Chapter 274: The New Doomsayer

Li Xiaolü, seeing his grave expression, asked in a low voice, “Is it serious?”

“I don’t know yet,” Xiao Zishan said, leaning his head back on the sofa. “But someone is performing a sword dance with an ulterior motive.”

“Who’s so bored that they want to pry into your affairs? Trying to find fault with you?”

“I don’t know yet, but this Sun Shangxiang is clearly acting under someone’s orders to win over Qiqi. Her master’s ultimate goal is still unclear.”

“Then I’ll have Qiqi continue to play along with her and try to get more information out of her,” Li Xiaolü whispered.

“I’m more worried about the school abolition proposal she leaked,” Xiao Zishan said with some concern. “This matter is currently in the internal discussion phase, and very few Elders know about it. If she leaks it, it’s hard to say if someone will use it to stir up trouble.”

“Indeed. No matter what, if this gets out, you’ll at least be facing a charge of leaking secrets,” Li Xiaolü said. “I am clearly not an Elder to whom you should be revealing the proposal.”

“Yes,” a trace of worry appeared on Xiao Zishan’s face. “At worst, I’ll just deny it to the death.”

Li Xiaolü drew circles on his thigh with her finger, musing, “I have an idea.”

“What is it?” Xiao Zishan asked casually.

“Since Sun Shangxiang got the news of the school’s abolition from Qiqi, we can have Qiqi leak some similar information to the maids in the teahouse to muddy the waters.”

Xiao Zishan glanced at Li Xiaolü. “You’re full of ideas.”

“Of course. This palace’s favorite pastime is reading palace intrigue novels. How could I not understand these little tricks?”

“Hmm.” Xiao Zishan didn’t speak, remaining silent for a moment. Then he said, “How about we apply to the General Office for marriage in a few days?”

Li Xiaolü burst out laughing. “Bullshit. You’re the Director of the General Office yourself. Are you going to report to yourself and approve it yourself?”

Xiao Zishan feigned a serious expression. “This is called procedural legitimacy—very important. ‘Comrade Xiao Zishan. I, Xiao Zishan, hereby apply to form a revolutionary couple with Comrade Li Xiaolü. We both meet the Executive Committee’s requirements for marriage applications and are willing to continue striving for the construction of our great motherland after marriage. I hope for your approval!’”

Li Xiaolü chimed in, “The organization has decided not to approve. Director of the General Office, Xiao Zishan.”

Xiao Zishan gave a wry smile. Li Xiaolü giggled. “I just like having this kind of ambiguous, illicit relationship with you…”

Although Shan Liang was determined to use the rumor of the maid school’s abolition to launch an “Occupy Centuria” movement, a “Soy Sauce Revolution,” his and Cheng Mo’s vigorous activities yielded no results. Lingao essentially had no real “soy sauce” Elders anymore. It could be said that everyone had a position, and everyone had subordinates. Even the most beleaguered agricultural technician or Elder technician at the machinery factory commanded a large group of naturalized citizen staff and workers. Wherever they went, they were imposing figures, surrounded by attendants. While their words might not be worth ten thousand, they were certainly worth a hundred. They were adulated by subordinates and apprentices at work and meticulously served by maids at home. Their original feelings of oppression, deprivation, and neglect had been greatly reduced.

Although everyone was concerned about whether the quality of maids would decline after the abolition of the maid school, no one considered taking to the streets for such a rumored matter. Besides, many felt that after the maid school was gone, they could directly pick people from Fangcaodi—and the female students at Fangcaodi were not necessarily worse than those at the maid school.

Furthermore, there had been a recent flood of various rumors about maids. Some said maids were going to be “regularized” and officially become concubines. Others said maids would be divided into ranks, first, second, and third. There were also rumors of a new batch of “foreign devil maids”… In short, it was a chaotic mess of information.

With so many rumors, the original “school abolition” rumor seemed even more flimsy. Shan Liang knew in his heart that the abolition was almost certainly true, and that these suddenly appearing rumors were deliberately fabricated to cover it up. But he was helpless: the social psychology was no longer the suppressed dry tinder it once was, where a single cigarette butt could start a fire. More people adopted a wait-and-see attitude, deciding to react only after an official policy was announced.

Moreover, in the face of the Otaku Party’s rise, his voice had been greatly marginalized. Although many still remembered him as the Elder who “spoke for the people,” many now saw him as “trouble,” afraid to be associated with him. Their attitude towards him was lukewarm, and some simply avoided him—when they saw him coming, they would have their secretaries say they were “on a business trip” or “in a meeting.” Shan Liang thought back to the revolution, when with one call, a crowd would gather in response, and he couldn’t help but feel as if it were a different lifetime.

“You bunch of bastards! You deserve to be ruled as common folk!” That afternoon, Shan Liang came out of a certain agency’s compound, cursing. The person inside had made an even more thorough excuse, directly saying he was “very busy” and that if it wasn’t “work-related,” Shan Liang should “come back another time.” When Shan Liang, not giving up, tried to schedule a time, the female secretary, with a standard smile, gently said, “The Master’s schedule cannot be disclosed.” This infuriated Shan Liang to the point of almost spitting blood—he remembered that after the Maid Revolution, during the celebratory drinking, this very man had drunk the most and had even slapped him on the shoulder, loudly proclaiming, “Brother Shan, just for your public-spiritedness, I’m with you! From now on, just say the word, and I’ll immediately grab a weapon and show those bastards in the Executive Committee what’s what! Let’s see whose fists are harder, the people’s or their mouths!”

“You bunch of bastards who use and discard people, you think I’m a disposable glove!”

It was obvious he had lost his influence among the masses. The Elders’ “trigger point” was much higher than before. The abolition of the maid school didn’t arouse much interest, let alone incite their anger.

In comparison, that girl Cheng was right. In a stable social environment, the power of the media is the most crucial. The media can deeply analyze the “background,” subtly influence opinions, and create certain social trends… In contrast, his style of street politics—giving speeches and persuading people individually—was no longer suitable for the current situation.

However, he had bragged in front of that girl Cheng. If he had nothing to show for it, how could he “buy in”? Although she had hinted at a “partnership,” the larger his “share capital,” the greater his say on the board. Otherwise, with only his past empty fame, what could he achieve?

As he was lost in thought, his mobile phone rang.

The waitress skillfully led Shan Liang to the best private room—he was already a regular customer. He was an Elder and quite generous, unlike some Elders who were absolute skinflints when it came to tips. Therefore, as soon as he sat down, a hot towel, cigars, and fine tea were all served.

Shan Liang was sipping his tea idly when he heard the clatter of footsteps coming up the stairs.

“Old Shan!” Shao Zong, also from the Telecom Corporation, pushed the door open himself, put down the document bag he was carrying, dismissed the waitress, and then burst into a rather unseemly laugh. “You’ve been so active everywhere, are you trying to make big news?”

Just a few years ago, the relationship between Shan Liang and Shao Zong was very poor. During the Maid Revolution, Shao Zong was still a self-funded five-coupon supporter, endorsing every decision of the Executive Committee with 120% enthusiasm. He had been on duty that night and had spent a tense night at the telecom department. Afterward, his opinion of Shan Liang was akin to looking at a remnant of the Square incident. Furthermore, if it weren’t for seeing which way the wind was blowing, he would have supported Dugu Qiuhun.

On the other hand, one of the crucial pieces of evidence that helped Dugu Qiuhun escape severe punishment, the record of that mysterious PHS phone call, came from the telecom department, and Elder Shao Zong happened to be in charge of the switchboard. Based on conspiracy theories, Shan Liang had not ruled out the possibility that he had performed some “information manipulation.” At the same time, he despised the latter’s professional skills—the guy often hid in the server room playing games…

However, life is unpredictable. After the first phase of Lingao Telecom’s first-generation manual telephone exchange system—a replacement for the “PHS” that used many modern electronic components and was destined not to last long—was completed (he had drawn most of the circuit diagrams, and Shao Zong had pretentiously named it “Prism”), the Planning Office completely abandoned the idea of connecting the entire Hainan Island with telephones before it could be done with local technology. Instead, they opted for the much cheaper wired telegraph, which, of course, all fell into the lap of the telecom department.

The expansion of Lingao Telecom into Hainan Telecom was certainly a joyous occasion, but the number of Elders on staff didn’t increase at all, and everyone’s leisurely days came to an end. Unlike the wired telephone network that only covered Lingao and the PAS mobile communication network with less than six hundred users, building and maintaining a provincial-level telegraph system—even if it was only a small part of Hainan Island—had already made the Elders of Lingao Telecom spit blood. Although they had all been promoted to senior management, they had to take turns on the construction sites. Not only did they have to endure harsh environments and arduous work, but the most infuriating thing was that they encountered a situation rarely seen in the old time and space: the local natives had learned to steal telegraph wires! This wasn’t something that could be solved by painting “Fiber optic cable has no copper, cutting it is useless” on the poles. They used cheap iron wire, but in this era, iron was still a rarity for the local residents. Such thin and strong iron wire had many uses in daily life and production.

So, they would string the wires during the day, and the locals would cut them at night. A few days after the telegraph was connected, the line would go dead. A line check would reveal that five or six li of wire had been cut. Sometimes, the whole village would mobilize to cut the wires. Not only did they cut the wires, but they also pulled out the telegraph poles—the poles, processed by the sawmill, coated with asphalt, and treated for corrosion, were excellent beam material for the local natives.

Shao Zong had worried a lot about this theft of telecom equipment. He had run back to Lingao to find the police and the army, and on the construction sites, he had personally wielded a club and led workers to “clear out” the villages along the route. Fortunately, the Qionghai Pacification War had just passed, and under the lingering authority of the Elder Council, no one dared to openly resist yet.