transformed by the Puppet Drama Troupe into a flagship production.

Because the work involved military subject matter, Wei Aiwen took the review seriously. He had spoken with Wang Tao, who would take the lead in adapting it into a long-form storytelling piece. However, since it contained extensive military content, regulations demanded Political Department approval.

The novel being Huang Chao's own work, it naturally cast the protagonist in a somewhat flattering light—Wei Aiwen grumbled privately about this. Still, since Huang Chao had written it himself, this small privilege was understandable. The only issue was that the emotional arc between Bida and Zhenhuan needed further development. As it stood, the writing in those sections was too bland.

How to strengthen it? Wei Aiwen was no literary man. Racking his brain, all he could summon were plot devices from various web novels he'd read during his school days—and he had never been one for romance novels, leaving his reserves in that department woefully thin.

"Isn't there a single novelist among the Senators?" Wei Aiwen wondered, ultimately deciding to leave the matter to Wang Tao's judgment. After all, the man had adaptation experience.

He jotted down several revision suggestions for the storytelling adaptation, then went back over the "memos" on military propaganda matters he'd labored over all night. In truth, the naturalized-citizen officers in the General Staff Political Department were among the most educated in the entire Fubo Army—yet even so, he couldn't afford to let his guard down.

He tossed the memo to the female orderly stationed outside, then finally closed the office door, intending to catch some sleep on the camp bed. But once he lay down, Wei Aiwen found rest elusive. His mind kept circling back to the speaking tour.

The speaking tour was Wei Aiwen's most pressing project. Though the undertaking sounded enormous, it actually possessed the most solid foundation among all his initiatives. Before the war, he had already arranged for "embedded reporter" work. Wei Aiwen had wanted to establish military newspapers and magazines, but the Senate refused approval. Even military publications fell under Cultural Propaganda's jurisdiction, leaving him without reporters of his own. His only recourse was to request that the Propaganda Department select a batch of reporters to serve as "embedded" correspondents. He had also tasked each company clerk with a "news correspondent" role. Whether they wrote well was beside the point—as long as they could record the relevant stories.

Now the "embedded reporters" had mostly returned, and the "correspondents" had come back with their respective units. Combined with reports sent earlier via military mail, a careful sifting would easily yield quality material. From there, supplementary interviews would help identify the first batch of representative figures.

He remembered being organized by his school as a child to attend "Old Mountain Combat Heroes Speaking Sessions." What he'd enjoyed most wasn't actually the accounts of combat, but the stories of daily life in the cat-ear bunkers... The memory struck him suddenly, and he sat bolt upright. He scrawled in his notebook: "Every propaganda draft must go through my review"—a reminder to himself that when subordinates submitted their plans, he must pass on this latest instruction.

Dingding stared at the tortuous Gantt chart sprawling across his notebook. The thrill of power had long since drowned beneath the tidal wave of work. They said power and status were the finest aphrodisiac, but even popping pills constantly, managing seven rounds nightly every single day would exhaust anyone.

The laptop screen before him displayed the Mainland Cultural Strategy project plan. Due to its complexity, the entire initiative had been subdivided into seven distinct sub-project plans. Scheduled tasks already numbered over two thousand, many of them interconnected, demanding consolidation and coordination. Dingding felt his mental capacity stretched to breaking—which was precisely why he'd retrieved his laptop from Gaoshan Ridge and enlisted IT Senators to help install Project.

"...The Shandong Region Folk Doctor Training Class has tentatively selected Qimu Island as its location. Instructors will be provided by the Shandong Detachment's Medical Unit. We request that Command coordinate student organization and conduct necessary decontamination and literacy preparation. The starting date is to be coordinated by Command based on preparation progress..."

"...Machinery General Factory plans to dispatch a flour equipment exhibition team to Hangzhou for on-site demonstration. We request that Command coordinate with local merchants, transport ships, and Hangzhou Station to provide security..."

The female secretary recited over a dozen such "requests" in a single breath. Dingding stared at the screen without typing a single character—in truth, he wasn't listening either. A voice kept repeating in his head: "What do these idiots take me for? Things they could easily coordinate themselves, they all dump on me."

"Darling, should I continue? The rest are all similar—requests for resource coordination." Panpan, who had come to the office to discuss work with him, flipped through the reports. "I think you need an assistant to help handle this. This workload can't be managed through overtime alone. Why not head home early today?"

Had Dingding not been staring blankly at the screen, he might have noticed the look in Panpan's eyes. Over the past few years, though the couple harbored significant philosophical differences, their relationship had actually mellowed since their work responsibilities were adjusted. The general arrangement was that Dingding focused on running his "two periodicals and one newspaper," handling propaganda matters, while Panpan managed the rest—primarily media and publishing.

Panpan had made media and publishing flourish in recent years. Though she rather resented the Truth Office's revisions, she could accept this censorship given that they still needed to conceal their true identities as time-travelers.

As business expanded, Panpan's original ideals had gradually shifted. A media mogul's interests and an ordinary reporter's interests could hardly occupy the same chair. Her views on Dingding the "Propaganda Minister" had grown less sharp over time.

Shifts in mindset naturally affected emotions. Thus in recent years, the two had been "harmonious as harp and lute." Lately, however, Dingding had been absorbed in "Cultural Strategy," inevitably neglecting his wife.

Just as Dingding had yet to grasp his wife's meaning, an untimely knock came at the door. Fang Fei pushed it open, a box of files in his arms. Seeing Panpan, he froze momentarily, keenly aware that his timing was "inappropriate." He could only muster a strained smile in greeting. Panpan found an excuse and withdrew first, leaving the two men alone. Fang Fei watched her depart, thinking Dingding would probably be spending another night on the balcony.

"Old Fang, if you're here to ask me to coordinate with other departments, hold off. My head's about to explode." Dingding collapsed against the back of his chair, looking more exhausted than ever. He turned the screen toward Fang Fei, pointing at the forest of bars in the Gantt chart. Fang Fei understood that when Dingding called him "Old Fang," it meant his mood had truly soured and he needed an old friend to share the burden. Otherwise, Dingding would have addressed him as "Department Head Fang" or "Director Fang."

Fang Fei listened to Dingding's half-hour grievance session—half devoted to his own hardships, half to the shamelessness of demands from various departments. Taking the files from Dingding's desk, Fang Fei gradually grasped the nature of his troubles. It was like having your son ask for help with a math problem—you expect addition and subtraction, but he hands you a Fourier transform.

While Fang Fei reviewed the documents, Dingding stepped out to wash his face and clear his head, then had the secretary pour two iced coffees. He set them on the coffee table beside the sofa and sipped while continuing to expound his frustrations to Fang Fei. In Dingding's view, some of these requests were clearly sabotage—reminiscent of troublemaker subordinates he'd encountered back in the old timeline, escalating problems that had no business being reported upward, calling it "seeking help" while really aiming to embarrass superiors. If management didn't understand the situation or the technical details, making decisions for subordinates meant digging one's own grave—you'd shoulder the blame when things went wrong. Yet doing nothing became the subordinate's excuse for delays. The correct response was to roar, "What are you good for, then?" Only Dingding wasn't on home turf here—he neither dared nor could.

"Who exactly does Jeju Island fall under?"

"What?" Just as Dingding was spraying spittle in his tirade, Fang Fei posed this seemingly unrelated question. For a moment, Dingding couldn't fathom what Fang Fei was driving at.

"I mean Jeju Island and Kaohsiung—these three places. Excluding the garrisons, who does the local administration report to?" Fang Fei pushed aside the files and laptop and moved to the sofa as well. He picked up his coffee, took a sip, and continued: "Feng Zongze and Wei Bachi, these two overseas officials—who should they be reporting to?"

(End of Chapter)