Volume One, Chapter 14: This Is a Fixed Price

On the minibus back to Urumqi, Wang Xiquan once again clarified the purpose of returning to the city: Ma Wenbin and Zhang Yan were to head to the Geographic Research Institute to simulate and calculate the optimal locations for installing the wind turbines. Meanwhile, Wang Xiquan was to bring Maimaiti to participate in the discussion to finalize the wind turbine models, preparing for tomorrow’s negotiation with the foreign turbine sales representatives.

Of course, Maimaiti was not qualified to attend the negotiation meeting. He knew this well and simply asked Wang Xiquan for leave, saying he wanted to take this time to visit his family.

Indeed, Maimaiti hadn’t been home for half a month—according to his memory, this was the longest he had ever been away.

Wang Xiquan naturally had no reason to refuse.

Dabancheng District was only about a hundred kilometers from Urumqi’s city center, and the two-hour drive passed quickly.

Since it was a small passenger vehicle, the enthusiastic Uyghur driver kindly dropped them off directly at the entrance of the Water Resources Department.

Back at the office, as soon as he put down his bag, Wang Xiquan hurriedly knocked on the door of the neighboring office.

“Old Xie, it’s me, Old Wang next door!”

“The door’s unlocked.”

“Oh, this smoke is thick—what are you smoking? Hua Zi?! Hand me one too.”

“Hey, you bandit, don’t grab it! I’ll get it for you.”

…

With the sharp “psst” of a match being struck, the farce came to an end.

Amidst the swirling smoke, the two leaned back in their chairs, steering the conversation toward work.

“Old Xie, did you manage to get that magazine for me? There’s some heavy-hitting content inside. Director Yang is coming for the meeting later; this could play a crucial role.”

“It’s here. I wondered where you got this material. I contacted the Agricultural University and the New University, but they said no. Finally, I found it in the journal room at Normal University.”

Upon hearing this, Xie Shiqi opened the drawer, took out the foreign-language magazine, placed it on the desk, and rapped it with his knuckles. “Don’t forget the thank-you bonus!”

“Won’t forget!” Wang Xiquan nodded perfunctorily, his mind already absorbed by the foreign journal.

“Page 25,” Old Xie reminded him, kindly tossing over an English-Chinese dictionary and curiously asking about the magazine’s origin.

Wang Xiquan explained that it was discovered by Maimaiti.

“You mean that young Uyghur lad?” Xie Shiqi’s eyes showed surprise. “I thought it was Wenbin. Didn’t expect such a keen young scholar to beat you to it. What a pity—we should have sent him to tackle the Batokai Mountain River Hydropower Project.”

“What’s wrong with that project?” Wang Xiquan furrowed his brows with concern.

“Don’t mention it. It’s the old problems with the water diversion tunnel and pipeline construction. If only we had the tunnel boring machine mentioned in the journal.”

As he spoke, Xie Shiqi’s temples throbbed faintly. He reclined again, massaging his forehead and muttering complaints: “Is this thing really so miraculous? Could it end our old-fashioned drilling and blasting for tunnels?”

“You’ll have to find a foreigner to ask properly,” Wang Xiquan shook his head. “None of us have ever seen one.”

“Forget it.” Xie Shiqi gave up pondering and asked, “When’s Director Yang’s meeting?”

“At five-thirty.”

“That’s still early. Come on, one more smoke.”

After half a cigarette, Wang Xiquan finally found the section in the paper Maimaiti had referred to. Excited, his hand trembled as he held the cigarette, and half the butt fell squarely onto the desk, then rolled onto the freshly written report by Xie Shiqi.

When Xie Shiqi picked up the butt, a corner of the report was already burnt through.

“Oh, Old Wang, you’re a grown man and still so clumsy,” Xie Shiqi lamented, looking at his damaged report.

“I’ll replace it later,” Wang Xiquan replied without looking up, slamming the dictionary shut and cursing, “These damn capitalists—truly cunning!”

—

In the Water Resources Department conference room, with floral tea and snow lotus served.

As smoke lingered in the air, everyone watched the young Uyghur worker at the round table’s end, his close-cropped hair serious.

“Director Yang, Teacher Wang, and all leaders, if you ask me, when those folks come tomorrow, we just tell them this number: one wind turbine for $300,000. Sell first, talk later, payment on delivery, and we must choose the best model.

When installing, anything like electromagnetic brakes, multi-stage gearboxes, induction generators, communication systems—whatever can be installed must be installed. Even if the representative really is an English consultant, the kind with a wig and refined manners, once he opens his mouth, no matter what, we tell him, ‘It’s a fixed price. There’s no negotiating.’”

Maimaiti’s fluent and “authentic” London English stunned the leaders present, even if it hadn’t quite cowed the sales representative yet.

After a pause, Director Yang Qifan of the Foreign Trade Department slowly raised five fingers and said, “Young man, the configuration you’re talking about for a single turbine must cost at least that much, right? The number you gave—surely that’s the cost price? Can we really give such a huge discount?”

“Denmark, desperate to break into our market to survive, doesn’t care about losing that $200,000!” Wang Xiquan seized the opportunity and decisively said, “As for the price, I think we might as well fix it like this!”

“Sounds good, but who’re we sending to negotiate at this price?” Xiao Guodong, the Water Resources Department director who had been silent all along, suddenly spoke. “Let me remind some people, diplomacy isn’t a trivial matter. We’re dealing with foreigners, not haggling with old ladies at the morning market!”

Xiao Guodong’s pointed remark made the atmosphere awkward. Only Wang Xiquan, sitting opposite, muttered indifferently, “I’m afraid some people haven’t even met a real foreigner yet, ha—”

Before Wang Xiquan could finish his quip, Old Xie pulled him back. This moment was keenly observed by Huang Jianghui, who sat next to Director Yang Qifan.

Aware of the tension between the two, Huang Jianghui tried to shift the topic and break the deadlock by calling out to Li Chengmin, director of the Commercial Department’s Market Section, who had not joined the conversation and had been quietly smoking: “Old Li, didn’t you deal with foreign merchants many times? Why don’t you handle the price negotiation?”

Li Chengmin, who had been dragged along by Huang Jianghui just to fill numbers, stiffened his neck and said, “Old Huang, are you joking? What negotiation? You know those foreign merchants I met were all Soviet Russians. As soon as they arrived, I’d rush to the Urumqi Hotel, knock back a few bottles of Yili Laojiao big Wusu, and immediately lose my bearings. If you think that’s the way to go, I’ll do it.”

“That won’t do,” Director Yang said, shaking his head repeatedly. “Six companies are coming tomorrow. Are you going to take each one to get them drunk? What kind of propriety is that? Besides, the ministry has stipulated that to avoid shady dealings and ensure that foreign exchange funds are spent efficiently, everything must be open and transparent—no funny business.”

Seeing others still bowing their heads, uncertain, Wang Xiquan knew he had to rely on himself. He said, “Forget it, I’ll go. Back when I was in Beijing, I dealt a bit with foreigners as part of the main team. I’ll take the lead, and Director Yang, I ask you to keep watch. If the price can be negotiated, great; if not, we save as much as we can!”