Fate really is strange.
What was even stranger was that today, Jiang Luo had seen a side of Huo Zongzhuo unlike anything he’d known before—unlike the man he’d known in the past, or even in his previous life. For the first time, he’d witnessed Huo Zongzhuo’s methods up close.
Sure enough, anyone who’d clawed their way to the top of the business world was never simple. Someone as powerful as Huo Zongzhuo struck fast and hard, every blow landing squarely on the vital point, with immediate results.
Others might feel fear or apprehension, but having lived through a past life, Jiang Luo had always regarded Huo Zongzhuo as a benchmark to look up to—a truly outstanding entrepreneur with vision and foresight.
Jiang Luo hoped that one day, even if he couldn’t catch up to Huo Zongzhuo, he could at least stand close to where this man stood.
“Hm?”
Huo Zongzhuo opened his eyes and saw Jiang Luo staring at him, as if about to say something. “What is it?”
“Nothing. I just suddenly thought of something…”
He was thinking of Chen Xianlong from Singapore.
Jiang Luo laid it out logically: “I was just thinking—Chen Xianlong came here to do business, and he was in Haimen, not Haicheng. We’d never even met. He didn’t know me at all.”
“Even if I got in the way of his plans in Haicheng, Jiangsu, or even Zhejiang, going straight for my life feels too extreme.”
“Who would go to such lengths to kill a venomous snake that’s several kilometers away?”
“So I thought about it.”
Jiang Luo’s voice turned low. “If Chen Xianlong really wanted me dead, then someone else must’ve been involved—someone stirring things up, feeding him information about me.”
“Who would that be?”
“Li Fengrui is definitely one of them.”
“Even if he’d already gone to see Chairman Qiu to try to reconcile with me, because of the mall project, he must hate me to the bone.”
“His desire for me to die was far stronger than Chen Xianlong’s.”
Huo Zongzhuo listened, a little surprised that Jiang Luo had already reasoned this far.
“That’s true,” he said, nodding.
Jiang Luo continued, “If Chen Xianlong wasn’t the one who wanted me dead at all, then there’s a high chance it was still Li Fengrui behind it.”
“I’m inclined to believe Li Fengrui and Chen Xianlong were working together.”
“Or Li Fengrui was behind the scenes, using Chen Xianlong as his knife.”
“Chen Xianlong isn’t innocent—but he’s not fully responsible either.”
“Well said,” Huo Zongzhuo praised. “Sharp thinking. You picked up on this quickly.”
“So…” Jiang Luo leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. “You’d already thought of all this, hadn’t you?”
“And Li Fengrui—you also…”
Also what?
Dead, of course.
Even Fourth Brother, who was driving, understood and reflexively glanced at the rearview mirror.
Huo Zongzhuo curved his lips. “In your mind, am I really that ruthless? That willing to stop at nothing?”
Then, with a hint of satisfaction, he nodded. “Still—very good. You’re able to think this far.”
Jiang Luo explained, “You said it yourself—anyone who threatens my life, you won’t let them off.”
“I did,” Huo Zongzhuo replied calmly. “I said I’d clean it all up for you.”
“Don’t worry. Li Fengrui is fine.”
“I just taught him a small lesson—had his second brother come over from Taiwan to take him away.”
“He won’t be coming back to the mainland.”
Jiang Luo kept guessing. “A ‘small lesson’? Whipped? Lost a few fingers?”
Huo Zongzhuo frowned slightly. “Why are you curious about that?”
Fourth Brother chimed in while glancing at the mirror, “Nothing much. Just locked him in a countryside warehouse for a few days—water only, no food, and no bathroom either. He—”
“Stop!” Jiang Luo cut in immediately. “That’s enough. Pretend I never asked.”
Now Huo Zongzhuo asked instead, “Why bring up Chen Xianlong again? What are you thinking?”
Jiang Luo thought for a moment, then leaned forward. “Fourth Brother, ask Brother Qing where he is. We’re going to Chen Xianlong’s hospital.”
Just then, Huo Zongzhuo’s brick phone rang. He picked it up, listened calmly, gave a brief “Mm,” and hung up.
He turned to Jiang Luo. “What a coincidence. Qing just called. Chen Xianlong is making a scene at the hospital, saying it wasn’t him who wanted you hurt—it was Li Fengrui. He says he rejected Li Fengrui from the start.”
Uh-oh.
Jiang Luo blinked. If Chen Xianlong wasn’t lying, then this time…
Jiang Luo shrugged at Huo Zongzhuo, raising an eyebrow. Guess he was just unlucky.
What else could they do? The deed was done. He’d been kicked out, hit by a car, slapped around—were they supposed to go apologize in person?
In Jiang Luo’s mind: whatever.
“You believe him?” Huo Zongzhuo asked.
Jiang Luo shrugged again, utterly indifferent. “Who cares? Someone had to take responsibility for me getting hit by a car.”
“If you could trace it back to him in Haicheng, then he’s not innocent.”
Huo Zongzhuo smiled.
When he smiled, Jiang Luo smiled too.
They exchanged a knowing look—partners in crime.
Jiang Luo then reached forward and patted Fourth Brother’s seat. “No need to go to the hospital. Back to Haicheng.”
“Huh?” Fourth Brother was confused.
Huo Zongzhuo also turned to look at Jiang Luo.
Jiang Luo met his gaze. “Didn’t you say I was smart? Let’s make a bet.”
Huo Zongzhuo leaned back, relaxed. “What’s the bet?”
Jiang Luo said, “I bet Chen Xianlong was just a temporary scout—an advance piece sent to Haimen to test the waters.”
“He’s not the real boss.”
“The one truly trying to acquire shares and lay out the industrial plan is someone else entirely.”
“And that person likely has brains and experience—someone who wouldn’t allow themselves to be used by Li Fengrui.”
That was why Jiang Luo partly believed Chen Xianlong’s claim of innocence.
He raised an eyebrow at Huo Zongzhuo again. “I’ll also bet that since you were so ruthless in driving Chen Xianlong out, the real boss behind the scenes is probably getting restless—and will come personally.”
Huo Zongzhuo laughed as soon as he heard this, his gaze full of admiration. “Alright. I’ll take that bet. What’s at stake?”
Jiang Luo thought for a moment. “If I lose, I’ll treat you to dinner. If you lose, you treat me.”
“What?!” Fourth Brother blurted out, then quickly shut up.
Huo Zongzhuo ignored him and smiled at Jiang Luo. “Deal.”
Recently, Su Lan had been in a much better mood.
First, because enough time had passed since the Spring Festival. Life had to go on—she couldn’t mope forever. She worked hard to adjust her mindset, stopped sulking over Zhao Mingshi and Zhao Guangyuan, and tried not to dwell on Jiang Luo either. When there was work, she worked; when resting, she arranged flowers or went out for coffee with her girlfriends.
Second, they’d finally bought a place for Zhao Shuo. Three thousand yuan per square meter, in Gubei—a three-bedroom, over a hundred square meters, meant for his future marriage.
These past few days, Su Lan had been busy overseeing the renovation. She was also thinking that Zhao Shuo had been dating his girlfriend for a while now—maybe it was time to arrange a meeting between the families. Once the apartment was being renovated, it would be a good chance to ask the girlfriend what she thought, since she’d be the one living there, not Su Lan.
At school, Zhao Mingshi no longer hung around with the senior students obsessed with Famicom consoles.
Ever since attending a lecture on programming languages with his roommates, he’d been living in the library, borrowing books to study C and other languages, studying with intense focus.
He’d broken up with his senior girlfriend after the Spring Festival—cleanly and decisively—but she kept coming back, trying to rekindle things.
Zhao Mingshi, being only so disciplined below the waist, ended up going to hotels with her again after she came by enough times.
Afterward, he’d go straight back to the library to keep studying.
She asked him, “Mingshi, do you love me?”
“Of course,” he replied casually, the words passing his lips but never his heart.
Love meant nothing to him.
All he cared about was what kind of future he’d have—and whether Jiang Luo would surpass him.
Elsewhere, Bai Ting and Wang Junwei were still selling pagers in their shop.
Before the New Year, business had been decent—nothing spectacular, but steady.
After the New Year, for reasons no one could explain, pagers suddenly exploded in popularity. The shop was packed every day, customers coming nonstop, all with cash in hand. They were often sold out and had to make people wait.
Bai Ting started talking privately with Wang Junwei. “Hey, Junwei—why don’t we become pager agents ourselves? Open our own shop. What do you think?”
At the same time, Bai Ting’s family rented out the two rooms they’d had in the silk factory’s dorm building.
The tenants were an elderly local couple in their sixties, originally from the countryside in Pudong.
Their house in Pudong had been demolished, and after getting compensation, they hadn’t bought a new place yet. So they came into the city, rented a place, and set up a small stall selling breakfast—fried dough sticks, flatbreads, buns, wontons.
Ever since the couple moved in, the ground floor—where everyone used to park bicycles—also had to accommodate their food cart.
Once the cart was there, it blocked the space, often making it hard for others to get in or out. Naturally, the other residents had complaints.
Still, the couple came early and left late. Even when it was blocked, it was only during nighttime hours. People complained privately, but no one really tore into them.
Behind their backs, though, residents always referred to them as “those country folks from Pudong,” with more than a little condescension.
What they didn’t expect was that after moving in, the couple bought brand-new TVs, refrigerators, washing machines. The wife wore gold—necklace, rings, bracelets, all gleaming enough to make people jealous.
Zhang Xiangping was jealous too. She muttered to Jiang Jianmin in private, “Selling breakfast—does it really make that much money?”