My name is Lu Jingchuan. For six years, I served as the deputy sales director at the city’s largest machinery manufacturing conglomerate. From a fresh graduate to a seasoned professional, I had secured contracts totaling more than 100 million yuan in profit for the company. Every year, the boss, Zhou Hongsheng, would pat me on the back at the annual party and call me a “key contributor,” yet he consistently funneled bonuses and resources to his nephew, Zhao Mingxuan, the sales director, whose primary skill was flattery. I endured the pressure, believing that hard work would eventually be recognized. But that day, I finally realized that some favoritism was never meant to be hidden.
On a Wednesday afternoon, I returned from a week-long business trip in the northwest, exhausted and five pounds lighter. In my suitcase lay a five-year supply contract with Hengyuan Group, worth 230 million yuan. I had chased this deal for eight months, traveling to the northwest ten times and enduring over twenty heavy drinking sessions before finally winning over the tough general manager, Chen Guodong. The moment I signed the contract, my hands trembled—all the effort had finally paid off.
But as soon as I arrived at the office, the secretary called me into the boss’s office. Zhou Hongsheng sat in his leather chair, with Zhao Mingxuan standing beside him. There was no warmth for a returning hero—only coldness. “Jingchuan, you’ve worked hard, and the contract is well done,” Zhou began, but his tone quickly shifted. “However, after evaluation, the company has decided you’re not suitable for the deputy director position. Here’s your termination notice. Clear your desk today.”
I was stunned. I demanded an explanation—I had never made a mistake in six years, had just signed a 230-million-yuan deal, and now I was being fired? Zhao Mingxuan interrupted with a smirk: “Customers complained about your poor attitude and unethical behavior, tarnishing the company’s image.” I tried to defend myself, but Zhou cut me off impatiently: “This is the top management’s decision. You’ll receive severance according to regulations. Let’s part amicably.”
Seeing Zhao’s smug face, I understood instantly: the complaints were just an excuse. They wanted to steal the credit for the 230-million-yuan deal and use me as a stepping stone. Without further argument, I calmly signed the termination papers and walked out. Zhao followed me with a taunt: “You’re capable, you’ll find work anywhere. Don’t cling to this place.” I replied flatly, “You’d better handle the Hengyuan contract without any slip-ups.” He sneered, “I’ve already cleared everything. It’s rock solid.”
Back home, I handed the termination notice to my wife, Su Wanqing. Her eyes reddened as she expressed her indignation. I held her and said, “It’s okay. We’ll start over.” But inside, resentment simmered. As I scrolled through my contacts, trying to figure out my next move, my phone rang—it was Chen Guodong. “Jingchuan, a man named Zhao from your company called, saying you were fired and that he’d be handling the account from now on. What’s going on?” he asked sternly.
After a few seconds of silence, I made a bold decision. Without complaining, I said calmly, “Mr. Chen, I haven’t done anything wrong. They fired me for other reasons. You trust me, not the company. I won’t let this deal fall through. Can you trust me?” There was a pause on the other end, then Chen replied
