The company was on the verge of bankruptcy, and everyone was jumping ship. I foolishly stayed with the boss until the very end. As a result, the company recovered, and the first thing the boss did was hire new staff to replace me.

This title has been weighing on my heart for two years, and I’ve never dared to write it. It’s not that I lack material; every time I think about it, that part of my chest feels suffocated. It’s not anger, not crying out loud, just a dull ache. Like the low pressure before a summer thunderstorm, the air is so heavy you can’t breathe, yet the rain just won’t come.

The person telling this story is named Wei Guoping, 38 years old, from Nanjing. When he came to talk to me, he had a smile on his face—one of those smiles that shows he’s learned to take everything in stride. But by the end, the muscles around his eyes twitched uncontrollably. He said, “Honestly, I just can’t understand. I poured my heart out to him, and how could he… how could he treat me like this?”

His story begins five years ago.

In 2019, Wei Guoping had been working at an industrial automation company in Nanjing for six years. The boss, Qin Haitao, is the typical “jianghu-style” entrepreneur—pounding his chest at dinner, calling brothers at the drinking table. His favorite phrase was: “Our company is like a big family. I’m your big brother. When I take a shot, I won’t give you diluted stuff.”

In 2022, this “big family” ran into trouble.

Their biggest client, due to strategic adjustments, suddenly canceled all orders overnight. This directly cut nearly half of the company’s revenue. To make matters worse, upstream raw material prices skyrocketed, and debts from previous expansion came due. It felt like a row of dominoes, tumbling one after another.

The first to sense danger was sales. They understood cash flow best. When payments stopped, without hesitation, resumes flew out like snowflakes. Then came the technical team. Under Wei Guoping’s management, from over a dozen people, within three months only four or five remained. One young guy who had been with him for years pulled Wei Guoping aside before leaving, handed him a cigarette, and whispered, “Brother Wei, don’t blame me. I gotta support my family. You’d better start planning early—this ship looks like it’s sinking.”

Wei Guoping lit the cigarette, took a deep drag, and said nothing.

He had thought about leaving. He’d received headhunter calls, and peers had extended olive branches. But every time he saw Qin Haitao’s bloodshot eyes and increasingly stooped figure, that phrase “Let’s see how it goes” choked in his throat, unspoken.

The worst was when the company’s accounts couldn’t even pay wages for a month, then two. A company of over forty shrank to just a handful of “old, weak, sick, and disabled.” Qin Haitao called Wei Guoping into his office. That once grand boss’s room was now filled with smoke, like a spider’s lair. Qin Haitao’s hair seemed to have turned half white overnight. He poured a cup of tea for Wei Guoping, his hands trembling.

“Old Wei,” Qin Haitao’s voice was hoarse, like a broken gong, “When the tree falls, monkeys scatter. I don’t blame them. But you’re still here. I’ll remember this loyalty for a lifetime. If you stick with me through this, once I get through it, I won’t treat you badly.”

Wei Guoping isn’t good with words. He picked up the tea, swallowed the bitter taste, and only managed two words: “President Qin, I understand.”

It’s for that “understand” that Wei Guoping turned himself into a beast. He wrote technical plans himself, debugged equipment himself, negotiated with clients himself, even did heavy lifting like loading and unloading. Once, while rushing to repair equipment out of town, he worked in a workshop below freezing for three days and nights. When tired, he would curl up in the corner in a military coat for a quick nap, then wake up and keep working. His wife scolded him over the phone: “Are you crazy? The company can’t even pay wages, and you’re risking your life? Everyone else has left, and you’re just a fool!”

He only said, “It’s almost there. Old Qin said the company is about to turn around.”

In the second half of 2023, a miracle really happened. Qin Haitao somehow secured an investment and signed two new clients. The company’s blood was slowly flowing again. Wages were paid, debts repaid. At year’s end, they held a simple celebration banquet. Qin Haitao raised his glass, toasted one by one, and when he reached Wei Guoping, he pulled him into a hug and said to everyone: “Look at this! This is Lao Wei! This is my brother! The hardest hurdle we faced, he’s been with me through it! I’ll remember this forever!”

Everyone cheered. Wei Guoping was a bit breathless from the hug, but his heart was warm. That night, he told his wife: “See, I told you, Old Qin is a good guy.”

He didn’t realize that dinner was the company’s “last supper” for him.

After the New Year, the company started recruiting again. Business picked up, and hiring was a good thing. Wei Guoping was happy—finally, he didn’t have to do the work of three people alone. But as he recruited, he sensed something was off. HR said they needed to hire a “Chief Engineer.” He was just the engineering manager—what did a “chief” mean?

He asked Qin Haitao. Qin Haitao still looked friendly, smiling as he said, “Old Wei, don’t overthink. The company’s moving to a new stage. We need someone with a big factory background to help us plan. You handle the internal stuff, he handles the external. You’re partners, complementary.”

The word “partner,” Wei Guoping hesitated but believed.

The new director was Lu Zhengyang, 37, with an impressive resume from a well-known company. On the day of the interview, he and Qin Haitao discussed “top-level design” and “digital transformation,” words Wei Guoping had heard but couldn’t contribute to. Within a month of joining, Lu Zhengyang did three things: first, restructured the engineering department; second, took over two of Wei Guoping’s most important projects; third, proposed to change the engineering manager position to “Senior Technical Expert,” reporting to the director, with no management responsibilities.

The words were clear on paper. Wei Guoping read them three times, his hands turning cold.

He knocked on Qin Haitao’s door again. This time, Qin Haitao didn’t pour tea but sat behind the large boss’s desk, speaking in a very professional, official tone: “Old Wei, the company has reached a new stage. We need more professional management. Your technical skills are excellent, but in management, we need someone with a broader vision. Don’t worry, the salary stays the same—you’re still a founding member.”

The salary was 18,000. He had been with the company six years, carrying it out of the dead, and what he got was “the same salary.” Later, he heard that the new director’s salary started at 40,000.

He held on for another two months, for the handover. He organized all the documents carefully, labeled every folder. On his last day, he went to Qin Haitao’s office one final time. Qin Haitao said a lot of thank-yous, then extended his hand: “Old Wei, if you ever need help, just come find me. Our brotherhood will always be there.”

Wei Guoping didn’t shake that hand. He looked at this “big brother,” suddenly smiling—an extremely calm smile. He said, “President Qin, you’re right. You really haven’t forgotten me. You remember I’m tough, useful, and not picky. So you think giving me a bowl of ‘the same salary’ is enough to make it right?”

Qin Haitao’s hand froze in mid-air, his smile stiffening. Wei Guoping turned around, closed the door, and left. In his hand was only that old thermos cup he’d used for six years.

Later, I met Wei Guoping again. He found a new job with a higher salary. He said he finally understood— from the boss’s perspective, Qin Haitao’s choices were actually “reasonable.”

First, companionship in hardship may not equal “loyalty” in the boss’s eyes, but “having no choice.” The company was about to go under; capable, well-connected people had left. You didn’t leave because you didn’t want to, but because you couldn’t find a better place. That’s the cruelest reality. Your “staying” in risk assessment is your “bargaining power.”

Second, once a company passes its survival stage, the talent needs change. To survive, you need capable people like you. To develop, you need “storytellers,” like the new director. It’s not that you’re bad; you just no longer “fit” the company’s new phase. The boss’s “gratitude” is emotional; his “strategy” for the future is about interests. Emotions often crumble before interests.

I told Wei Guoping these things. He nodded without rebuttal. He said he’s now a small leader, leading a team, occasionally talking about feelings with subordinates. But after sharing feelings, he always lays out rules and interests clearly on the table.

He said something that left a deep impression: “I used to think ‘loyalty’ was the most valuable currency in the workplace. Now I understand, the hardest thing is the confidence you have to leave at any moment but choose to stay. Without that confidence, loyalty is just a gamble. Win, and people say you’re lucky; lose, and you end up like me—chest tight for years.”

Yeah, in this world, insincere people thrive, and sincere people often end up with a bunch of reasons. We’re not wrong to value feelings, but before showing loyalty, we must first ensure we hold the cards and have a way out.

If you were Wei Guoping, at the company’s hardest moment, would you choose to be a “fool” or a “smart person”? Do you think this world will ever truly mistreat someone who once risked their life to carry the burden? Feel free to share your thoughts in the comments.