Behind the scenes, Jiang Luo had spent some money hiring a few thugs in Juxiang Town to give Xu Hu a proper beating.
Xu Hu had tried to climb the ranks at the factory, showing up with a smarmy grin, hoping to work there—but the security at the gate didn’t even let him in, and they released the dogs on him.
What no one knew was that that day, amidst his painful screams, Xu Hu had two of his fingers chopped off.
He didn’t recognize the men who did it—just that there were four of them, arriving in a black sedan with the license plate covered.
Soon after, the car drove along a rural road leaving Juxiang Town. Inside, two men sat in front, two in the back. The front passenger was playing with a freshly cleaned fruit knife.
In the back, one man held a cellphone, speaking outside: “Boss, it’s done.”
“Good, thanks for your effort,” came the calm, steady voice of Huo Zongzhuo from the other end.
After hanging up, the driver glanced at the rearview mirror and asked with curiosity, “Qing, our boss really wants you to deal with that Jiang guy?”
The man in the back replied, “Don’t ask unnecessary questions. It makes you look… capable.”
The driver chuckled, scratching his head: “Curious, huh.”
All through February, Jiang Luo was swamped—running around for matters or holed up in the factory office. Gradually, the factory grounds were being renovated, new buildings were rising, and the area slowly transformed.
Not only that, the surrounding neighborhood began to change: roads were being paved, streetlights installed on what used to be pitch-dark streets, and food stalls popped up by the factory gate—wontons, buns, fried dough sticks, tea eggs.
Workers from the clothing factory or construction crews bought food during meal times. Nearby, small shops, eateries, and inns opened to accommodate outsiders who couldn’t leave the same day. Rickshaws and vans began offering rides to nearby stations.
Jiang Luo drove to the factory on a previously barren dirt road, now a lively asphalt street. His tiger-head Benz, plate 26988, was well known—when it passed, locals knew the factory boss was in or out.
Despite all this, Jiang Luo didn’t stay in Juxiang Town; he lived at the Hilton in Jing’an. Not because he had booked it himself, but because Huo Zongzhuo did. Huo lived across the hall, and Jiang Luo wanted to see him every day. Lately, both had been too busy, and Huo sometimes traveled, so their meetings were rare.
Returning late one night, Jiang Luo expected Huo to be asleep, but the door was open.
“Dad? Mr. Huo?” he called softly.
Huo, just out of the bathroom, asked, “Back?”
“Eleven thirty. Not sleeping yet? Just got back?”
“Mm.”
“Why so late?”
“Wang Chuang’s parents moved house. Went to the housewarming, chatted a bit, so it got late.”
Huo poured a glass of water and asked casually, “How’s the new house?”
“Not bad. Spacious living room, well-maintained, furniture and appliances left intact.” Jiang Luo leaned against the doorframe.
Huo asked, “Why don’t you buy a house if Wang Chuang did?”
“Jing’an? Juxiang Town?”
“Town has nothing good; Jing’an is far from the factory. Forget it, I’ll stay at the hotel for now.”
Jiang Luo mentioned Gubei as a potential place he had considered earlier but hadn’t had the time to check. Huo agreed it was good.
Then Huo, smiling, took Jiang Luo’s half-drunk glass, saying, “Don’t go back yet, I’ll take you somewhere.”
“Now? So late?” Jiang Luo asked.
Huo grabbed his car keys: “Won’t take long. Not far. Won’t keep you up.”
They drove Huo’s BMW through almost empty streets, only the streetlights and lonely trash cans keeping them company.
“Xuhui?” Jiang Luo yawned.
“Mm,” Huo replied, no further explanation.
Arriving, Jiang Luo realized they were on Wukang Road. Huo turned into a black iron gate, which slowly opened. They drove onto a grassy lot, then up to a few-story building.
Stepping out, Jiang Luo looked up at the dark building.
A tall man, around thirty-five, ran up the path, greeting Huo: “Mr. Huo.”
Huo gestured to Jiang Luo: “This is Wang Junqing. Meet him first.”
Wang Junqing nodded at Jiang Luo: “Boss Jiang.”
“Hello,” Jiang Luo replied.
“Come in, have a look.” Huo closed the car door and led the way.
Wang Junqing opened the front door and switched on the lights, then quietly left. Jiang Luo entered, seeing a tastefully decorated Chinese-style hall.
Curious, he asked Huo: “You didn’t buy this, did you? Or rent?”
Huo only smiled.
The hall was spacious, with floor-to-ceiling windows, traditional furniture, a tall display shelf filled with porcelain and embroidery. The staircase was wooden, winding upwards with carved railings. Upstairs, more halls and rooms continued the refined style, with elegant Chinese decor in every bedroom.
Jiang Luo, walking through the three floors, was impressed: “Whether bought or rented, this isn’t easy to get. Renovated too?”
Huo smiled: “Like it?”
“Very much,” Jiang Luo said. “But it’s useless if I like it—you need to like it too.”
Huo: “It’s your place, you live here. Not me.”
On the third floor, Jiang Luo noticed calligraphy on the wall, framed: “Daily Profits” and another, “Richest in Haicheng.”