Chapter Sixty-Seven: In My Hands

Seeing this sly fellow still hung up on the issue of profit-sharing for the project, the Chief Designer decided there was no need to keep things under wraps. After all, everyone in the room was likely focused on this very matter—it was best to announce the decision sooner rather than later.

“All right, the Standing Committee has finally decided to grant your request. For projects you fund yourselves in private, all the profits will remain with your respective factories and institutes. The state will only collect the necessary taxes. After all, initiatives like yours should be strongly encouraged; it’s only right to leave you with more benefits.”

At last, some good news—a truly heartening development.

Just then, Old Wu stood up with a crucial question, one that would determine whether they might be taken advantage of in the future. After all, foreign currency was still the hard currency.

“Chief Designer, could we retain a bit more foreign currency? The aviation sector desperately needs it.”

Without hesitation, the Chief Designer laid down the final terms. “No more than thirty percent. There's no room for negotiation here. Thirty percent is unprecedented, and that’s already taking your special circumstances into account.”

Excess can be as bad as deficiency—thirty percent would have to suffice. They couldn’t ask for more. There were more pressing matters to discuss; there was no need to dwell on this.

Director Bai was in charge of project planning, and if they wanted export rights, it would have to be Bai who raised the issue.

“Chief Designer, there’s another problem we need to address. We don’t have import-export rights, and our negotiations with China Aviation Technology haven’t yielded results. They said our project doesn’t qualify as an aviation product, so they won’t handle the import-export business for us.”

Regardless of who was right or wrong between Institute No. 2 and China Aviation Technology, it was time to make a formal complaint—only then could they hope to obtain import-export rights.

Hearing that China Aviation Technology was turning down business, the Chief Designer was puzzled. This sort of export should count towards their operations. Why would they leave money on the table?

“Oh, what is China Aviation Technology up to, refusing to make money?”

The Chief Designer, visibly annoyed, was about to call their office but hesitated, set the phone down, and turned to Yang Hui.

“Young man, do you think your base should be granted separate export rights?”

Yang Hui hadn’t expected to be asked his opinion now—did they really think of him as an economist? Regardless, if the higher-ups asked, he had to answer.

“In my view, it’s possible to grant another export license within the aviation system. But there’s no need to give it to our base in the southwest; it wouldn’t be particularly advantageous. It would be better to grant it to Old Wu, Wu Daguan—the impact would be greater.”

This was the plan Yang Hui cobbled together on the spot. He certainly couldn’t advocate for his base alone—it would seem selfish, which was out of the question.

It would be best if Old Wu received the export rights; this way, his venture into trade could truly begin, rather than being stuck with a meager profit share. Besides, given the close relationship between the institute and Old Wu, future import-export matters would be just as manageable.

The Chief Designer nodded in approval, clearly satisfied with Yang Hui’s suggestion. China Aviation Technology had become too dominant; it was time to shake things up.

“I agree as well. It’s not ideal for China Aviation Technology to have a monopoly—some competition is healthy. Let’s grant the foreign trade import-export rights to Comrade Daguan.”

This was an unexpected stroke of luck—Old Wu was overjoyed at this sudden boon. With these rights, future funding could be drawn directly from company earnings. He hurried to clarify this point.

“Chief Designer, does this mean that in the future, sixty percent of the profits from my company’s import-export business can be used for technical development?”

“Yes, that’s correct. The money your company earns can be used for technical development. However, a supervisory committee will be formed to oversee the allocation of funds.”

Old Wu had no fear of such oversight. When he was rehabilitated years ago, he handed over four thousand of his six thousand yuan in back pay to the state. Such a man harbored no greed for money. He accepted the arrangement gladly.

“No problem. I’ll allocate every cent to where it’s most needed, ensuring complete transparency for the Party, the country, and the people.”

With the older generation, the Chief Designer felt at ease. Their sense of responsibility and self-discipline meant the Party and the nation could trust them; the real aim was to supervise those lower down the chain.

“All right, let me outline some restrictions for this policy-based import-export company. First, you may only pursue business you acquire independently; you are not allowed to compete with China Aviation Technology for their ongoing deals. Additionally, any projects secured by the state are off-limits to you. In short, you must rely on your own initiative and self-reliance.”

It was a long-winded explanation, but it boiled down to this: they were the sons of a concubine, not to compete with the legitimate heir, China Aviation Technology. Sink or swim, they were on their own. After all, China Aviation Technology had been the Chief Designer’s trusted vanguard in launching the country’s military trade, and it needed to be protected.

There was nothing the three could say to this—such arrangements were a feature of the republic, akin to the primogeniture system. One need only look at the fate of Shenyang Aircraft Factory in the aviation industry to understand.

Seeing there were no objections, the Chief Designer continued.

“I’ve even thought up a name for your company: China Aviation Industry Policy Development Import-Export Trading Company. Let me inscribe the name for you.”

With that, he happily went to prepare his calligraphic inscription.

At this, Yang Hui felt a chill. Not only was the name inordinately long, but now it would be graced with a calligraphic dedication—truly living up to the stories of the Chief Designer’s fondness for leaving his mark wherever he went. On reflection, Yang Hui realized this was much like the future phenomenon of ‘So-and-so was here,’ though perhaps more dignified in appearance.

The Chief Designer’s brushwork was vigorous, and the inscription lively, but it meant little to Yang Hui, who lacked the aesthetic sensibility to appreciate such art. The older generation of technical experts often possessed artistic inclinations—for instance, the renowned Qian, who, before his death, advised the younger generation of researchers to cultivate their artistic sensibilities. Such was the depth of their cultural refinement.

Old Wu admired the inscription, but Yang Hui was more concerned with another important matter. He needed to confirm it in person before proceeding—should it succeed, it would be a benefit for the present age.

“Chief Designer, may I ask you another question?”

Having just finished his calligraphy, the Chief Designer was in a good mood. After washing his hands, he returned and invited Yang Hui to speak.

“Go ahead, as long as it’s not too big a question, I’ll give you an answer.”

Now was the time for Yang Hui’s query.

“If Old Wu’s foreign trade company were to secure orders from other military industry systems, how would that be handled?”

Yang Hui had been pondering the rewards for bringing in export orders from other systems—after all, that could be a windfall. He had to be thorough.

So he was thinking this far ahead. Still, it wasn’t impossible, so the Chief Designer gave a straightforward answer. “If you can help a fellow unit secure an order, I can authorize you to keep thirty percent of the profits.”

On hearing this, Yang Hui dared not accept. Such orders would be enormous. If he brought in such a deal, he’d likely be sidelined immediately. As for profits, there was no way he’d ever see them—so best not to ask for a share.

“That won’t be necessary. I just hope that, if we succeed in bringing in such an order, the state will allow our company to handle the transportation tasks.”

Wu and Bai were puzzled by this odd request, but the Chief Designer, who had spearheaded the nation’s military trade, understood. Arms transportation was as lucrative as the arms deals themselves—commissions typically ran from five to fifteen percent of the total contract, with some special cases even higher. These were separate fees, often overshadowed by the main arms contracts, but in reality, it was a covert, highly profitable business.

Though he couldn’t understand why Yang Hui would refuse a third of the profit in favor of the transportation fee, the Chief Designer let it go—if problems arose, they could be handled then. How much trouble could one man cause?

“All right, it’s a deal. If you bring in orders from other systems, the transportation can be handled by your company. I don’t think the other units will object.”

And just like that, the outline of a future, earth-shattering deal was set in motion.