Li Ye, That Dog, Wants to Kill Me

In his previous life, Li Ye had once heard a joke making the rounds.

A high-ranking leader had asked a subordinate's prosperous unit to lend money to another impoverished unit so it could pay wages. But the top leader of the prosperous unit refused no matter what, citing noncompliance with regulations.

Either you wrote me a note and took responsibility, or forget it.

The leader was furious and said coldly, "I may not have the authority to force you to lend them money, but I do have the authority to rotate the two of you. Switch places with him—you go be the top leader at the poor unit, and let him enjoy the good life at your prosperous unit."

And so, that loan—which no one knew what year of the monkey or month of the horse it would ever be repaid—was promptly handed over.

By the same logic, in the state-owned enterprises of the eighties, if a leader said he was going to "fire you," there was no need to worry. You belonged to the state, the state had given you an iron rice bowl—who the hell did some leader think he was?

But if a leader said he was going to transfer you to another job or position, then you either stood your ground or bowed your head, because that could happen in the blink of an eye.

There was no labor protection law at the time. A job transfer did not need your consent. Even if the leader transferred you to scrub toilets, you would not be able to say half a word against it.

What, you looked down on people who cleaned toilets? Did you know about XXX? When contributing to the country, where was there any distinction between high and low, noble and base?

So after