Henry Faulkner didn’t want to step forward, and he had his reasons.

Although the Cultural Revolution had ended nearly two years ago, its aftereffects lingered. Big-character posters and such things would still pop up from some corner from time to time, just to show the “great power of the revolutionary masses.”

Not long ago, a director from another workshop was targeted by someone with an agenda over a trivial matter. Dozens of big-character posters were put up, causing a huge commotion in the factory. The security office investigated for a long time but couldn’t find the culprit, and in the end, they were left embarrassed and frustrated. The director, feeling aggrieved, eventually requested a transfer to an out-of-town unit within the same system.

As a leader in a unit, the chances of attracting jealousy or hostility were much greater than as a team leader. Henry Faulkner was quite content with his current situation. Besides, the director’s salary wasn’t even higher than his as a technical backbone, so there was really no need to jump into that fire pit.

There weren’t many leadership positions, but the risks multiplied. If the gains didn’t outweigh the losses, why bother?

The meeting lasted three hours, mainly to discuss the list of nominees. The Party Committee had to approve it, and they also needed to solicit opinions from the workshop’s staff and cadres. So in the end, they didn’t decide who would get the director’s position, only settled on a few candidates. Three days later, any cadre willing to take on the responsibility could report to the Party Committee. As for those who didn’t report, it would be considered as voluntarily giving up the opportunity.

After explaining the situation at the meeting to Grace Bolton in detail, Henry Faulkner said, “This is a troublesome matter. As a team leader, I only need to think about how to get the work done and complete the tasks assigned from above. If I become director, I’m afraid normal work will be put aside, and all those trivial matters will tie me up. Besides, the director’s position is easy to attract trouble. When things come down from above, you have to explain them to those below. When there’s trouble below, you have to cover for those above. It’s really exhausting and thankless. It’s better not to do it.”

Grace Bolton nodded, feeling the same way.

Over the years, the two of them had become numb to factional struggles—struggle sessions, armed fights, there had been no shortage of people being persecuted, and even deaths weren’t unheard of. Just thinking about it sent chills down their spines. So after Henry Faulkner voiced his thoughts, she had no objections.

Most of the cadres in the workshop probably felt the same way. In the end, the higher-ups would have to forcibly appoint a director. This kind of situation had happened more than once or twice.

What Henry Faulkner feared most was that this unlucky director’s hat would end up on his own head.

“Aren’t you pretty close with the factory leaders? Talk to them and ask them not to drag you into this,” Grace Bolton suggested.

Henry Faulkner nodded, but said with some frustration, “But if I shrink back at the first sign of trouble, I’m afraid the factory leaders will have opinions about me. This whole thing is such a mess, sigh—Old Mr. Brooks is only forty-five and already eager to step down. You can imagine how hot this director’s seat is.”

Just as the two of them hadn’t come to a conclusion, someone suddenly chimed in.

“Why not take the job?”

The couple was stunned. Who was speaking? When they turned around, they saw that Edward Faulkner, who should have been sleeping in bed, was actually sitting cross-legged at the head of the bed, looking very serious, his eyes shining brightly as he stared at them.

Both of them were a bit shocked. Their youngest son was certainly smart—after all, they never had to worry about anything concerning Edward Faulkner. Aside from not liking to talk much or play with kids his own age, Edward Faulkner really had no shortcomings. Sometimes, they even thought their son was a real genius.

Although their son was already a year and a half old, and by normal standards should have no problem with simple speech and could move around freely, it was still strange that such an outstanding child as Edward Faulkner didn’t like to talk. Usually, he would just say a few simple words like eat, sleep, daddy, mommy, brother, sister, and so on. They had never heard him say a complete, formal sentence before. What was going on today?

Seeing Edward Faulkner sitting there like an adult, the couple couldn’t help but feel a sense of absurdity.

Grace Bolton walked over and picked up Edward Faulkner, touched his head, and asked worriedly, “Baby, what’s wrong?” Then she turned to Henry Faulkner and said, “No fever, he’s fine!”

Henry Faulkner also looked at his youngest son with some uncertainty, not knowing what was going on. Was his son just parroting the adults, or could he really speak in complete sentences and had his own independent thoughts? It seemed highly unlikely—he was so young!

Seeing the shocked look in his parents’ eyes, Edward Faulkner couldn’t help but sigh inwardly. If this matter didn’t directly concern his family’s fortune for decades to come, he wouldn’t have made such a shocking move so early. After all, for a one-and-a-half-year-old child to offer advice to his parents was truly astonishing.

It was only because they were his own parents; otherwise, Edward Faulkner couldn’t guarantee he wouldn’t be treated as a monster and strangled.