His mind drifted briefly—to Huo Zongzhuo.
China was drowning in excess production of everyday goods. It wouldn’t be long before Huo Zongzhuo started hauling airplanes out of the still-intact Soviet Union, trading domestically made daily necessities for Soviet aircraft.
It later became famous as the “Daily Goods for Airplanes” deal.
With that move, Huo Zongzhuo not only helped the country’s airlines acquire planes, he also solved the problem of overcapacity in domestic manufacturing.
Thinking about it, Jiang Luo’s lips curled faintly—yeah, that’s Huo Zongzhuo for you.
—
The next morning, after finishing breakfast in the hotel restaurant, Jiang Luo and Wang Chuang headed downstairs. Ma Bo and his Jinbei Haishi were already parked at the entrance waiting for them.
When Ma Bo saw them, he was leaning against the van, cigarette dangling from his mouth. He lifted a hand in greeting.
Jiang Luo walked over and tossed something his way. Ma Bo caught it, glanced down, and saw it was a pack of Yuxi. He grinned instantly, greeted Jiang Luo with extra enthusiasm, and even said, “Morning, Jiang Shao.”
Then he ushered the two into the van.
Once they were seated, Ma Bo turned the wheel and asked, “So, Jiang Shao, where to today?”
Jiang Luo leaned back, unhurried. “Take us around the factory district near Sishu.”
“No problem!” Ma Bo said, cigarette bouncing between his lips.
Jiang Luo added, “Put that out. Gives me a headache. Smoke when we’re not here.”
“Alright, alright.”
Ma Bo lowered the window and flicked out the smoke.
On the way, he acted like a tour guide, chatting nonstop—telling them about Wencheng, pointing out newly built, imposing buildings along the road.
Jiang Luo listened, glanced outside, and had to admit: Wencheng might not compare to Haicheng overall, but Haicheng only really had the Bund going for it these days.
Wencheng was different. Besides the famous Wenzhou merchants, their factories were the city’s pride. The locals were active in business—truly wealthy and quick-minded.
Wang Chuang muttered, “This doesn’t look like business to me—looks like scamming. Everything’s fake here.”
China’s three most infamous counterfeit hubs: Wencheng, Jincheng, Shishi.
Wencheng’s knockoff leather market had recently been burned down by a huge fire in Hangcheng—the news was still fresh.
Ma Bo didn’t get offended. He laughed. “Who cares if it’s fake or not? There’s money in it.”
“You don’t make fakes, but you spend money buying fakes. Other people make fakes, sell everywhere, make a killing, drive nice cars, live in big houses. So tell me—are you jealous they make fakes, or jealous they make money?”
“Obviously the money, right?”
“So there you go.”
He kept talking, cheerful as ever. “Fake or real—none of that’s our business. That’s for the government to worry about.”
“Us regular folks? We open our eyes every morning with just one goal—make money.”
“As long as you can make money, that’s all that matters.”
He gave a big thumbs-up.
Wang Chuang was won over instantly.
Jiang Luo didn’t react. He had understood all this in his last life, right when he’d first entered adulthood.
Soon, they reached Sishu Town. Jiang Luo didn’t specify any factory, so Ma Bo simply drove slowly through an area packed with them.
With the speed lowered, Jiang Luo rolled down the window and watched casually—roadside workshops, worn-down factory gates, the general atmosphere of small-scale production.
Ma Bo glanced back. “Jiang Shao, see anything you like?”
“Just drive,” Jiang Luo said lightly.
People on the roadside looked too—at the Jinbei Haishi, at the local plates—curious what these outsiders were here for.
They circled once, then moved on to another cluster of factories.
After finishing Sishu, Jiang Luo said, “Head to Changning Town.”
“Got it,” Ma Bo replied.
Wang Chuang leaned closer and whispered, “What are we doing?”
“Looking around,” Jiang Luo answered calmly. “Look first.”
After Changning, they went on to Yueqing. By then it was noon, so Jiang Luo told Ma Bo to take them to a restaurant.
Being a man who survived off his wits, Ma Bo immediately asked, “What kind of place you want, Jiang Shao? High-end or regular?”
“Good. Expensive.”
“No problem!”
He drove them to one of the upscale restaurants in the area.
Seated inside, Jiang Luo ordered five dishes. Ma Bo stayed outside smoking.
Wang Chuang took the chance to whisper, “Seriously, what are we doing? You’re not telling me anything—just having the car circle around factories.”
Jiang Luo poured tea. “Don’t ask. Watch. You’ll understand.”
He turned—and saw a sign outside the floor-to-ceiling window:
“If you want voltage regulators, come to Yueqing.”
His eyes lingered on the words voltage regulators for a second.
The whole day passed like that—nothing but driving in loops around factory towns. Wang Chuang didn’t understand. Ma Bo understood even less.
By afternoon, Ma Bo finally complained, “This much driving—it’s gonna burn a lot of my gas.”
Jiang Luo didn’t waste a word. He tossed him a hundred.
Ma Bo caught it and grinned. “Alright then. Drive, drive—however long you want.”
And just like that, day one ended.
Back at the hotel, Wang Chuang didn’t bother asking anymore. Asking didn’t get answers—Jiang Luo just kept telling him to observe.
He went straight to his room, filled the bathtub, and began happily singing in the bathroom.
Jiang Luo sat on the sofa, popped a piece of lard-puffed candy into his mouth, and mused: Good enough for today. Tomorrow, we pick a factory.
—
The next morning, Ma Bo drove them to a toy factory in another town.
Any factory would do—this whole area was full of toy makers.
At the first factory, he drove straight in.
A security guard rushed over immediately. “Hey, hey, hey—who are you? Outsiders can’t just drive in.”
The rear door slid open. Jiang Luo stepped out. “Get your manager. We’re here to talk business.”
This factory wasn’t big. The manager was the owner himself—Boss Zhang.
Boss Zhang saw the brand-new Jinbei, saw the three people standing beside it, heard they were here for business, and jogged over enthusiastically.
Wencheng bosses were sharp. Even though Ma Bo looked the oldest and the other two looked far too young—and even though Ma Bo had a cigarette dangling from his lips, looking like a slick old street fox—Boss Zhang still instantly zeroed in on Jiang Luo, whose calm expression and good looks stood out.
He shook hands warmly. “Where are you gentlemen from? Not from Wencheng, I assume?”
Jiang Luo shook his hand with composure. “Surname Jiang.”
Beside him, Ma Bo lifted his cigarette hand slightly. “This is Jiang Shao.”
“Oh, oh—Jiang Shao.”
Boss Zhang asked eagerly, “Where are you from, Jiang Shao?”
“Haicheng,” Jiang Luo said, handing him a business card.
The moment he heard Haicheng, Boss Zhang’s attitude shifted—more serious, more respectful.
And a business card—those weren’t common yet.
Holding the card carefully, he gestured. “Come, come—this way, please. Let’s sit inside and talk over tea.”
Jiang Luo and Wang Chuang followed him into the office building.
Ma Bo didn’t follow—he knew his place. Business talk wasn’t for drivers.
Outside, Boss Zhang gave the nearby middle-aged guard a quick signal. The guard understood instantly.
As soon as Jiang Luo and the others walked away, the guard went over to Ma Bo, offered him a cigarette, and asked, “Boss, where’re you from? Isn’t that a local plate?”
Ma Bo took the cigarette and tucked it behind his ear. “I’m local. Those two aren’t. They hired the car.”
“Ohhh. They must be loaded, hiring a car like that.”
“Loaded? They’re very loaded,” Ma Bo said matter-of-factly. “One hundred a day, no bargaining. They feed me, smoke on them too.”
“You know what cigarettes they give me?”
He pulled out the pack and showed the guard. Then took one out and handed it over. “Yuxi. Twenty-five a pack.”
The guard tucked it behind his ear too. “Damn. So where’re they staying?”
“Downtown. Best place—Crown. Few hundred a night.”
The guard whistled. “Yeah, that’s real money. No wonder—big bosses from Haicheng.”
He added, “I just couldn’t figure out how they look so young.”
Ma Bo snorted. “Young? You know how old he actually is?”
The guard nodded. “True, true.”
—
Inside, Boss Zhang led them into the office.
The office décor was fancy—a huge desk, rolling chairs, and an elaborate dark-red tea table covered with tea sets and a big three-legged toad figurine.
But instead of seating them at the tea table immediately, he first took them to the sofa for small talk—basic things like “Was the trip long?”, “How’d you come over?”
A short while later, the guard appeared outside the window and nodded.
Boss Zhang saw it, smiled, finished a couple of polite lines, then stood up.
“Come, Jiang Shao, and this young brother—let’s sit at the tea table and drink tea while we talk.”
Wang Chuang kept a straight face, but inside he found it odd.
Why didn’t he take us straight to the tea table at the start? Why sit on the sofa first? Weird guy.