Chapter 71: You Might Not Like What I Have to Say

With Director Xiao’s permission, Zhao Guoyang and the driver, Xiao Feng, unloaded the bike frame from the small truck and placed it at the designated spot in the warehouse.

Once everything was settled, Zhao Guoyang exchanged a few more words with Director Xiao, then he and Xiao Feng got back in the car and headed straight to the Sanyang Group Hotel.

With the head of the Technical Quality Department making arrangements, the hotel staff treated Zhao Guoyang and his companion with utmost courtesy. The rooms assigned to them faced south, bathed in sunlight.

Before returning to his room, Zhao Guoyang patted Xiao Feng's shoulder and said, "Xiao Feng, you've worked hard. Take these next couple of days to rest up at the hotel and recharge yourself."

"Alright, Section Chief Zhao. You go about your business. If you need anything, just let me know," Xiao Feng replied, delighted, and headed to his own room.

It was no wonder Xiao Feng was so happy. Zhao Guoyang was different from other leaders—not only did he lack airs, but he was also considerate. With other leaders, even if there was nothing to do, the driver would have to stick close by, just to give the leader a sense of status.

Zhao Guoyang dozed for a bit in the hotel but found himself unable to sleep. After waking, he watched some television, but the shows were all old and uninteresting. With nothing else to occupy him, he donned his jacket and went out, intending to take a look around the factory grounds.

The Sanyang Group’s factory district was truly vast. Along the way, Zhao Guoyang must have passed dozens of workshops, yet he still hadn’t reached the end.

Throughout the factory, there were various signboards everywhere: Persist in learning, maintain dreams and vitality; Dare to challenge, be pragmatic and progressive; Emphasize teamwork and communication, and so on.

Reflecting on the bleakness of his own Hongda Machinery Factory, Zhao Guoyang couldn’t help but feel a certain discomfort in his heart.

After walking a while, Zhao Guoyang spotted a large open space ahead, with several parking platforms set at varying angles. He immediately recognized where he was—the Sanyang Group’s test track.

He was no stranger to test tracks. In his previous life, he had worked in structural design for various vehicles, and every successful model had undergone countless trials at the test track.

Compared to the test tracks in his memory, Sanyang Group’s seemed rather deserted. From a distance, Zhao Guoyang saw only three vehicles shuttling back and forth on the track.

What piqued his interest, however, was that although there weren’t many vehicles, a considerable crowd had gathered around, watching.

“It seems even large factories have their drawbacks. The test group is assembled with so many people—what a waste of resources,” Zhao Guoyang thought to himself.

As he drew closer, he heard someone asking a question.

“You Sanyang Group have already reached a cooperative agreement with Yamaha from Japan, haven’t you? Your technical standards should align with theirs. But from the sound of these vehicles, the noise still seems rather excessive…”

The speaker was an elderly man with silver hair, glasses, and a navy blue jacket. He was of medium build and gave the impression of a businessman more than a scholar.

Although his words were diplomatic, they still left the Sanyang Group staff somewhat embarrassed.

The test drivers, not well-versed in technical matters, glanced at each other in confusion, unable to respond.

Zhao Guoyang happened to overhear this exchange. Judging by the man’s demeanor, he likely was a major supplier here to make a purchase.

Ordinarily, Zhao Guoyang would have no reason to intervene, being an outsider, but he thought of his own factory, which relied on Sanyang for business. Since he had chanced upon the scene, it seemed only right to step in and offer a bit of explanation.

With that in mind, Zhao Guoyang cleared his throat, stepped forward, and smiled. “Sir, while domestic motorcycles have made great strides in recent years, there are still gaps compared to imported ones.”

“The Sanyang Group’s models may sound noisy here, but that’s only because the test track is open and quiet, which amplifies the sound. In fact, compared with other domestic models of the same displacement, Sanyang’s vehicles are among the quietest.”

After Zhao Guoyang finished, the test drivers beside him looked at him gratefully.

Though they didn’t know exactly who this questioning elder was, he had arrived with central ministry officials on an inspection—he was certainly no ordinary person. If no one could answer his question, he would surely form a negative opinion, even if he kept it to himself.

Now, with a knowledgeable young man stepping in to explain, the test drivers mistakenly assumed Zhao Guoyang was one of their own.

“If there are shortcomings, one should be truthful. Making excuses is not a good practice,” the elder said, glancing at Zhao Guoyang with some displeasure.

Zhao Guoyang felt a bit annoyed at this. He thought to himself, what’s with this supplier acting so arrogant? Sanyang’s motorcycles are top-tier domestically, often selling out in the market. Having your business or not doesn’t really matter.

Besides, domestic motorcycles cannot be compared to the likes of Yamaha, which represent the industry’s highest standards. Fixating on this issue is pointless.

And the price difference between the two is significant, isn’t it?

With these thoughts, Zhao Guoyang spoke up. “Sir, I’m not making excuses for Sanyang Group—I’m simply stating the facts.”

“To be honest, everyone wishes to create the best products if they have the ability. But the truth is, our country’s currently low level of basic manufacturing technology sets the ceiling for our products.”

“Even if we can design vehicles matching top international standards, if the craftsmanship of our components doesn’t measure up, it’s all for nothing.”

“So, before questioning the quality of domestic vehicles, we ought to ask why our homegrown manufacturing skills have yet to improve. That is the fundamental issue.”

Zhao Guoyang’s remarks left the elder speechless. He hadn’t expected anyone to openly challenge the nation’s manufacturing capabilities right in front of him.

“You… You…”

Seeing the elder’s agitated expression, Zhao Guoyang felt somewhat puzzled. He thought, I’m merely speaking honestly—why are you so upset?

“Well, sir, perhaps you don’t like what I’m saying, but you must admit that it’s the truth,” Zhao Guoyang shrugged.

“In fact, our country’s manufacturing industry has long followed a path of low cost, low standards, and low prices, largely limited by the inferior craftsmanship of basic components.”

“Let me illustrate. Take the ballpoint pen tip, for example. Although it’s long since been domestically produced, its precision and production efficiency can’t compare to foreign technology.”

“A pen tip contains five grooves guiding the ink, and the fit between the ball, the tip, and the grooves is subject to strict requirements—the machining error must not exceed 0.003 millimeters.”

“To reach the world’s advanced level, our country cannot achieve that in a short time. But can you blame our designers or the pen manufacturers for this?”

Zhao Guoyang’s explanation was clear and accessible. Even the Sanyang Group test drivers couldn’t help but nod in agreement.