Fang Peiru's eyes brightened the moment she saw Heifeng. The boyish edges she remembered had given way to a steadier, more composed presence—the easy confidence of someone who'd learned to carry responsibility without letting it warp his smile. "Xiao Feng is getting increasingly handsome," she said, warmth and pride threaded through the tease.
"Of course," Guohua Ye boomed, entirely too pleased with himself. "My nephew's looks have to be top-tier." Fang Peiru rolled her eyes at his swagger, but she was smiling, and Heifeng couldn't help smiling back.
Guohua clasped Heifeng's shoulder. "You, kid, are hot property these days. I've heard more than one leader praise your company. 'National pride,' they called it."
Heifeng knew his uncle was now a minister-level heavyweight, though he'd never asked which portfolio. Wherever he sat, people listened. To have someone of that stature call you "kid" was equally comforting and terrifying.
They drifted into the courtyard and settled in to chat. As the talk meandered from family to work, Heifeng finally voiced the idea that had been turning over in his head: could the Audi A6 become the standard official car? Was that even feasible?
Guohua thought for a moment, the humor leaving his face. "That's not in my lane," he said. "But I can tell you what I know. Government vehicles in China have been messy for years—provinces, cities, and departments buying whatever they like. You end up with a patchwork of brands and standards, and the costs creep up. Last year, the top level issued guidance to rein in the spending: from now on, official vehicles would be procured in a unified and allocated from above."
He paused, measuring his words. "They're setting national standards for the fleet and studying which brand to use. The decision channel runs through SASAC. That's as much as I can say."
The information landed like a bolt. If the center were ready to standardize, the door would be ajar, and if Audi could slip a foot through, brand recognition at home would jump overnight. People with the means liked to drive what leaders drove; status and face traveled with the badge on the grille.
"There's another wrinkle," Guohua added. "The initial plan favored Hongqi. But development hit snags; their new lineup is nowhere near launch, so other options are back on the table."
None of this surprised Heifeng. In this timeline, Hongqi's road had been hard. Technical constraints meant an overreliance on licensed foreign patents; aside from the badge, too many critical components came from abroad. How 'domestic' could you call a car assembled from imported organs? Later, recognizing the trap, the brand swore to build a model with independent intellectual property. The state even helped by purchasing an older Mitsubishi engine design to get them building. The will was there; the execution lagged.
Guohua shot him a wry look. "And that was the picture—until two days ago. Your Audi ad stirred up quite a conversation. SASAC had been leaning toward Otto's B525. After riding in the A6, they're… reconsidering. Official cars are the country's face. If we can use a truly domestic brand, we should."
On that point, Heifeng agreed wholeheartedly. The United States had long put Cadillacs behind its dignitaries. Germany relied on homegrown marques like Mercedes-Benz and BMW. A mature automotive nation, confident in its engineering, would not borrow prestige from abroad for the most visible fleet in the land.
He hesitated, then asked the question that had needled him for months. "Uncle… which department are you in?"
Guohua's eyes creased with amusement. "If you must know, I'm the one who 'manages' you."
For a beat, Heifeng blinked—and then the puzzle pieces slid into place. His company's filings to the Ministry of Industry and Information Technology had been processed suspiciously. When he'd requested land or funding, the approvals and allocations had a way of showing up, not lavish, but timely and rational. He'd chalked it up to luck and legwork. Perhaps it was also family, watching from the wings.
He felt a flush of mixed gratitude and humility. No matter how big the business, connections mattered. He would never have asked unless forced; this time, the need to push Audi's name had driven him to Old Master Ye's door.
"Don't worry about the official-car question," Guohua said at last, standing. "If nothing unexpected happens, it will be your Audi. And we won't be waving the Ye family flag about it, either. That only invites trouble."
When his uncle disappeared inside, the courtyard felt briefly larger and emptier. Not long after, Old Master Ye returned. He carried no ceremony, only a brisk certainty. He caught the expectancy in Heifeng's eyes and gave a single line in return. "I've delivered the car. Someone will contact you tomorrow. Also—good news. The Audi A6 has been designated as an official car."
Joy hit so quickly it almost felt like vertigo. The older man was formidable. He had gotten the A6 into the right hands and shepherded the discussion to a conclusion.
"Grandpa, you worked so hard," Heifeng said, the words tumbling out as he trailed after the elder, kneading shoulders and pouring praise as fast as he could think to say it.
The older man waved off the flattery. "Don't overthink. I didn't decide it. Several leaders rode in the A6 I brought. They liked what they felt. That's what mattered."
Details, he did not share. He did not need to. What lingered in the room was the image of the nation's decision-makers sitting back into the A6's seats—the very seats Heifeng had obsessed over with his engineers. They had tuned foam density and lumbar geometry for weeks, so a long ride left the back unknotted and the mind clear. Cabinet meetings ended, flights missed, midnight dashes across ring roads: a quiet cabin and a seat that didn't punish you could be the difference between courtesy and irritation, focus and fatigue. It wasn't glamorous engineering, but it was the kind that turned first impressions into policy.
A weight slid out of his chest. If the leaders had spoken well of the car—and if SASAC was now aligned—then the matter was settled for all practical purposes.
"I love the motherland," he said under his breath, half-prayer and half-laugh, "and I love the chiefs."
It was a joke, but it wasn't. The decision promised far more than a purchase order. Standardization would ripple outward: supplier confidence, dealership leverage, consumer perception, even the morale of the engineering teams who had stayed up night after night to turn sketches into steel. The badge on the trunk would travel into photos and footage and convoys; it would park outside ministries and provincial halls; it would be the car that carried the policies of an era from meeting room to meeting room. For a domestic brand fighting to prove it could go toe-to-toe with the world, there was no better billboard than that.
Heifeng exhaled, let the relief pass, and began quietly assembling the following list in his head: production ramp safeguards, after-sales support for the government fleet, a training program for service centers, and a discreet line of communication for feedback—what worked, what didn't, where to shave noise or stiffen bushings or adjust software for motorcade duty. If he did this right, the A6 wouldn't just win the title of "official car." It would earn it, day after day, mile after mile, until no one could imagine replacing it with anything else.