As summer gave way to autumn, the late-October weather cooled down, plunging Ningbo into a delightfully comfortable season.
Lately, many enterprises in Beilun District were finding themselves plagued by a massive headache.
Frontline workers who used to practically beg for daily overtime shifts to earn extra pay were now frequently calling in sick.
Some would return the day after taking leave, while others would show up the next day only to hand in their resignations directly.
A case or two would be one thing, but for smaller factories with already lean workforces, a sudden spike in leave requests made the underlying pattern painfully obvious.
After investigating, they discovered the culprit: Shanchi had launched a massive wave of large-scale hiring.
While they partnered closely with the district and Wangjiang county labor bureaus to source the bulk of their labor force through official channels, they still recruited a portion directly from the open market.
Shanchi's compensation and benefits needed no introduction; their turnover rate was arguably the lowest among all private enterprises in Beilun.
Word had long been circulating that countless factory workers desperately wanted a job at Shanchi, simply lacking the opportunity.
It was driving these small-business owners to despair.
During this time of year, they had never previously needed to worry about losing workers—those who wanted to quit usually left long ago, and even those dissatisfied with their wages would grit their teeth and push through until the end of the year.
Meanwhile, construction on Shanchi's Beilun factory was progressing smoothly.
Most of the main structural elements had already topped out, and the earliest-completed workshops were currently setting up production lines and preparing to test equipment.
Recruiting and training workers right now was a necessary time investment.
Joining in November, undergoing over a month of training, and then rotating through the older factory alongside veteran workers meant they would be fully ready for official deployment by the time production ramped up.
The Beilun factory required roughly 1,000 to 1,200 workers.
Combined with the existing plant staff, Shanchi's total headcount in Beilun would max out at around 2,000 people—a fairly substantial scale by local standards.
---
"Old Chen, you lucky bastard! All you do is set up booths at the entrance, while the rest of us still have to slog it out at the talent market."
"Why don't you tell your boss to bump up employee wages a bit? Then you could have it this easy too."
"That's stating the obvious... Hey, is your HR department still hiring? If you are, put in a good word for me as an internal referral. I want to come work under you."
"What's this? An HR manager in charge of recruitment is planning to pack up and jump ship?"
"I can't take it anymore. The boss is way too stingy. Recruitment is a nightmare; every time I go out to a job fair, I only dare mention the company's address, never its name. Otherwise, the moment people hear the company name, they turn around and walk away. I have to trick them into coming to the factory first just to get a foot in the door."
Chen Jinwen smiled.
"The HR department is indeed expanding. If you want to come over, you're more than welcome."
With the new factory coming online, it wasn't just frontline workers who needed to be hired; every single department required an expanded headcount.
Additionally, they needed to cultivate a pool of reserve talent to prepare for the future commissioning of the Tianjin factory.
Among these talent reserves, they would select a cohort capable of handling business trips and out-of-town assignments for intensive training, allowing them to be dispatched directly to Tianjin to get operations running at lightning speed.
"Really? Should I go put my resume together then?"
Zhao Zhonghui asked delightedly.
Judging by his familiar address of "Old Chen," the two were friends, and Chen Jinwen certainly wouldn't joke about employment matters.
"Don't you want your year-end bonus?"
"Forget the bonus. Administrative staff like us barely get enough to cover travel expenses at the end of the year anyway. I'd be better off joining your company early and earning an extra couple of months' salary to make up for it."
Anyone who managed to climb to the position of HR head wasn't an idiot.
In terms of pure capability, Zhao Zhonghui was actually slightly superior to Chen Jinwen.
Yet Zhao was stuck at a company whose welfare and benefits were so abysmal that he had to hide his corporate branding at job fairs just to trick people into applying.
Virtually notorious among Beilun workers, Zhao nevertheless possessed the sheer competence to trick frontline laborers into keeping the factory running—proof that his operational talent was top-tier.
He had simply lacked Chen Jinwen's stroke of good fortune in being introduced by Cheng Yongjun.
Before coming over, Chen hadn't expected his life to turn out quite like this.
After a brief mental calculation, Chen nodded.
"Alright then. Go get your resume ready, and I'll have a word with our boss."
Zhao was equally decisive.
"Deal! Let me finish wrapping up this recruitment fair first, and I'll ping my resume right over to you."
It wasn't that Shanchi's compensation was out of this world, nor was Tan Jincheng trying to play the philanthropist.
In reality, most factories offered barely passable wages, and workers of this era were remarkably loyal—the generation born in the 1980s arguably suffered the most severe psychological workplace manipulation (PUA), rarely resigning as long as they could scrape by.
The problem was that certain factory owners were genuinely black-hearted: it wasn't that they weren't making money; they simply refused to pay normal, fair wages.
---
"The market is getting ridiculously cutthroat. You know the Red豆 (Red Bean) Group? The ones who sell underwear? Even they are starting to manufacture electric vehicles now. Can you believe how absurd that is?"
Chatting idly with Zhang Congxun today, Zhang complained about how every random player was trying to jump into the EV game, rendering market competition increasingly chaotic.
Zhang had attended the foundation-laying ceremony for Red Bean Group's factory in the Xishan EV Industrial Park earlier that day, designed for an annual capacity of 1 million vehicles.
"Nowadays, people casually throw around numbers like 1 million units of annual capacity. Just a few days ago, Zongshen wanted to spin up a 600,000-unit EV plant, but nobody even paid attention to them, so they ended up moving to Xuzhou."
"Is it really that exaggerated? Zongshen getting into EVs I can understand, but an underwear manufacturer too? Do they think money is just lying around waiting to be picked up?"
Tan Jincheng was stunned.
He genuinely hadn't heard about this development.
Yet, thinking back to the new energy vehicle craze a decade later—where every Tom, Dick, and Harry could cobble together a car brand—it suddenly made sense.
The technological barrier to entry wasn't high.
If you operated purely as an assembly plant sourcing all components from suppliers, wielding a strong financial cushion could certainly turn a quick profit.
Even so, it felt somewhat surreal—two completely unrelated industries colliding like this.
Red Bean Electric Vehicles? Are they going to come in bright red, just like their underwear?
"It really is that absurd. A few days ago, I was joking with old Dong about how you were just blowing hot air by aiming for 5 million units a year. Turns out, there are plenty of people out there blowing much bigger bubbles than you."
Tan didn't bother arguing with him.
Truth be told, he hadn't been exaggerating at all.
In the future EV market, a single top-tier company would exceed 10 million units in annual sales, while the disruptive impact of mobile internet on local brick-and-mortar EV storefronts would remain negligible.
It was a remarkably lucrative business.
"Stop accusing me of blowing hot air and focus on guarding your own backyard. Look at all the factories popping up near you; when the time comes to poach talent, they're definitely going to start with you and Brother Dong. Make sure your newly appointed marketing director doesn't get snatched away again."
Hitting right on a sore spot, Zhang Congxun choked with frustration.
"You have the nerve to say that! You're utterly untrustworthy, kid. When Aima went poaching, they targeted your house first, and you didn't even give us a heads-up—and here we thought so highly of you."
What 'thinking highly of me'? Tan thought.
Even if I hadn't suspected they might target you guys, there's no way I would've tipped you off.
"How can you blame me? Our company suffered heavy casualties too! They poached quite a few people. If I hadn't scrambled to raise salaries and improve benefits on the spot, our marketing department probably would've emptied out entirely. My head was spinning with stress back then."
"Don't give me that! You reacted so fast that I already checked around. They were targeting your marketing director, Zhou Ao, at the time. Trying to tell me you didn't think they'd come after my turf too? I'd sooner believe pigs can fly."
"Brother, you're seriously misjudging me. I genuinely didn't expect it, and besides, my Kaixin001 project was boiling over right then. Do you honestly think I had the spare bandwidth?"
"I don't care. At the very least, you owe me and old Dong a phone call—which means you definitely owe us a dinner,"
Zhang grumbled shamelessly.
It wasn't that he genuinely held a grudge against Tan; he just wanted an excuse for a free meal, especially since the kid had never treated him to one.
"Fine, fine. Dinner is easy enough. In a couple of months, our Beilun factory is holding its commissioning ceremony. I'll make sure to send you guys invitations. How's that?"
"Now that is the exact sentence I've been waiting to hear! Shanchi is practically an industry titan now. Opening a new plant and scattering invitations to give industry peers a chance to gather is only right."
"Thanks for the reminder, Brother Zhang. I'll make sure to invite plenty of industry colleagues when the time comes."
Indeed, as a leading manufacturer in the sector, if a newcomer like Red Bean could host a foundation ceremony and invite peers from the same industrial zone, there was no reason Shanchi's plant commissioning shouldn't do the same.
From a certain perspective, this also represented another golden opportunity for Tan Jincheng to expand his network of relationships.
Business competition was competition, but no top-tier enterprise restricted itself solely to the EV sector.
Competitors today could easily become partners tomorrow—much like Tencent.
On the other hand, Tan felt rather fortunate.
Had he not aggressively expanded capacity by consecutively investing in two industrial parks, Shanchi might have fallen behind the blistering pace of industry development.
The strategy of "hunger marketing" was restricted to the early stages of an industry when products were scarce.
Once everyone ramped up production to maximum capacity and inventory flooded the market, running that playbook yielded zero results.
The Beilun Industrial Park would officially commission on New Year's Day; part of the Tianjin Industrial Park would come online in 2007, with full commissioning by the end of 2008; and the Wangjiang Industrial Park would be fully operational by 2010 at the latest.
By 2008, Shanchi Technology's capacity would hit between 2 million and 2.5 million units; by 2010, its maximum EV production capacity would skyrocket to a staggering 7.5 million units!
With a capacity of 7.5 million units, the industry could roll and thrash all it wanted.
When it came to industry cutthroat competition (neijuan), Shanchi Technology feared absolutely no one.
---
Meanwhile, back inside the Shanchi Group building, CEO Gu Qingqing was busy coordinating with university leadership, hoping to secure their institutional backing to connect with local governments in impoverished regions.
Orange Technology intended to launch an agricultural support campaign under the banner of Happy Farm, collaborating directly with rural households in underdeveloped areas.
This was precisely where the weight of a prestigious university shined—one of the unique perks of running a student startup project.
If a private venture like Orange Technology reached out independently, local authorities might not even dignify it with a response; but approached under the banner of Ningbo University, they were treated as honored VIP guests.
Upon learning of the initiative, the university's senior leadership proved more than eager to lend a hand.
What did it matter if Orange Technology's ultimate controlling shareholder was Tan Jincheng? This was a stellar public relations opportunity for Ningbo University to shine.
"To be able to spin up the entire Shanchi Group, our student's boyfriend is truly extraordinary."
Gaming fused with agricultural philanthropy—an entirely brand-new playbook.
(End of Chapter)