Mastering the Sword Manual, sweeping across the globe

"Mr. Li, congratulations!" The voice on the other end of the phone was as enthusiastic as ever. "Did it fall through last night? You two planned this out this morning, right? When will Far East be able to catch this train and benefit from the success of these two big brothers?"

The operations director of the group didn't say anything, he just listened.

Director Ma waited two seconds, and seeing no response, softened his tone slightly: "President Li? Is he still there?"

"exist."

"Well..." Director Ma hesitated, "I just want to ask, what exactly is going on? We've been in this business for so many years, what storms haven't we weathered? But for two companies to switch sides overnight... this doesn't make sense. Is there some instruction from above? Or... is there some information we don't know about?"

The operations director of the group remained silent.

"Mr. Li?" Director Ma's voice carried a hint of probing. "If it's inconvenient for you to say, then never mind. I'm just curious, purely curious. Let's get together sometime, it'll be on me."

"it is good."

……

The phone hangs up.

The second call was from the Far East Legal Director, surnamed Zhou, in his early fifties, known for his caution.

“Brother Huang, I just saw your company’s announcement.” Director Zhou’s voice was steady. “I have a technical question to ask – the insurance coverage has been expanded to include commuting. How do you define ‘commuting’? Does it start from when you leave your home or from when you leave the station? Does it still count if I detour to run personal errands? Our legal department is studying and following up on the plan, and we would like to refer to your company’s detailed rules.”

The legal director of the group remained silent.

Director Zhou waited a moment, then asked again, "Brother Huang? Brother Huang?"

"...Brother Huang, if it's inconvenient for you now, I'll call you back later. It's just...this matter is indeed a bit urgent, the board of directors is pressing us hard, I'm sorry to bother you, please understand."

“I understand,” said the legal director of the Ugly Group.

The call ended.

The third, the fourth, the fifth...

Far East's Strategy Director, Finance Director, Human Resources Director, Public Relations Director...

They called in one by one.

The excuses are varied—congratulations, probing questions, trying to get closer, or pretending to ask for advice.

But the core question remains the same: what exactly happened?

After listening to each of the executives' comments, they all hung up.

In just over ten minutes, there were more than thirty phone calls.

Each time, the group only replied with one or two words.

"Ah."

"it is good."

"understand."

"know."

CEOs are no exception.

After listening to the three phone calls, Wang Xixue placed his phone face down on the table, picked up his teacup, and took a sip.

All three assistants have arrived.

“Tell those who ran away,” Wang Xixue stood up, “that all the messy things from the past are wiped clean… as long as they’re willing, we can still be colleagues.”

"But whoever dares to tip off the Far East..."

"I will definitely kill him!"

--------

morning.

At the station, sunlight filtered through the leaves of the old locust tree at the entrance, casting dappled patterns of light on the ground.

Zhang Qiliang parked his electric scooter, took off his helmet, and carried the insulated box into the station.

The blond-haired guy was squatting by the door smoking when he saw Zhang Qiliang coming over. His eyes lit up: "Brother Ming, it's a bit late today."

Zhang Qiliang smiled, placed the insulated box against the wall, and squatted down next to him: "Yeah, I was a bit busy last night."

"What are you busy with?" the blond-haired guy asked casually, offering him a cigarette.

Zhang Qiliang waved his hand, not taking it.

The blond-haired guy didn't care. He lit it up himself, took a deep breath, and showed him the screen: "Did you see the announcement?"

Zhang Qiliang glanced at it: "I've seen it."

"Really?" The blond-haired guy put his phone away, stared at the screen for a few more seconds, as if trying to find some flaw in the words. "The insurance covers commuting, 1.65 times the normal rate for extreme weather, and there's also an income protection line..."

He looked up at the sun-bleached road outside the door, his gaze somewhat unfocused.

“I’ve been doing this for two years.” The young man with yellow hair spoke softly, as if he were talking to himself. “I leave home at five in the morning and come back at eleven at night. In the summer, my skin peels from the sun, and in the winter, my hands crack from the cold. Sometimes, after finishing a delivery, I’ll squat down by the roadside to catch my breath and think, when the hell will this end?”

He turned his head and looked at Zhang Qiliang.

"Ming-ge, do you think such a good thing really exists in this world?"

Zhang Qiliang looked at him and smiled: "The announcement has already been released, how could it be fake?"

"That's true." The blond-haired guy scratched his head and glanced down at his phone. "I'm just... a little confused."

He put his phone back in his pocket, stood up, and stretched his legs, which had gone numb from squatting.

"Oh, right, the fishing rod you gave me," Xiao Mao suddenly remembered something, a slightly embarrassed smile on his face, "my nephew really likes it. That kid, he took it apart and played with it as soon as he got it, and spent the whole afternoon casting it downstairs, saying he wants to go fishing at the reservoir with his dad next time."

Zhang Qiliang also stood up.

"Come back early for lunch," said the blond-haired boy. "I'll treat you to lunch. It's at that ramen shop next door; their beef ramen is delicious."

“Okay,” Zhang Qiliang said.

82. Under fourteen years old

Wang Xixue's thinking was too idealistic.

It's been two days already, and the news simply can't be contained anymore.

Starting at noon, executives from Far East began to leave one after another.

The first to leave was the president of the South China region. At 2:15 p.m., he sent a message in the company group: "I'm going on a last-minute business trip to Shenzhen. If there's anything urgent, please contact Vice President Li."

The accompanying picture shows the blue sky outside the office window and a freshly printed itinerary.

Fifteen minutes later, someone photographed him at the airport—not on a flight to Shenzhen, but an international departure bound for Singapore.

The second person to leave was the North China Regional Operations Director. At 3 p.m., he sent a WeChat message to his assistant: "The afternoon meeting is canceled. I'm not feeling well, so I'm going home first."

The assistant replied, "Yes, Mr. Zhou, please get some rest."

At 4:20, the North China Regional Operations Director arrived at the VIP lounge of Pudong Airport for his connecting flight to Hong Kong.

The third person to leave was the Chief Financial Officer, surnamed Wu, 51 years old, the head of the finance department.

At 3:30 p.m., he sent an email to the board of directors: "Due to personal reasons, I need to urgently travel to the United States to handle family matters and expect to return in a week. During this period, my work will be handled by CFO Li."

Three minutes after sending the email, his car drove out of the company's underground parking garage and headed towards the airport expressway.

The fourth, the fifth, the sixth...

South China, North China, East China, Southwest China, Northwest China —

Marketing, operations, technology, human resources, strategy —

Director, Vice President, Senior Vice President, President —

One after another, from afternoon to evening, from high-speed rail stations to airports, from domestic to international destinations.

Some went to Shenzhen, some went to Shanghai, and some went to Chengdu.

Some went to Tokyo, some went to Singapore, and some went to Bangkok.

Everyone had the same thought: No matter how amazing the mysterious person is, he can't possibly travel all over the world in one night, right?

--------

Zhang Qiliang is indeed not that amazing.

01:03 pm.

Even in the early hours of the morning, the capital city still refused to sleep.

Standing at the crossroads, Zhang Qiliang quietly looked at this tireless city.

In the distance, office buildings still had a few lights on, representing the overworked office workers who were working overtime all night; nearby, shop signs flashed with various neon lights, and signs featuring men and women in red and green swayed in the night.

Traffic was much thinner than during the day, but still plentiful—taxis cruised slowly with their vacancy lights on, electric scooters sped along the side of the road, and occasionally a few sports cars roared past, their taillights casting long red lines in the night.

The pedestrian light was red, but a drunk man staggered across, eliciting screech of brakes and shouts. Without turning back, he continued stumbling forward, disappearing into the doorway of a convenience store that was still lit up.

That's how this city is: there are always people awake, always people on their way, always people just getting off work, and always people about to leave.

Zhang Qiliang stood there, watching the flow of traffic, and lowered his right hand.

Directly opposite, the Far East executives, who were waiting for the green light, looked at Zhang Qiliang with a puzzled expression, and slowly relaxed as the latter lowered his hand.

This was the last high-ranking official in the Far East that Zhang Qiliang could sense within the capital region.

Including the person in front of me who is still unaware that they have become one of the lucky ones, there are a total of 13 people. — I don't know whether to comment that they are really stubborn or to lament that their ability to manage interpersonal relationships is really poor.

There are no other senior executives within a 300-kilometer radius!

The latest scent is coming from Xi'an...

Good.

It's all made things easier for everyone.

--------

Zhang Qiliang smiled and picked up a twig from the ground.

The branch was ordinary, fallen from a plane tree by the roadside, about the thickness of a thumb and half a meter long, with a few withered yellow leaves still attached.

Holding the branch, Zhang Qiliang weighed it in his hand and gently tossed it into the air.

The tree branch tumbled through the air a few times before falling down.

It landed on the ground and pointed in one direction.

Following that direction, Zhang Qiliang walked forward.

About fifteen minutes later, an old residential area appeared in front of Zhang Qiliang.

The red brick building is six stories high, with a beige paint on the exterior walls that is already somewhat mottled and peeling, but the windows are all brand new double-glazed, and the air conditioner outdoor units are neatly arranged on uniformly installed brackets.

An old-fashioned lamppost stands at the entrance of the residential area, its dim light illuminating a faded sign with slightly blurred lettering, though it can be discerned by the streetlights:

"Zhaohuili Community".

The gatehouse was an old-fashioned one, made of red bricks, with dark green window frames and shiny glass.

Several notices were pasted on the window, with things like "Fire Prevention and Theft Prevention" and "Caution: Safety First," and the edges were already curled up. But next to them was another one, with a red heading and an official seal—it was an internal document, the content of which was illegible, but the format clearly indicated which system it belonged to.

The security guard, dressed in a dark blue uniform with a badge pinned to his collar, was dozing off in his chair.

Next to the chair was an enamel mug with the words "Advanced Worker of XX System" printed on it, the red paint of which had been almost completely worn away.

As Zhang Qiliang passed by the gate, the gatekeeper stirred, opened his eyes, but saw nothing in his field of vision.

He closed his eyes again.

—In such communities, the role of the gatekeeper is more of a reminder than a preventative measure.

Who would dare cause trouble in a place like this?

Zhang Qiliang continued walking inside.

The layout of the community is very orderly, with several rows of red brick buildings arranged neatly. The distance between the buildings is much wider than that of ordinary commercial housing, and there are neatly marked parking spaces under each building.

The parked cars were clearly distinguishable at first glance—they weren't the ostentatious luxury cars, but they certainly weren't the kind of cars driven by ordinary people either. Most of them were black or silver-gray, and their license plates mostly started with the character "京" (Jing), followed by a string of uncommon numbers.

Several vehicles still had passes affixed to the inside of their windshields, with red backgrounds and yellow lettering, such as "Bureau of Government Affairs" or "Ministry of Internal Affairs." The details were not clearly visible at night, but the level of authority was immediately apparent.

Between the buildings are some old locust trees, their trunks so thick that it takes two people to hug them, and they are at least thirty or forty years old.

The fact that these trees have been able to take root here for so long shows that this land has never been disturbed.