Reborn in 2000: I'm the Boss's Driver

Tuesday, May 12th.

Lin Fan stood at the entrance of the Steel City Finance Bureau compound, his palms slightly sweaty.

This four-story white building was quite impressive in the steel city of 2003. Its square structure and blue glass curtain wall reflected the nine-o'clock morning sunlight, while the national flag fluttered gently in the breeze at the entrance. A white sign with black lettering hung above the door, the characters elegant and dignified.

There weren't many vehicles coming and going; most were older Santana and Jetta models. Occasionally, one or two black Audi 100s would slowly drive in, and the gatekeeper would raise the barrier in advance.

To the left of the courtyard was the bicycle shed he'd mentioned to his brother-in-law yesterday. The green-painted roof was already somewhat worn. Inside were about twenty bicycles of various styles: Forever, Phoenix, Flying Pigeon, and a few trendy mountain bikes. At the entrance of the shed stood an old school desk, on which sat a tin biscuit box, a hardcover notebook, and a ballpoint pen tied to the leg with a rope. An elderly man with gray hair sat on a small stool behind the desk, wearing reading glasses and reading a newspaper.

This is the place where you can "earn more than ten yuan a day." Lin Fan had actually visited twice beforehand when he mentioned it yesterday. He counted that during peak hours, thirty-eight or thirty-nine cars could park there in half an hour, and he charged two mao (0.2 yuan) per car. That would definitely make ten yuan a day.

But this isn't his destination today.

He took a deep breath and walked into the Finance Bureau. Inside the guardhouse was a middle-aged man who glanced at him but didn't speak. For guards in government compounds, keen observation is a basic skill; they can roughly tell who's a stranger, who's a familiar face, who's looking for, and what they need. A young man like Lin Fan, dressed cleanly but simply, with a calm expression, didn't seem like someone who was causing trouble; he was most likely there to get something done or wait for an interview.

Following his brother-in-law Sun Lin's instructions from yesterday, Lin Fan headed straight for the main building. The lobby on the first floor was spacious and bright, with a terrazzo floor that gleamed like a mirror, and huge landscape paintings hanging on the walls. On the left wall were signs indicating the locations of the various departments.

His destination was the fourth floor, the office.

Several people, both men and women, were waiting at the elevator, wearing shirts or polo shirts and carrying document bags, talking in hushed tones. Lin Fan chose to take the stairs. The fourth floor wasn't high, and as he climbed up, his breathing remained steady.

The fourth-floor corridor was quiet, filled with the faint smell of ink and paper. The office door was open, and the sounds of typewriters clicking away, telephones ringing, and people answering phones could be heard.

Lin Fan stopped at the door and gently knocked on the open door.

"Excuse me, is Director Du here?"

There were about five or six desks in the office. Behind one by the window, a man in his forties, wearing glasses and with a receding hairline, looked up and gazed at him through his glasses: "That's me. And you are...?"

"Hello, Director Du, my name is Lin Fan." Lin Fan walked in and stopped about a meter away from the desk, his posture neither humble nor arrogant. "Deputy Director Sun asked me to come and see you this morning."

Upon hearing the words "Deputy Director Sun," Director Du's expression became noticeably more serious. He put down his pen, leaned back, and sized up the young man before him.

He wore a clean white shirt, ironed black trousers, and shiny black leather shoes. His hair was neatly combed, and his face held a calmness rarely seen in young people. His gaze was steady, without the awkwardness of someone new to the organization, nor the frivolity of someone relying on connections.

"Oh, Xiao Lin." Director Du nodded, his tone becoming more polite. "Director Sun mentioned it to me yesterday. Please have a seat." He gestured to the chair opposite his desk.

"Thank you, Director." Lin Fan sat down as instructed, keeping his back straight and his hands naturally placed on his knees.

"Director Sun said you wanted to come and help out in the office?" Director Du got straight to the point. "We do need a temporary worker here. The main job is to organize old documents in the archives, run errands, deliver documents, and do odd jobs. The work isn't heavy, but it's tedious and requires attention to detail and patience. As for the salary, according to the bureau's regulations, temporary workers get 800 yuan a month, with no bonuses, but there's dormitory accommodation and two meals provided."

"I understand, Director." Lin Fan nodded. "Director Sun told me all this. I have no problem with it; I just want to come and learn something, to get some experience."

"Hmm." Director Du remained noncommittal and continued, "High school graduate?"

"Do you know how to use a typewriter? Or a computer?" Director Du pointed to an old-fashioned Sitong typewriter covered with a cloth in the corner, and a CRT monitor computer on another table.

"I haven't formally studied typewriters, but I can learn; I should pick it up quickly. As for computers..." Lin Fan paused, then spoke frankly, "I've had some experience in the school's computer lab. I know how to turn them on and off, and I can use WPS to type some simple things, but I'm not very proficient."

He couldn't say too much. In 2003, it was normal for an average high school graduate to be "unfamiliar" with computers; to say he was an expert would be questionable. But he did know that in the next few years, computers would become widespread in government offices very quickly, which would be a potential advantage for him, and he needed the right opportunity to demonstrate it.

Director Du seemed fairly satisfied with his answer. Honesty and avoiding exaggeration are attitudes that the organization appreciates.

"The most important thing about working here is keeping your mouth shut," Director Du tapped the table. "Whatever you see or hear, once you leave this room, it's all inside your mouth. Ask what you should ask, and don't say a word you shouldn't. Can you do that?"

"Yes," Lin Fan answered readily. "Director, I'm young; I'm here to learn and work. I know the rules."

Director Du looked at him for a few more seconds, seemingly weighing his options. He certainly had to give Deputy Director Sun face, but the young man himself also had to be presentable; he couldn't let someone who would cause trouble get in.

"Alright then," Director Du said finally, "Old Wang in the archives has been having back pain lately and is worried about all those old documents. If you're free today, go with him to the archives to help out, get familiar with the environment, and see if you can handle the job. Consider it a half-day trial period. You'll have lunch in the cafeteria. We'll see how things go in the afternoon."

This is a prudent arrangement. It gives Sun Jing a sense of security while also allowing for a practical assessment of his abilities.

"Thank you for giving me this opportunity, Director." Lin Fan immediately stood up. "I will definitely do my best."

Director Du waved his hand, picked up the internal phone, and dialed a number: "Old Wang, come to my office. I'll send you a temporary helper."

A moment later, a man in his fifties, slightly overweight, and holding his back walked in. Director Du gave a few brief instructions, and then Old Wang led Lin Fan out of the office and headed towards the archives at the end of the corridor.

The archives were in a shady room. Pushing open the door, a smell of old paper and dust hit you. The room was dimly lit, with rows of tall metal cabinets reaching the ceiling, and piles of neatly bound kraft paper document bags on the floor, some with frayed edges.

"These are all old accounts, vouchers and attachments," Old Wang pointed to the ground and several half-empty cabinets. "Categorize them by year and department, reorganize them, and register them. Handle them gently, some of the paper is brittle. It's dusty, wear this." He handed Lin Fan a pair of coarse wool gloves and a mask.

The work wasn't physically demanding, but it was extremely tedious, requiring patience and a keen eye. Different documents, different formats, some with illegible handwriting, some with blurred stamps.

Without a word, Lin Fan put on gloves and a mask, then squatted down to start working. His movements were slow but steady; he first observed the overall structure of the pile of documents before breaking them down into smaller parts. When he encountered something uncertain, he would proactively ask Lao Wang. He had an excellent memory; he could quickly memorize and apply the classification rules that Lao Wang had explained once.

At first, Old Wang watched from the sidelines, offering a few pointers. But seeing that Lin Fan was quick to learn and organized, he felt reassured and sat back down at his small table, rubbing his back and reading the newspaper, occasionally glancing up at the screen.

Time passed quietly in the archives, the only sound the rustling of pages turning. Sunlight streamed in obliquely through the high windows, casting dappled shadows on the dust motes.

Lin Fan's mind wasn't entirely on the documents. He was listening and feeling.

The occasional footsteps, voices, ringing phones, and snippets of conversation from people in different departments passing by in the corridor—through these sounds, he slowly pieced together a glimpse into the operational rhythm and interpersonal relationships of this unit.

For example, around 10 a.m., someone came to the archives looking for a document from a few years ago about "urban surcharges," sounding quite urgent. Old Wang searched for a long time but couldn't find it. It was Lin Fan who, based on his memory from just being organized, found it in a poorly labeled box. The person thanked him and left in a hurry. Old Wang looked at Lin Fan with some surprise.

At 11:30 a.m., Old Wang put down his newspaper and said, "Let's go eat."

The canteen was located in the back courtyard on the first floor. When they arrived, a queue had already formed. There were quite a few people eating, both cadres and staff, and they were getting their food from different windows. The meals were simple: one large meat dish, one small meat dish, and one vegetable dish, with unlimited rice and steamed buns. The taste was quite good, and there was plenty of oil.

Old Wang led Lin Fan to a corner to sit down. During the meal, people would occasionally greet Old Wang, their gazes occasionally sweeping over Lin Fan, this unfamiliar face, but no one asked any questions. Lin Fan ate in silence, his ears gathering fragments of conversation around him: which department was going to work overtime again, what kind of inspection notice had arrived, rumors of a certain city leader being transferred…

The afternoon was spent organizing the files. Around four o'clock, Director Du strolled over with his hands behind his back and took a look. He saw that the previously messy pile of documents on the floor had been reduced by more than half, and they were now neatly arranged according to category. The cabinets were also full, and the handwriting in the registers was clear and neat. He nodded in satisfaction, said nothing, and left.

At 5:30, the workday ended. Old Wang dusted off his hands: "Alright, young man, that's enough for today. Good job, quite efficient."

Lin Fan took off his gloves and mask, and stretched his stiff neck: "Master Wang, Director Du said there are dormitories available. Who should I contact to apply for them?" Old Wang picked up the office phone, made a call, said a few words, and then told me to go to the logistics department to find Xiao Li.

"After you settle into your accommodation, grab a bite to eat at the cafeteria, and come right over at eight o'clock tomorrow morning," Old Wang said with a smile.

A weight lifted from his heart. Lin Fan sincerely thanked him, "Thank you, Master Wang, for teaching me today." Lin Fan quickly went to the logistics department and found Xiao Li, whom Old Wang had mentioned. Xiao Li gave Lin Fan a note, saying to go to the guesthouse behind the building and give the note to them, and they would arrange a room for him.

Stepping out of the Finance Bureau building, the setting sun cast long shadows. At the bicycle shed, the old man watching over the bikes was counting small change in his tin box. Most of the bikes at the gate had already left, making the area seem a bit empty.

Lin Fan didn't leave immediately. He bought a bottle of soda from the convenience store across from the compound gate, leaned against the wall, and slowly drank it, his gaze sweeping over the people and cars coming and going.

He saw his brother-in-law Sun Lin's black Santana 2000 drive out, with what appeared to be a person sitting in the back seat. The car quickly merged into the rush hour traffic without stopping.

He also saw, about ten minutes later, a slightly worn blue Santana drove out of the yard. The driver was a man in his thirties with a furrowed brow, and the car was going a bit too fast, almost scraping the side of the road while turning. A black briefcase was lying on the passenger seat.

He returned the soda bottle to the convenience store and turned to leave. The first day passed smoothly. He obtained the "identity" of a temporary worker, stepping one foot into the edge of this seemingly calm but actually turbulent system.

Tomorrow, he will officially begin his life here.

Tuesday, May 12, 2003. Three days until the lottery ticket goes on sale.

The game has begun, and the first piece has been placed silently.