Zelyushenko took the two sheets outlining the meeting procedures Li Ye had given him and stepped onto the stage, half believing, half doubting.
Several Kamaz employees below immediately asked, "Hey, are you going to feed us that crap again about adapting to change our fate? If so, save your breath!
Don't think we don't know how black-hearted you are. You make two thousand US dollars every time you sell someone overseas."
"Exactly. We work our fingers to the bone abroad and only make fifteen hundred a month, while you sit at home and make two thousand dollars. Have you forgotten what you used to be?"
Zelyushenko nearly spat out a mouthful of old blood.
When he introduced a technician to overseas work, he could only get two to five hundred US dollars. How had it become two thousand dollars in these people's mouths?
If I could make two thousand dollars per person, I'd hire the Mafia to kidnap every last one of you.
I used to be a Bolshevik, but I'm not anymore. All the Bolsheviks have disbanded.
Seeing the workers below begin to stir up trouble and the situation gradually spiral out of control, Zelyushenko finally understood why Li Ye had said they should "feed everyone first."
People only had one mouth. When it was busy eating, speech did not come so smoothly, making them easier to pick off one by one.
"All right, Popov. I invited everyone here today not to persuade you. I simply wanted to treat everyone to a good meal.
Look at the colleagues and friends around you. How long has it been since you last saw smiles on their faces? So why say something so disappointing now? Why not let everyone enjoy a quiet dinner with their families?"
"..."
Popov, whose face had been