“Yeah, yeah.”
Zhang Ningfu nodded again, a goofy smile spreading across his face.
Jiang Luo: such a fool.
Zhang Ningfu hurriedly invited him, “Have some tea, have some tea. The leaves are good—I just bought them yesterday.”
Jiang Luo lifted the cup, blew across the hot surface, and asked casually, “Xiao Lu and the others—are they on vacation? They didn’t leave, right?”
Zhang Ningfu, honest and gentle as ever, replied, “No, they didn’t go anywhere. I told them you bought the shop, that the staff would stay on together—they’re all really happy.”
Jiang Luo continued, “Have their wages all been paid? If there’s anything owed, tell me, I’ll cover it.”
Zhang Ningfu shook his head, “No, no, definitely nothing owed. I’ve been paying them on time.”
“Good.”
Jiang Luo took a sip of his tea, then chatted with Zhang Ningfu about the shop—how many machines there were, what each could do, and so on.
He also explained that he wasn’t interested in outsourcing work. He wanted to make his own clothes and sell them himself, build a brand, supply department store counters. Zhang Ningfu listened carefully to every word.
After the discussion, Jiang Luo handed Zhang Ningfu a softcover notebook. “Take a look.”
Zhang Ningfu, curious about its contents, opened it and put on his reading glasses. His eyes widened in surprise—inside were designs and pattern drafts for clothing!
He hadn’t expected Jiang Luo to provide such professional materials.
He had assumed that, being young and new to the industry, Jiang Luo might rely on him to guide him. He thought Jiang Luo didn’t know much about clothing, but here were the actual pattern drafts.
Of course Jiang Luo had them. In his previous life, he had sold his own designs.
He may have skipped school and missed out on university, but he wasn’t stupid. To grow his business, he had even taught himself English and Cantonese—let alone the intricacies of the fashion world.
Leaning back on the sofa, Jiang Luo calmly and steadily looked at Zhang Ningfu across the tea table. “There are seven pieces in this notebook. Follow the pattern drafts I’ve given you and get them all made in the next few days. I’ve written the fabric details too—you buy them, the company will reimburse you.”
“Alright, alright.”
Zhang Ningfu nodded, studying the designs and the measurements on the pattern sheets carefully. Even without touching a sewing machine, he already knew how to adjust certain seams.
Seeing him so attentive, Jiang Luo knew he didn’t need to worry.
Then he added, “The machines outside aren’t enough.”
“I’ll get more soon. If you need anything, let me know.”
“For now, this will do. No big changes to the machines yet—the shop is big enough.”
“Later, when we expand, I’ll rent a new factory, hire more people, and get larger machines.”
Over the next few days, Jiang Luo was constantly on the move, preparing the workshop, especially buying all kinds of machines and tools.
He also bought several mannequins, a variety of commonly used fabrics, measuring tapes, pins, and more, bringing everything into his office to prepare for future design work.
Jiang Luo stayed busy managing the company, tracking the goods sent to department stores, and even found time to take Manager Yu from Yong’an Department Store out for meals, offering some perks while discussing putting his brand clothes in their counters.
Manager Yu didn’t hesitate to agree, not only because of Jiang Luo’s generous bribes, but also because Jiang Luo had charm—he was persuasive, pleasant, and skilled at reading people.
After drinking, Manager Yu was relaxed and jovial, clinking glasses with Jiang Luo and calling him “brother,” promising, “Xiao Jiang, don’t worry. You ask, I’ll help.”
Jiang Luo smiled, playing along, “You’re my real brother.”
Manager Yu, flushed from the drinks, laughed, “Exactly, real brothers.”
After the meal, Jiang Luo handed the young women the hotel had arranged over to escort Manager Yu to the club. Jiang Luo waved them off, saying, “Have fun, brother,” his eyes clear and bright—far from the haze of drinking with him earlier.
He went downstairs to pay, the landlady aware of his wealth and business reputation. She asked if he wanted a companion, but Jiang Luo, handsome even while taking out his wallet, smiled and said, “No thanks. If we each have someone, who’s really benefiting?”
Amused, she gave him a discount, saying in dialect, “Come often. You know the rules, we’ll provide whatever you need.”
“Nice place, good food, top-notch, right?” Jiang Luo teased.
“I can see that,” she replied.
“See you.” “See you,” he said back.
“From Haicheng, huh?” she remarked happily.
Jiang Luo looked back while leaving, “From the countryside.”
She laughed, “Don’t joke. You’re the young boss, I’m the country bumpkin. Come again, okay?”
Meanwhile, in Jinling, Wang Chuang was leaning against a tree, vomiting violently in the hotel’s front garden.
Driving back to the Jing’an Hilton, Jiang Luo thought of Wang Chuang—he’d been in Jinling for some days with no contact.
He cared but didn’t worry. Wang Chuang wasn’t a child or a fool; he could find his own way—he just needed time.
That evening in Pudong, at a government guesthouse, after a four-hour meeting, Huo Zongzhuo had been held for dinner. He was treated very well, and Zhao Guangyuan, recently transferred to Pudong’s development office, was assigned to host him.
Zhao came from a good family and had his own phone, but office leaders did not, so he carried only a pager for work contact.
At the guesthouse cafeteria, Zhao and Huo exchanged numbers. Zhao, aware of Huo’s experience and wealth, apologized for the humble meal, but Huo, steady and polite, didn’t mind.
Observing Zhao’s face, Huo felt a vague resemblance to Jiang Luo, though he didn’t dwell on it—he just liked Jiang Luo a lot and projected that image onto others.
They chatted casually, avoiding business topics. Zhao asked if Huo was married. Huo said no, too busy.
“And you?” Huo asked in return.
Zhao smiled, “At my age, of course, married with a wife and kids. My elder son was adopted out early for private reasons; he does municipal work now. My younger son is in business—we don’t interfere much.”
Huo smiled, thinking of Jiang Luo. “Young people have their own ideas.”
“Exactly.” Zhao added, “Zongzhuo, come by my place sometime. You do business; you can advise my elder son.”
Huo politely declined nothing, seeing it as useful for future connections.
Zhao, young and capable, had clearly earned his transfer to Pudong—a person with skill and influence, with a promising future.
………………………
Meanwhile, Zhao Mingshi was at school, in the dorm, playing a newly bought black-and-white game console with his roommates.
Fang Haichen also played, but the console froze mid-game. Slapping the device in frustration, he muttered, “Not again? It keeps freezing. Why’s it always breaking down lately?”
Zhao Mingshi: “Low quality.”
“Bought it from a small shop. What do you expect?”
Fang restarted it, chatting while waiting. “By the way, why are you coming home for meals so often?”
“You get 500 a month from your parents. You still need to go home for meals?”
Hearing this, Zhao Mingshi felt annoyed.