Volume One: Freshly Emerged from the Mountains Chapter 2: First Day of Reporting

Time flies, and before we knew it, graduation had arrived. Looking back at the freshness and passion we felt when we first entered the university campus, it seemed to have vanished without a trace. If asked what we had gained or how we had grown over these four years, it was hard to say clearly. It felt like we had gained a lot and matured greatly, yet when put into words, no one could quite articulate it.

During these four years at university, we experienced many events. The world, our country, and society underwent many significant changes, bringing tremendous psychological impact to many people.

However, China’s first failed bid to host the Olympics made us realize that our country was not yet strong enough. I remember that night vividly; many of us stayed glued to the TV in the lecture hall, waiting anxiously for the final announcement. At first, everyone held great hope, but in the end, we lost by just two votes. Many students wept that night, and countless others stayed awake until dawn.

Of course, this event also revealed the patriotism and sense of responsibility among our generation of young people. Although later some media claimed that China's failure was due to behind-the-scenes interference—true or false—the fundamental truth was that our nation was not yet strong enough to withstand such machinations. There was still a long way to go in enhancing the country's strength. From that moment on, many of us resolved to study hard and dedicate ourselves to the prosperity and power of our homeland.

Graduation inevitably arrives. The changes over four years were summed up by our dean during the ceremony: “Compare your photos from when you first entered school, and you will see your gaze has become more profound.” I agreed with his words, though I couldn’t tell how much of that depth came from university life and how much from the maturity that comes with age. On one hand, we looked toward the future with hope, ready to apply what we had learned to make a mark in society, to strive for the country and ourselves. On the other hand, there was hesitation born from unfamiliarity with society, unsure how much our knowledge and skills would truly be valued or how complex the world outside really was.

With the help of “Hero Guo,” I ultimately found my place at the Eastern Chemical Plant. Early July 1994 was the day I reported there. I set out early, wearing what I thought was a reasonably formal shirt. After getting off the bus, I checked my watch; it was just past 8 a.m., an hour before my scheduled reporting time of 9 a.m. Perhaps I was simply too excited and had left too early.

Walking two or three hundred meters, I arrived at the grand gate of the Eastern Chemical Plant. Since I had some time, I took a careful look around. The gate was impressive, with five large characters inscribed in flowing script on a granite wall beside it, reading “Eastern Chemical Plant,” though I did not know who had penned them. Through the spacious gate, I could see the imposing office building, some factory workshops, and chimneys billowing smoke. Beside the gate stood a massive banyan tree, its branches lush and dense in the summer, casting a canopy like a natural umbrella. Even at this early hour, some employees wearing factory badges were already streaming in.

The young man from the personnel office who greeted me looked no older than thirty. He had a crew cut, wore glasses, was slender but energetic. He was very warm and introduced himself as Lin Ke.

After filling out a stack of forms and handing over my graduation and degree certificates for inspection, Lin Ke told me, “The factory values you highly; they’ve assigned you to the Supply and Marketing Department, which is quite important.”

Only then did I realize that my department would be the Supply and Marketing Department. As for what exactly this department did or why it was important, I didn’t ask—surely I would find out in time.

“Thank you, Brother Lin. I will work hard and not let the factory down,” I said politely.

The office building had five floors. As I entered the lobby, I observed carefully. All floors except the fifth were marked with department names. The fifth floor was simply labeled “Offices,” likely reserved for factory leadership since no single department would occupy an entire floor. In our society, every detail reflects hierarchy—the higher the rank, the higher the floor people occupy. That’s only natural. The personnel office was on the fourth floor, so its position must be quite high; after all, managing personnel naturally places one close to leadership, I thought.

While pondering this, Lin Ke led me to the first floor. We passed several offices bearing the Supply and Marketing Department sign. Lin Ke did not stop until we reached an office without a nameplate. The door was open, and voices could be heard inside. We waited by the door until the people inside emerged. Then Lin Ke knocked gently twice. From within came a deep, resonant male voice:

“Come in.”

Following Lin Ke inside, I saw a spacious office where a man in his forties sat behind a large executive desk. He was slightly overweight, his hair neatly combed and shining. Lin Ke respectfully greeted him:

“Director Jia.”

When Director Jia looked at him, Lin Ke continued:

“This is Wang Dongshan from Huajiang University who reported to you today, as I mentioned last time.”

Director Jia then turned his gaze to me. I quickly said, “Hello, Director Jia.”

Director Jia stood and extended his hand. I grasped it promptly, feeling his thick, strong hand warmly shake mine. However, he did not look at me but spoke to Lin Ke instead:

“Thank you, Lin. The personnel office is really efficient.”

Then he faced me and said:

“Welcome, Wang. We are in dire need of talent here. I’ve heard you performed excellently at school. I hope you bring fresh energy and new ideas.”

“I will rely on your guidance and support, Director,” I replied respectfully.

Director Jia then called in another man, about fifty years old, with thinning hair and a stocky build resembling a winter melon. His slanted eyes always seemed cunning, yet he showed utmost respect in Director Jia’s presence. He glanced at me and said to Director Jia:

“Boss, what are your orders?”

“This is Wang Dongshan, the university graduate I mentioned earlier, assigned to your section. Please arrange his work,” Director Jia instructed.

He then introduced me to this man: “This is Section Chief Zheng of Sales Section Two. You’ll be working under him.”

I quickly said, “Please take care of me, Chief Zheng!”

The “winter melon” ignored me and said to Director Jia, “Thanks for the extra hands.” Then he turned to me, who was still stunned, and said, “Let’s go.”

I followed Chief Zheng into the adjacent room marked “Supply and Marketing Department.” The office was spacious but sparsely occupied—just four people: three men and one woman. Chief Zheng’s desk was at the far window.

Chief Zheng called over a younger woman, perhaps five or six years older than me, heavily made up but embodying the typical characteristics of a woman from Huajiang—beautiful and gentle, yet a bit sharp.

“Hu Yue, please arrange the new guy Wang’s work,” Chief Zheng said before answering a phone call, leaving us.

“Follow me,” said the beautiful woman with a smile.

“All right, Sister Hu,” I replied.

She smiled again, “Don’t call me teacher; just call me Sister Hu.”

“Okay, Sister Hu,” I said, chuckling inwardly. The title “teacher” used to be sacred in China—“passing on knowledge and resolving doubts” was a noble calling. Ancient rites honored “Heaven, Earth, Sovereign, Parents, and Teachers,” underscoring the high status of teachers. But nowadays the term seems diluted and overused, sometimes uttered as a mere polite formality. With the rise of the internet, the title “teacher” has become even more trivialized.

Hu Yue then introduced me to the others in the room. This was the office of Sales Section Two. Among the men, there was Zhou Dezhi, a serious-looking man in his forties with glasses and a square face; Lin Xiaolong, younger and somewhat casual; and Zhang Chi, the youngest, under thirty, slim with a crew cut, full of energy. Hu Yue also told me that Chief Zheng’s full name was Zheng Dawei.

She assigned me the desk at the front. The office layout had Chief Zheng at the back by the window. Although he was the section chief, he didn’t have a separate office, only a simple partition separating him from the rest of the team, giving him a bit of private space. Beside his desk was a sofa set for visitors. In front of a glass partition sat Hu Yue, with Lin Xiaolong in front of her, and I was seated ahead of Lin. On the other side, Zhou Dezhi sat at the back, with Zhang Chi in front of him.

Time passed quickly, and soon it was time to leave work. Hu Yue took me to the staff canteen, located in a single-story building at the back of the first floor. The canteen felt spacious and bright. At that time, there weren’t many people eating, which made me feel fortunate to be in this unit—good staff benefits indeed. I laughed at myself for being so easily satisfied by just good food.

Following Hu Yue’s graceful figure, I admired her fine shape. She helped me get a meal card and then led me to queue for food. The menu wasn’t extensive—five meat dishes and five vegetable dishes—but prices were reasonable. I followed Hu Yue’s choice: two meat dishes and one vegetable.

We sat down at a neatly arranged table to eat. Whether intentionally or not, after inviting me to sit, Hu Yue took a seat with one space between us. Despite the distance, the scent of her perfume was intoxicating, making me a bit distracted. I scolded myself inwardly—she was much older than my girlfriend, who was young and beautiful. How could I be interested in another woman? But the mature charm she exuded was undeniable. Still, admiration aside, I would never betray my girlfriend.

I was grateful to Hu Yue for being so thorough and considerate in explaining everything; otherwise, I would have been quite lost on my first day. Then I realized I hadn’t spoken much all morning; Hu Yue did most of the talking.

After lunch, back at the office, everyone else had left or gone elsewhere, including Hu Yue. Sitting alone at my own desk—my first ever solo workspace—I felt a surge of excitement. I silently told myself, “Wang Dongshan, you must work hard and prove yourself.”

That afternoon, Hu Yue briefed me on the Supply and Marketing Department. It handled procurement and sales for the Eastern Chemical Plant. Director Jia Guangming was the head, in charge of the entire department. The department had two deputy directors, one assisting Jia with procurement, the other managing sales. Procurement was divided by primary and auxiliary materials into Supply Sections One and Two. Sales was divided by product lines into Sales Sections One, Two, and Three.

The department had 23 people, making it the second largest in the factory. The largest was the Production Planning Department, overseeing the workshops. Though smaller in number, the Supply and Marketing Department held a high status. Sales Section Two was led by Chief Zheng Dawei, with sales staff divided by market regions: Zhou Dezhi and Zhang Chi handled sales within the province, while Lin Xiaolong managed sales outside the province. Hu Yue herself was the sales clerk, responsible for sales statistics, invoicing, fax handling, and office logistics.

I was the first formally graduated university bachelor in the department. Even Zhang Chi, the youngest, only had a college diploma. Zhou Dezhi had a specialized diploma, which I learned later was from continuing education.

After the introduction, Hu Yue gave me some product materials Chief Zheng wanted me to study. Then she left me alone. Opening the pile of documents, I realized they were harder to understand than I had expected. As an arts student, memorizing the names of chemical products was difficult enough, not to mention understanding their production processes, chemical properties, characteristics, specifications, and uses. But no matter how challenging, I resolved to persevere. My old determination to never give up reignited, and I buried myself in the material as if I were back at school studying.

I spent a week poring over the documents. Though tedious, I gained some knowledge and gradually became familiar with the section. Zhou Dezhi and Zhang Chi were quiet, while Lin Xiaolong and Hu Yue often joked with each other. Compared to her first-day attentiveness, Hu Yue spoke less to me now. Their work didn’t seem too busy—mainly taking calls and receiving clients. Chief Zheng was often absent; I never knew where he went.

After a week, recalling workplace newcomer advice I had read, I tried to take initiative in small office tasks like cleaning and preparing hot water. However, cleaning was done by a dedicated person. When Lin Xiaolong went to fetch the hot water bottle near Chief Zheng’s desk, I quickly stepped forward and grabbed it, saying, “Teacher Lin, let me do it.” He looked surprised and said, “No need.”

I felt awkward. After he walked away with the bottle, I realized that serving the leader was a privilege for some, and I had overstepped. Lin Xiaolong naturally defended his “territory.”

When clients came, Hu Yue and Zhang Chi mainly handled serving tea. Zhang Chi only served clients of Zhou Dezhi and himself. I also volunteered to help, and after two days, Lin Xiaolong started inviting me to pour tea for clients. Soon, the office would often call out, “Little Wang, come pour some tea,” which shortened to “Little Wang, tea.” Eventually, I didn’t wait to be asked but went to serve tea whenever clients arrived. Zhang Chi mostly stopped serving tea, while Hu Yue would occasionally assist. This made me feel even closer to Hu Yue.

Later, after I had been responsible for serving tea for some time and it became one of my main duties, I realized many newcomer workplace guides and motivational talks were misleading. They urged new employees to take the initiative with menial tasks to build good relationships and integrate quickly. But the truth was once you took on such tasks regularly, they became your expected duties. If you ever failed to do them well, it would be held against you and used as a reason to criticize you.