Jiang Luo added, “Don’t worry. Three days from now, I’ll pay you back in full—plus half of whatever profit I make.”
With that, he turned and headed off to fill out another order sheet, rushing to get one more trade in before the brokerage closed.
Huo Zongzhuo stayed where he was, one hand in his pocket, watching the boy’s back as he walked away.
Around them, people were still whispering nonstop.
The man with the glasses hugged the bag in his arms and leaned over to Huo Zongzhuo, glancing at him. “How’d you dare to do that?”
Just from the man’s clothes and bearing, he could tell Huo wasn’t an ordinary person.
“Are you crazy? Giving him a hundred thousand like that?”
“A hundred grand could buy a house!”
Huo Zongzhuo kept his eyes on Jiang Luo’s fading figure. He didn’t reply—just let a faint, amused spark flicker in his gaze.
The brokerage finally closed. People drifted outside in small groups.
Jiang Luo didn’t have a bag. Everything he owned was stuffed in the inner pocket of his jacket—the small stack of cash—and the brick of bills wrapped in newspaper he carried in his hand.
He walked out, and beside him, Huo Zongzhuo strolled along with one hand in his trouser pocket.
Huo held out Jiang Luo’s ID card between his fingers. Jiang Luo turned and saw it, paused, and didn’t take it. “You’re not keeping it?”
“Better take it back,” Huo said. “Don’t lose it.”
Jiang Luo accepted the card without comment.
They stepped out of the brokerage’s front doors.
“Where do you live? I’ll drive you,” Huo offered.
“No need.”
Jiang Luo stopped walking as well and looked at him. “I live nearby. I can walk.”
He lifted the newspaper-wrapped bundle slightly. “See you.”
He was about to turn away when Huo suddenly said, “Let me treat you to dinner.”
Jiang Luo froze mid-step and looked back at him. Now he was really starting to think something was off.
In his previous life, Huo Zongzhuo hadn’t liked him at all—not his personality, not his way of doing business—and every time they’d crossed paths, Huo’s expression had been frigid. Otherwise, with Jiang Luo’s social skills, he definitely would’ve tried to get close to someone like Huo.
So in this life, even though fate had thrown them together early, and even though Huo wasn’t frowning at him, even handing him a hundred grand, Jiang Luo still wasn’t about to go sticking his face to someone else’s cold backside.
But now?
Why did it feel like Huo genuinely wanted to talk to him?
What was this situation?
Jiang Luo stared at him, baffled. “Do we… know each other?”
“We don’t, right?”
“You lend me a hundred thousand, and now you want dinner?”
Jiang Luo’s mind spun through possibilities. What did Huo want?
But honestly—he was eighteen, dead broke. Meanwhile, Huo… even if he hadn’t yet pulled off his famed “household goods for an airplane” deal, even if he wasn’t yet a national name—he was already successful, wealthy, respected.
Why would someone like him be eating dinner with a nobody?
“You need something from me?” Jiang Luo asked bluntly.
“Can’t I have dinner with a kid for no reason?” Huo replied evenly.
Then he added, “Do you want something simple nearby, or should we go to a hotel restaurant? Or the Bund?”
“I’m staying at the Hilton. Not far from here. The food’s good.”
…?
He called him kid?
Jiang Luo felt even more confused.
Based on what he knew—admittedly limited, but not inaccurate—Huo Zongzhuo’s schedule should’ve been packed with business dinners and networking. Since when did he have time to eat with him?
“Why?” Jiang Luo pressed. “You seem… really interested in me.”
It was the only way he could describe it.
If it were someone else, or if Jiang Luo weren’t currently an eighteen-year-old with nothing, he probably would’ve caught the deeper implication behind that “interest.” He might’ve guessed the nature of that interest.
Men, after all—business, hobbies, attraction, lust—it was always one of those.
But Jiang Luo had a fixed impression of Huo from his previous life:
Rumor had it Huo Zongzhuo “didn’t work properly down there,” so he wasn’t interested in men or women. No partners. No marriage. No kids.
Because of that subconscious assumption, Jiang Luo never even considered the possibility.
Plus—he was eighteen. Huo was eleven years older. Why would Huo look twice at someone that young?
So in his mind, the explanation was simple:
Huo was just curious about him—a kid bold enough to gamble on stocks, borrow money, and take risks.
Huo didn’t hide it. “Yes. I’m interested.”
“I’ve been coming to this brokerage lately. I keep seeing you.”
“You’re eighteen. There aren’t many eighteen-year-olds trading stocks.”
“And you’ve got guts—buying Yanzhong at a time like this, betting people, borrowing money…”
Ah. So it was that kind of interest.
Jiang Luo nodded. He didn’t overthink it. Just shrugged and answered casually, “Sure. Dinner is fine.”
“The Hilton? Works for me.”
Huo’s lips curved slightly as he guided Jiang Luo toward another street, where he’d parked.
When they reached the car, Jiang Luo finally felt impressed—Huo drove a BMW.
- Driving a BMW.
Now that was something.
Then Huo did something unexpected:
Maybe he thought Jiang Luo had never ridden in a car before, didn’t know how to open the door…
Or maybe it was something else…
He walked ahead and opened the passenger door for Jiang Luo—polite, composed, gentlemanly to an extreme.
Jiang Luo approached and couldn’t help glancing at him. If you were like this in the last life, things would’ve been so much easier, he thought.
Huo noticed the look. “What?”
“Nothing.”
Jiang Luo ducked into the car.
He reached for the door at the same time Huo closed it from outside; the two of them shut it together.
A moment later, Huo got in on the driver’s side while Jiang Luo was still taking in the inside of the BMW—what a 1990 luxury car looked like.
“Seatbelt,” Huo said, leaning toward him as he reached across to pull it out.
Jiang Luo grabbed it himself without thinking—completely missing how close Huo was, how his breath brushed Jiang Luo’s cheek—accidentally brushing the man’s hand in the process.
“I’ve got it.”
He buckled the belt.
Huo withdrew his arm slowly. Before leaning back, he looked at Jiang Luo again—eyes darker now, expression deeper.
Jiang Luo glanced up at that exact moment—only to find Huo perfectly composed again, buckling his own seatbelt.
“Western food?” Jiang Luo asked casually.
It was the Hilton, after all—a foreign chain.
“Sure,” Huo said as he started the car. “Let’s have Western food.”