A nation's industrial development begins with junior engineers.

The beige Russian-style building on the street corner stands out in the old neighborhood of Darian. It was the private residence of a Russian tea merchant during the Russian occupation, with pointed roofs, arched windows, old vines climbing the exterior walls, and exquisite relief patterns remaining on the columns.

After the Russians left, the local authorities originally planned to transform it into a community cultural center, providing a place for neighbors to read and engage in activities. However, not long after, due to some unforeseen circumstances, it became an unmarked sanatorium, rarely visited by anyone on ordinary days.

The private room on the second floor of the villa has the best view in the entire house. It features thick cherry wood paneling, and in the corner stands a long-disused European-style fireplace with two glass vases on the fireplace mantel.

The private room has double windows: the inner layer is a carved wooden window frame, and the outer layer is a sliding solid wood window sash. When closed, it can block out most of the noise from the outside world.

An oval mahogany table stood by the window, covered with a white linen tablecloth. Four delicate tea snacks were neatly arranged: pine nut cake sprinkled with white sugar, almond shortbread sliced ​​as thin as paper, osmanthus-flavored lotus root soaked in honey, and a pot of freshly brewed jasmine silver needle tea. The aroma of tea mixed with the sweet fragrance of the snacks filled the quiet private room.

Lin Wenxuan stood with his hands at his sides to one side of the private room, his white shirt cuffs buttoned tightly, his leather shoes polished to a gleaming shine, reflecting the dim light of the ceiling chandelier. His gaze drifted through the window to the floor below, and seeing Jiang Xia still lingering at the food stall, he softly called out:

"Mom, it's him!"

"Open the window and take a look!"

A woman reclines on a mahogany chair, wearing a dark blue cheongsam with a subtle pattern, a small pearl brooch at the collar, and a gilded round fan between her fingers, which she is gently fanning herself.

As Lin Wenxuan opened the window, the woman slowly walked to the window, stepping onto the thick wool carpet.

The noise from downstairs drifted up intermittently—the shouts of vendors at food stalls, the laughter of diners, and the sizzling sound of fried dough sticks, mixed with the soft rustling of wind through the sycamore leaves. It wasn't particularly jarring, but it made the woman, who was used to quiet, frown.

The woman leaned out of the window and quickly glanced down at the view below.

Jiang Xia was standing in front of the food stall, holding an iron plate in his hand, talking to the stall owner, an old lady, with a little sauce on the corner of his mouth, looking casual and carefree; several customers were queuing up around him, chatting and laughing, a lively scene of the market.

Her brows furrowed even more, as if offended by something dirty, and she quickly looked away: "Turn it off, it's too noisy."

Lin Wenxuan immediately pushed the window back and closed it tightly again. The private room returned to its previous tranquility, with only the aroma of tea and the sweet scent of pastries remaining.

The woman put down her fan, picked up the teacup on the table, took a sip of hot tea, and said impatiently, "The noise in the marketplace is most disturbing to the mind."

She took a small sip of tea, then carefully placed the cup back on the saucer with a very slight crisp sound.

Then, the woman's gaze fell on her son's profile, but she said it very casually: "Since you're sure he's not going to be a fish in a pond, don't just stand on the shore and watch."

She picked up a fine cotton handkerchief and gently wiped the corner of her lips. "In a family like ours, we must act with method. Bowing down would be beneath our dignity, but letting useful 'fish' swim into someone else's net would be short-sighted. You must know your limits. You should give them a way out, but you must also show them whose way out it is."

Lin Wenxuan nodded. His father's words, "Keep a long-term perspective," were the direction, while his mother's few words, though seemingly casual, were specific and detailed guidelines for action, carrying the sense of superiority naturally bestowed upon her by her position.

This person must be brought under our control in a way that aligns with our identity and interests.

At the very least, we must not let him become an unbridled variable.

Lin Wenxuan straightened his shirt collar, put on the smile he had practiced many times, and turned to walk downstairs.

The woman smiled indulgently as her son confidently walked downstairs. But then she frowned as she looked at the food stalls outside the window.

She got up and walked to the screen behind the private room. She reached out and unbuttoned the collar, deftly took off the dark blue cheongsam with dark patterns, and handed it to the attendant behind the screen. She then changed into a drab gray four-pocket jacket.

The fabric was ordinary, the style formal, a stark contrast to her previous elegant and luxurious appearance. After changing her clothes, she straightened her collar, walked into the room, and casually spoke to the air: "The cadre who came to report to our leader here, hasn't left yet? Call him over."

Not long after he finished speaking, a tall man in a Zhongshan suit walked in and stood at the door with his hands at his sides.

It was Zhang, the cadre, who had previously spoken with Jiang Xia at the Lantern Festival about organizing more community events. He had come to report to Lin Wenxuan's father, but before he could leave, he was called in.

The woman raised her chin, glanced through the window, and casually pointed to the food stalls downstairs. Her tone remained nonchalant: "As you know, my husband has a lot of official business to handle, and he dislikes noise the most. The commotion downstairs will inevitably disturb his concentration and affect his work efficiency."

She paused, her fingertips lightly resting on the edge of the table, and didn't continue speaking. The topic abruptly changed: "When we do work, we value smooth transitions. We can't let these trivial details cause problems. If this little commotion delays important matters and affects the progress of the work, no one can bear that responsibility, can they?"

You're here to report on your work, so you're probably familiar with the rules here and how to handle things properly. I don't need to elaborate.

Following the direction she pointed, Officer Zhang immediately spotted the old woman selling braised pork.

His brows furrowed instantly, and his hands, which were at his sides, unconsciously clenched into fists.

He recalled that he had just discussed with his colleagues a few days ago how to create more convenience for these self-reliant people, how to implement policies effectively, and how to ensure that people can live a stable life.

But now...

Anger and helplessness mingled within him, making his chest feel tight. But looking at the woman's matter-of-fact demeanor and the indifferent gaze of the orderly beside her, he ultimately swallowed the words that were on the tip of his tongue.

"Yes."

Officer Zhang left stiffly.

In the private room, the woman picked up her teacup again, as if she had just given a trivial instruction.

"Oh, by the way, I'm tired of these paintings of maids. Let's go borrow a couple more..."

"Okay, should we pick it up at the museum in Beijing or the one in Nanjing?"

"Nanling...that's farther away!"

"Yes!"

……

Across the street, Lin Wenxuan had been standing there for a while.

Watching Jiang Xia eat the squid with its juices splattering everywhere, I couldn't help but swallow hard.

It looks delicious, would you like to try some?

He was immediately amused by his own thought. Ha, street food?

He straightened the collar of his white shirt, put on that warm and welcoming smile, and strode forward.

Almost at the same moment he took a step, Old Wang, who had been standing casually behind Jiangxia, eating his braised pork belly with his head down, slightly raised his eyelids and his muscles tensed up almost imperceptibly for a moment.

He touched Jiang Xia's lower back very lightly with his elbow.

Jiang Xia immediately understood, swallowed the food in his mouth, and did not turn around immediately. He just glanced at it quickly out of the corner of his eye while he was taking out the money.

The young figure with striking thick eyebrows walking across the street was none other than Lin Wenxuan.

Oh dear, trouble has arisen?