Chapter 317 Living is about working: Of course, no objection.

As they left the concentration camp, Cao Xiufen was still worried about the new mother: "If she gets engorged and inflamed, and there's no medicine, you can boil some dandelion leaves growing here to reduce the inflammation."

She was afraid that these bosses and officials, who were not used to manual labor, would not know what dandelions looked like, so she pointed to the wild grass around the camp so that they could see them clearly.

Each dandelion, with its tiny umbrella, is covered in dew; even in the morning breeze, it is too heavy to fly.

Oh dear, what a terrible tragedy. Giving birth in a place like this and having no one to care for you, how are you going to survive?

Upon hearing the translation, Yura instinctively explained, "It's alright, she'll be sent back to Chechnya in a couple of days."

After he finished speaking, he suddenly fell silent.

If Moscow cannot tolerate Chechens, what right does the Russian Federation have to prevent Chechnya from becoming independent?

Cao Xiufen, not understanding, simply said "Oh, that's good."

Whether it's really good or bad, she couldn't say for sure.

At the very least, you can't have a postpartum period in a concentration camp.

She spent the whole night there; it was damp and dark, and the mosquitoes were so numerous they seemed ready to carry her away. It was hardly a place for a person to live.

While they were talking, everyone went out through the barbed wire gate.

Boris stood at the doorway smoking, his face still shrouded in smoke even though the thick fog had melted away in the morning light.

He grinned, then suddenly gave Ivanov, who was walking towards the car, a strange smile: "Sir, you can't leave?"

Yura, already in a low mood, immediately turned around irritably and yelled, "Sheriff, what are you trying to do now?"

“Illegal possession of a firearm.” Boris walked up to Ivanov, tossed aside his cigarette butt, and slammed it down heavily in his police boots, his teeth stained with yellow tobacco. “Illegal possession of a firearm in Moscow carries a five-year prison sentence. Moreover, you fired into the crowd; this is attempted rioting, sir—”

He made no attempt to hide his malice: "Even if you are extremely wealthy, you cannot be above the law."

How absurd that Moscow police would talk about the law so much.

It's as if their current restrictions on citizens' personal freedom and infringements on their right to move are in accordance with the law.

Yura was furious: "Sheriff, please don't make trouble out of nothing."

What's a gun! There are plenty of people with guns in Moscow.

“I want to remind you again.” Boris didn’t even look at Yura, his eyes fixed on Ivanov’s throat as if he were about to strangle him. “You are not my superior and have no right to interfere with our actions.”

The bodyguards clenched their fists, on guard, ready to be on the verge of a sudden attack by the police.

On a cool and comfortable summer morning in the suburbs of Moscow, the air seems to stand still for a moment.

"I fired the gun." Punonin's voice came from behind, the sound of his leather shoes crushing gravel sounding exactly like a bullet being chambered.

Sheriff Boris turned his head, a smile as thin as paper on his face: "Major General, you must be joking. I saw Mr. Ivanov fire the gun with my own eyes."

Punonin remained unfazed, his voice calm: "You're mistaken, Sheriff Boris. There's a riot at the concentration camp, and the police are doing nothing. As a tax officer, I have to intervene."

He took a half step forward with his left foot, his gaze as dark as the muzzle of a gun. "What? Sheriff, do you have any objections to my actions?"

Boris's cheeks twitched, as if in a spasm.

His Adam's apple bobbed up and down like a broken piston, and he spat out through gritted teeth, "Of course, I have no objection to your behavior, Major General."

The police officer who came to relieve him breathed a sigh of relief.

Good heavens, who wants to mess with the tax police?

They possess armed law enforcement authority and can directly mobilize NKVD troops. Last year, Major General Punonin personally led an armed search of the Moscow police headquarters.

Punonin nodded slightly: "That's good."

Yula pulled Ivanov's hand and whispered to him in front of others, just like when they were children: "Hurry up, take this opportunity to go and say a few kind words to Punonin. Can't you see he's helping you?"

Ivanov's core was frighteningly stable; even with Yura's attempts to drag and pull him, his feet remained motionless, as if glued to the ground.

Punoning snorted and got into his car.

After closing the passenger door, he shouted at Yura, "What are you standing there for? Aren't you going to work today?"

Yura completely broke down, raising her hands: "God! Ivanov, how old are you? How long are you going to keep throwing this tantrum?"

Ivanov glanced at him, then walked to his car. As he closed the door, he said only one sentence: "Yura, I'm not throwing a tantrum."

Yura wished she could just explode on the spot.

He really misses the good old days when he could argue with anyone he met.

How long has it been? Why has everyone changed so much?

Punonin urged her again, and Yura had no choice but to walk towards her car.

As he took his step, he didn't forget to turn back and warn Boris: "Sheriff, please don't cause any more trouble. This is not someone you can mess with."

Boris responded by forcefully crushing the cigarette butt under his feet.

Unfortunately, the cigarette butt had already sunk into the mud, thus escaping unscathed.

The two cars set off almost simultaneously, passed through the forest, crossed the Moscow River, and finally parted ways after reaching the main road in the city.

Ivanov had been staring out the windshield in silence until this moment when he finally spoke: "Did I do something stupid?"

He has been likable since he was a child, and he knows how to make people like him.

He could have handled things much better with Punoning today.

“Where is the stupidity?” Wang Xiao asked, puzzled. “We work so hard and desperately just to do what we want. Why are we sucking up to Punoning? We don’t care about him.”

Ivanov laughed.

The ordeal of the night deepened the lines around his eyes.

But Wang Xiao had to admit that, at that moment, the Moscow summer sun shining on his face made him look truly captivating.

Cao Xiufen was very careful from the moment she got on the bus.

She felt that even the county party secretary's car that Chen Huansheng rode in the movie wasn't this big or this comfortable.

So, she sat there for a long time before carefully shifting her body.

But this movement immediately caught the attention of the two bosses in the car.

Ivanov's face immediately lit up with a smile, and he kept praising her: "Madam, you are so brave, you are so amazing!"

Cao Xiufen was startled and said embarrassedly, "Oh, not at all, just a midwife."

In 1967, when she and her classmates went to the countryside on a mission, she learned how to deliver babies from a mobile medical team.

Later, the brigade selected barefoot doctors for training, and she completed three training sessions, each lasting three months, and continued to work as a barefoot doctor. Because the surrounding brigades all had male barefoot doctors, she took on all the midwifery duties in the entire area.

It wasn't until the end of 1982, when she returned to the city to take over her mother's job and became a factory worker, that her career as a midwife came to an end.

Unfortunately, the good days only lasted for 10 years. At the end of the year before last, their factory went out of business, and she was told to go home and wait for news.

After waiting and waiting, there was simply no more news.

But the children in the family need to go to school, the elderly need to take medicine when they are sick, and the whole family needs to eat and drink.

She had no choice but to come to Moscow with her cousin to seek her fortune, and now she was working as her cousin's assistant.

Wang Xiao asked her, "Are you planning to set up a stall and do business in the future, or continue to work in medicine?"

Cao Xiufen was stunned for a moment, then quickly waved her hand: "I...I...I'm uneducated."

When she voluntarily went to the countryside, she hadn't even finished junior high school. Being a barefoot doctor didn't require formal education, but to be a proper doctor, you needed to be educated.

Wang Xiao explained, "When I said 'becoming a doctor,' I meant becoming a midwife, not a doctor. That's too difficult; there's no way to get there. As for midwives—"

She turned to Ivanov and asked, "What are the requirements for being a midwife in Moscow?"

Ivanov was also unsure, but he also believed that it was indeed necessary to have Chinese-speaking midwives in their hospital to meet the needs of more people.

Good heavens! He too must say, having children is truly terrifying.

He couldn't bear the smell of blood outside the delivery room.

"Let me ask."

Wang Xiao nodded, then turned to Cao Xiufang and said, "If you want to be a midwife, we'll figure something out. You can start receiving a midwife's salary right now, which means the hospital is paying for your training. If you don't want to be one, that's fine too, don't feel pressured."

She thought for a moment, "I'll find you a stall, you can do business on your own."

Cao Xiufen was dizzy and didn't know what to choose.

"Don't rush," Wang Xiao comforted her. "Take your time to think about it."

Silence returned to the carriage.

Ivanov looked out the window at the White House.

It has remained unrepaired since being shelled last year, just like the dilapidated state of Moscow.

He was thinking about his next move.

Punonin is no good; he treats him like meat on a chopping board. Is the mayor some kind of saint?

No, no, no, let's not even mention that the expulsion of outsiders was orchestrated by the mayor.

Is Boris's harassment simply a sign that he's going crazy?

No, behind every troublesome little devil lies the King of Hell, who is right before us.

He doesn't make a move; he maintains an elegant demeanor, yet he can have insignificant figures guess his intentions and tell you: I can make you thrive in Moscow, and I can also make it impossible for you to move an inch.

The car stopped on the shopping street next to Red Square.

Pigeons flew across the square, making the sky appear even bluer.

Ivanov asked, puzzled, "Is something wrong?"

Wang Xiao shook her head and nudged his shoulder: "Don't think about it, don't think about anything. Take a shower, eat, and sleep. These are the only three things you need to do right now. We'll talk about the rest when you wake up."

Ivanov got out of the car and helped her hold the door open.

Wang Xiao shook his head again: "You go and rest first, I still have to go to the container market."

Last night, the market experienced a real battle, and we don't know how panicked it is now.

The summer sun is particularly enthusiastic about its work; as soon as it climbs onto the roof, it can't wait to pour out all its heat.

The truck drove past them and stopped at the market. As soon as the back of the truck was opened, the rich aroma of fruits and vegetables burst forth like a bomb, quickly filling the nostrils of everyone around.

Wang Xiao took a deep breath, trying hard to identify the scents: there was the fragrance of pear blossoms like fermented melon, the sweet aroma of strawberries, the juicy scent of plump cherries, and the cool, sweet aroma of a watermelon that had rolled onto the ground and accidentally cracked open.

The elderly women waiting by the market immediately crowded around. These spoiled fruits were cheaper and were highly sought-after clearance items.

Wang Xiao smiled slightly and rolled up the car window.

Walk another 200 meters, past the farmers' market area, and the road narrows, making it difficult for cars to drive any further.

Wang Xiao led Cao Xiufen out of the car. The vendors who were bending over to move baskets heard the noise, looked up, and immediately spotted Cao Xiufen. They exclaimed, "My goodness! How dare you go back?"

Cao Xiufen stepped forward and reached out to help move the crates, saying nonchalantly, "What can we do? They have two lives to live, I can't just stand by and watch."

Some familiar vendors nearby asked questions and inquired, while others took the opportunity to seek medical help: "You can deliver babies? Do you know massage? I got hit by two sticks."

"Go away, go away," Cao Xiufen's cousin said, shooing her away. "Go buy some safflower oil yourself."

The vendors scattered in a flurry; customers had arrived, time to get to business.

This includes the shoe merchant who was hit on the leg with a police baton and was walking with a limp.

The guests included Russians and Europeans.

Don't ask them how they distinguish different races from high noses, blue eyes, and white skin.

Just look at what they have in their hands and you'll know.

Those people carrying large and small bags, with trailers and flatbed carts, were all merchants from the former Soviet Union. They were just like us, struggling to make a living.

Those people with cameras, snapping photos here and there, are undoubtedly either Americans or from Western Europe. Who else has the leisure to treat someone else's livelihood like some rare and exotic object?

Look at this American with a camera hanging around his neck, looking around as if he's seen the ninth wonder of the world: "I heard the police ransacked this place last night?"

He doesn't speak Russian, and even if he did, it wouldn't matter, because very few Chinese businessmen can understand Russian.

The translator relayed his meaning to the merchants, who immediately waved their hands in denial: "What do you mean by looting? It was just a temporary inspection."

"They arrested you? In a concentration camp. Only the Nazis would put people in concentration camps."

"Nazi nonsense." The vendor waved his hand impatiently. "You saw it, we've already released them. Want some shoes? Real, good shoes, the latest styles and good quality."

The American stared wide-eyed, his deep blue eyes filled with disbelief, muttering words that roughly meant, "You've just been through a disaster, are you just going to pretend nothing happened and continue like this?"

Nobody wants to talk to him anymore.

These foreigners aren't big customers; they're just wasting their time doing business.

It was the same old man who always loved to joke. He shouted at the curious American, "Alright! The point of living is to work. You're not dead yet, what else are you going to do if you're not working?"

Laughter rang out beside Wang Xiao. She turned her head and recognized a familiar face.

The paratrooper captain sighed, "Americans don't understand the Chinese at all. They're like cockroaches of the East. Oh, Miss Wang, you should understand what I mean. I mean, they have incredible resilience; no matter how harsh the environment, they can stubbornly survive. Of course—"

He gestured, pointing to the Russians who also had scars on their cheeks but were silently setting up their stalls, "We're the same. We Russians are used to turmoil. The president's bombardment of parliament doesn't affect our lives."

Look, this is the container market. A vibrant, energetic force, hotter than the summer sun blazing on metal containers.

Only a life as radiant as a sunflower can survive in the perpetually dark and cold Moscow.

When he rushed back early this morning, he expected to find the place in complete disarray.

As a result, the merchants jumped off the truck and hurriedly packed up their stalls.

While cursing the police for being heartless, they claimed to be arresting out-of-towners, but in reality, they took the opportunity to smuggle a lot of goods from them.

He quickly and efficiently stocked the stall without even closing his eyes, continuing to watch over the business.

Wang Xiao didn't say anything, only gave him a faint glance.

The paratrooper captain quickly apologized: "I'm sorry, ma'am, we received a last-minute mission three days ago, and all of us went to participate in emergency training. We are all very sorry about what happened last night."

He wasn't being hypocritical.

Given the current situation where the Russian army frequently fails to pay its soldiers, finding a stable financial backer, without having to risk their lives and only being responsible for patrolling, is a pretty good deal.

Wang Xiao knew perfectly well that the paratroopers were there to guard against honest people, not scoundrels.

At most, they can deter the Mafia from going too far, but they would never confront the state's violent authorities head-on.

The mayor gave the order; even if the paratroopers were at the container market yesterday, they couldn't just stand there with guns, scanning each other's positions.

So Wang Xiao didn't dwell on the topic anymore, but instead expressed his concern: "Why the sudden training? Is it going to be war? God, you all have to be careful, war is really dangerous."

The paratrooper captain shrugged, spreading his hands like an American movie star: "Who knows? Nobody's going to tell us what we're doing."

What kind of war is this? He doesn't want to fight at all.

He had seen through it all; last year, so many people risked their lives for parliament, and some even lost their lives.

And yet, only a few months have passed? The speaker, who was identified as the culprit, has already been released. What about those who died and are buried underground?

Why fight Chechnya? Maybe while the fighting is going on, the leaders of both sides will shake hands and make peace, and they'll be close comrades-in-arms sitting at the same table again.

What other evaluation can they receive besides being called fools, given that they entered the battlefield like puppets on strings?

Wang Xiao had no intention of listening to his complaints, and only sighed in agreement: "Yes, war is something that must be thought through carefully before acting. After all, war is a matter of vital importance to the state, a matter of life and death, a road to survival or ruin, and it is something that must be carefully considered."

The paratrooper captain looked at her with a puzzled expression, and Wang Xiao quickly explained, "This is the opening of 'The Art of War,' which says that in war, one should not act unless there is an advantage, one should not use one's skills unless one has the means, and one should not fight unless there is a danger."

The captain became interested: "What do you mean? How exactly do you mean it?"

Wang Xiao waved his hand: "I don't know anything about warfare either. If you're interested, there's a bookstore over there selling 'The Art of War' by Sun Tzu. You can take a copy and have a look."

Interestingly, Sun Tzu's Art of War is quite popular in the container market.

Many merchants also read it because someone in the newspaper said that business warfare is also a kind of battlefield, and reading "The Art of War" is never a bad idea.

The paratrooper captain was in high spirits and immediately headed to the bookstall.

Only after he left did the second sister dare to approach. The merchants kept to themselves and the Russian soldiers, and she had no interest in getting close to them.

Wang Xiaochong nodded to his second sister and asked with concern, "Are your relatives doing well?"

"It's alright, it's alright, I only got kicked twice." The second sister didn't care too much. What she was really concerned about was, "Mr. Wang, will it be like this every other day?"

This time we were lucky; both big bosses were there and personally brought the person back.

What about next time? When the boss isn't around, even if you order someone to do something, it's definitely not as efficient as them doing it themselves.

Goodness, she heard that! That concentration camp isn't a place for people to live!

Staying for two more days could cost someone their life.

Wang Xiaoqing lowered her voice and called out, "Perfect timing, Second Sister, could you do me a favor and call the person in charge to the cafeteria? I have something important to tell you."

Upon hearing that it was an important matter, the second sister disregarded her own business and hurriedly called for help.

Before long, the cafeteria was in chaos, packed with people.

The jet-black head darted around like a sparrow, chirping incessantly, everyone hoping to get more information.

Wang Xiao clapped his hands: "Quiet! This is very important."

As the clamor gradually subsided, she spoke again, “As you all saw last night, the Russians weren’t just targeting us foreigners; they were arresting all people from other places, as long as they weren’t from Moscow.”

Many people were taken aback, as they had seen similar cases of arresting vagrants in China before, so it wasn't surprising.

That's right, they're international friends after all. International friends aren't treated like this in China.

Wang Xiao had no time to listen to their murmurs and interrupted them directly: "That's the situation right now, a tight rein, very strict. How did we manage to get those people out?"

Someone couldn't wait to interrupt her and start flattering her: "Oh, we know, Mr. Wang, you have a wide network of connections and influence."

The cafeteria was in complete chaos again, resembling a eulogy rally of the Divine Dragon Cult.

Wang Xiao quickly pressed his hand down: "Alright, alright, stop with the nonsense. I'm going to tell you something that's life-threatening!"

She raised her voice, "The reason you were released is because you are now investors and shareholders in the Jill Trucks factory."

She explained, "The ZIL truck is the one that brought people back this morning. It used to be called the Stalin Automobile Plant. You know FAW in Changchun, right? It was built with the help of the Stalin Automobile Plant back then."

Only then did everyone feel a sense of kinship.

The ideal Russian and the real Russian are cleverly intertwined through this single term.

"The factory is in bad shape right now, and the mayor of Moscow wants to save it and values ​​it highly."

Wang Xiao sighed, "So, Ivanov could only say that you were shareholders who had invested money and hoped to work together to get the factory back into production. Only then did the mayor relent and personally write an order to release you."

Everyone then realized what was going on.

Unexpectedly, this farce involved a lawsuit.

Wang Xiao's mouth was dry, so he ordered a cup of mung bean soup and drank it before speaking: "What I need to tell you now is, don't let anything slip. My attitude towards the profit sharing is still the same as before: whoever wants it can take it. But please don't tell anyone outside what the police were like yesterday; you all saw it."

She put down her cup and tapped it on the table. "They always have to cause trouble. If they find even the slightest thing to hold against us, we'll be in big trouble."

Immediately, some people assessed the situation and quickly took sides: "We are shareholders, we don't want dividends, we will invest in the truck factory."

The others realized what was happening and chimed in, "That's right, we are shareholders of the Jill Truck Factory."

Someone shouted, "The factory saved our lives!"

Giving away so much dividends may be painful, but as long as the green hills remain, there will always be firewood to burn.

As long as a person can still do business well, they won't have to worry about making money.

The second sister, being a seasoned veteran, was deeply worried. She grabbed Wang Xiao's hand and asked anxiously, "What if we can't save this truck factory?"

If this factory makes clothes, shoes, or even chocolate, they can find a way to subcontract the goods and sell them.

This truck is huge, how do they know who to sell it to?

"If they can't save them, will they send everyone to concentration camps again?"

Wang Xiao was stunned for a moment; she really hadn't thought that far ahead as everyone else.

Her idea was to take the opportunity to keep the dividends; otherwise, where would she find the $30 million investment in the refinery?

Now that she's been put in her place, all she can do is grit her teeth and say, "We'll talk about it later. We'll all figure something out together."

Her second sister held her hand tightly, refusing to let go, her brow furrowed but unable to relax: "Oh dear, Mr. Wang. Moscow is getting more and more chaotic. Where do you think we can go next?"

Wang Xiao had a sudden thought: Secretary Fang of Jiangdong Province was eager to get speculators to invest there.

She patted her second sister's hand in return: "I can't really explain it. It's just that in business, you can't put all your eggs in one basket. I just happened to be back in Jiangdong this time, and the provincial party secretary has a few projects that she's looking for investors for. I don't know when she'll be coming over, but if you're interested, I can organize a meeting so we can all ask her directly and clearly."

Oh my god!

The Chinese businessmen present collectively gasped in shock.

Good heavens! Boss Wang really has connections everywhere. She can even directly summon the secretary of a province.

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[Let me see] Good morning!