Zhang Xiangping said again, “You still expect him to show filial respect? Dream on! He’s flown off—gone without a word!”
“You’d better put your hopes on your own biological son!”
Even so, they still had to look for him; otherwise, they couldn’t explain to Zhao Guangyuan and Su Lan. After all, this was someone else’s real son, missing from their home.
They searched and searched, but couldn’t find him. Naturally, both sets of parents ended up at Dongfang No. 1.
The front desk there said, “Oh, Jiang Luo? He’s been coming every night recently. You’re looking for him? Wait till tonight—he’ll be here.”
But that night, Jiang Luo didn’t go to Dongfang No. 1. He wandered around a shopping complex near Jing’an, grabbed a bite to eat, then returned to his small inn to watch TV.
While watching the news, he saw coverage of the ongoing nationwide crackdown on counterfeit goods. The broadcast even mentioned Wencheng.
What was Wencheng most famous for? Its merchants—well-known all over the country.
Xue Zhizhong was from Wencheng—a Wencheng businessman. At that moment, he was entertaining Huo Zongzuo at his home, following Wencheng’s local “culinary culture”:
A table of precious marble, covered with exquisite, expensive white porcelain dishes holding delicately prepared foods.
Two soups were included: one in a large bowl with a small boat made from a folded U.S. dollar floating on top, called “Smooth Sailing”; the other on a white plate held an expensive watch, called “Heartfelt Time.”
Xue Zhizhong smiled, greeting Huo Zongzuo with his wife.
Huo Zongzuo glanced at the “Smooth Sailing” soup and the “Heartfelt Time” dish. His expression was calm; he said evenly, “You Wencheng people really pay attention to hospitality.”
Xue Zhizhong laughed: “Please, help yourself.”
Huo Zongzuo didn’t look at the dishes again. He had plenty of U.S. dollars in his wallet, far more than the little dollar boat, and he wore a Rolex on his wrist, far exceeding the watch on the plate.
Halfway through the meal, seeing Huo Zongzuo’s indifferent reaction, Xue Zhizhong realized that no matter what he presented, it hadn’t impressed the tycoon. He thought to himself that this rare opportunity to entertain Huo Zongzuo must leave a strong impression.
He also remembered the glance Huo Zongzuo had given that young man named Jiang something at Dongfang No. 1.
He cursed inwardly: if all else fails, get him drunk and send him to Huo Zongzuo’s room. And what about Lu Fuhua, that useless guy? Days have passed and he hasn’t brought the kid over. Useless!
After the meal, Xue Zhizhong invited Huo Zongzuo to the tea table. While drinking tea, Xue got up and whispered, “Mr. Huo, shall I arrange someone to accompany you back to the Hilton?”
Xue Zhizhong was already thinking that if Lu Fuhua couldn’t bring the kid, he’d find someone else—a young boy—anyone Huo Zongzuo liked.
Huo Zongzuo waved him off: “No need. I’ll just drink tea, and head back to the hotel myself later.”
Xue Zhizhong smiled, unable to insist.
Then he remembered: “By the way, Jing’an office—have you been buying stocks recently?”
“I didn’t expect you to be into stocks too,” Huo Zongzuo said, lifting his teacup, revealing the watch on his wrist: “Just for fun.”
Xue Zhizhong noticed the watch and thought, What the hell brand is that? I’ve never seen it. Foreign? No wonder he ignored my ‘Heartfelt Time’ dish.
The next morning, Jiang Luo entered the trading hall munching a bun.
He wondered why so few people were around today.
Unbeknownst to him, although the “major investors’ room” hadn’t opened yet, some people with enough money could already enter private offices. Huo Zongzuo was sitting in one of them.
The office door was half closed, letting him see most of the hall outside.
Huo Zongzuo looked up and saw Jiang Luo outside, eating a bun while watching the screen.
The boy chewed with his lips pressed together, his cheeks puffing out—like a cute little squirrel. Huo Zongzuo quietly smiled.
Today, the hall was far less crowded than the past few days. Jiang Luo found it odd. After finishing breakfast, he completed a trade at the counter and sat back down. He asked an older woman nearby, “Auntie, is today a holiday or something? Not many people are here.”
She replied, “Yesterday was the ‘Stock Crashed to Death’ day. Today, of course, fewer people show up. From 72 yuan to 51—your underwear nearly dropped too. Today’s crowd is smaller.”
Only then did Jiang Luo realize that after he left early yesterday afternoon, the hall had closed, and Feile and Yanzhong stocks had plunged.
There was no limit down like today’s market could do anything—stocks could fall dramatically, though never to zero.
“Okay,” Jiang Luo murmured, unaffected. He’d lost money learning stocks in his previous life, paying over a million yuan in tuition, so he wasn’t shaken.
His stock? Dian Vacuum fluctuated but overall trended upward. Every buy and sell he made was profitable, though his capital was small, limiting gains.
Still, even a few hundred yuan a day was plenty compared to an ordinary worker’s monthly wages.
Soon, Jiang Luo bought some fruit, sat back lazily in the hall, legs crossed, eating an apple while watching stock movements.
Several people swapped seats nearby until one finally turned to him: “Oh, it’s you.”
It was the glasses guy who had given him a landline number before.
The glasses guy sighed: “Feile and Yanzhong dropped badly—I lost big yesterday.”
Jiang Luo bit his apple: “Losing money is normal.”
“Are you only buying Dian Vacuum?”
Jiang Luo tapped his screen calmly: “I’m just waiting for Yanzhong to drop a bit more, so I can buy.”
The glasses guy was shocked: “Buying on the dip? Even now? You dare?”
“Of course,” Jiang Luo said casually, his composed young face carrying an air of confident defiance. “If it can, let it drop below zero.”
The glasses guy understood: “You think Yanzhong will rise?”
Jiang Luo nodded.
“Why?”
“No reason,” Jiang Luo said. “I’m just buying.”
He wouldn’t reveal that in his previous life, he had studied old stocks and knew Yanzhong would be suspended in a few years. Now, every stock in its early stage was volatile—investors were impulsive, buying recklessly.
Jiang Luo’s trades were instinctive, without strategy or deeper analysis.
Yesterday, Yanzhong’s drop suggested someone was dumping shares. If Yanzhong wanted to stop the price from falling further, it would act in the secondary market to stabilize things.
Indeed, by afternoon, Yanzhong’s stock began to rise. But most people at the counter were selling off in panic, afraid of further losses.
Jiang Luo decisively grabbed a trading slip and bought Yanzhong at the counter.
Meanwhile, Jiang Jianmin, Zhang Xiangping, Zhao Guangyuan, and Su Lan were desperate—they couldn’t find Jiang Luo.
Jiang Jianmin and Zhang Xiangping worried about explaining it to Su Lan; Zhao Guangyuan and Su Lan feared for their biological son. Zhao Shuo also arrived after receiving a call.
The five discussed where Jiang Luo might be. Jiang Jianmin couldn’t help blurting out, “That brat is impossible to worry about!”
Su Lan and Zhao Guangyuan heard but said nothing; internally, they disliked Jiang Jianmin and Zhang Xiangping.
Zhao Shuo drove Su Lan and Zhao Guangyuan home. Su Lan couldn’t help commenting: “The kid’s missing, yet they say things like that. They didn’t notice for days. Shows how little attention they pay to Jiang Luo!”
Su Lan was upset: “We raised Mingshi so well, yet they treat our biological son like this. I don’t know what I did in a past life to deserve this in this one—being sickened by people like this.”
Zhao Guangyuan, in the passenger seat, summed up: “Low-class people—what’s there to say?” He added, “Once Jiang Luo is back, we’ll arrange for him to start working. He’s only 18, not 28. With guidance, he’ll turn out a good kid, like Mingshi.”
Zhao Shuo asked, “Where could he have gone? Have we checked the disco?”
Su Lan: “We did. Dongfang No. 1 said he had been there the past few nights, but last night we waited and he never showed. The disco staff didn’t see him.”
Su Lan worried: “Where could he be? Could he be thinking of doing something rash? Feeling that his good life was stolen, filled with resentment…”
“Mom!”
Zhao Shuo frowned while driving: “Mingshi didn’t take anything from Jiang Luo. He’s innocent.”