When Jiang Luo bought in, Dian Vacuum was at 59.8. By the time the trading office closed that day, it had climbed to 63.3.
According to the local old-timers at the brokerage—grandpas and aunties alike—making money on stocks was effortless compared to working a regular job. If it went up, great—you earned. If it went down, no worries, it would bounce back eventually. Today didn’t rise? Tomorrow would. Sooner or later, it would go up.
Jiang Luo spent the better part of the afternoon in the trading hall, genuinely impressed by these elders. They were absolute trailblazers. Back then, the stock exchanges hadn’t even been formally established. There were only a handful of stocks, no candlestick charts or technical indicators like in the future, yet they could still move hundreds, thousands, tens of thousands of yuan in trades.
Not everyone would make money, but most of these folks had the mindset and savvy to never truly be poor. Jiang Luo, on the other hand, was flat broke—utterly penniless. The cash in his pocket had come from borrowing against his own backside.
He left the trading hall while it was still early and wandered around nearby. Jing’an was definitely prime real estate in the city. The streets were bustling, the buildings impressive. But Jiang Luo knew that in a few years—by ’95 or ’98—Haicheng would be filled with new constructions. Jing’an would still be Jing’an, but the city itself would be unrecognizable.
He also remembered that Gubei would soon undergo massive redevelopment, becoming the city’s first wealthy district. In his previous life, Su Lan, Zhao Guangyuan, and Zhao Shuo had helped a freshly graduated Zhao Mingshi buy property there. Jiang Luo decided that when the time came, his first house in Haicheng would be in Gubei—he’d buy it himself, no help from anyone. He was determined to personally witness Gubei’s rise.
After wandering around and grabbing some street food, Jiang Luo went to Dongfang No.1 to get some noodles.
For what? For fun, of course. He was a pampered, indulgent young man, reborn—why should he deprive himself?
At Dongfang No.1, a long line waited at the front desk to buy tickets. Jiang Luo, a familiar face, got in just by scanning his face. Inside, colorful lights flashed, music played, and the dance floor was packed with people moving energetically.
Seeing it, a smile spread across his face. This was the atmosphere he loved—loud, lively, carefree. In his previous life, this was exactly how he liked to live: earning big, spending big, enjoying life wherever he pleased. Now, though broke, he still thought the same way. With money, he’d dine at the Peace Hotel and then stroll down the Bund in style.
He snapped his fingers and spun once to the rhythm of the music, about to find a seat and grab a drink, when a faint, sharp scent of perfume reached him, followed by a smooth, pale arm looping around his own.
Jiang Luo turned to see a young girl in a skirt and makeup smiling at him, playful and innocent.
“What are you staring at? Don’t recognize me?” she teased.
Jiang Luo immediately remembered her—Ma Shuwei, the girl he’d been seeing lately. In his previous life, he had indeed dated her. She was his first.
Not long after, they broke up. Ma Shuwei met a wealthy man from Wencheng who treated her lavishly, and she ignored Jiang Luo, the poor kid. Jiang Luo had been frustrated, insisting he wasn’t poor, boasting about his family connections—but Ma Shuwei didn’t believe him.
Recalling all this, Jiang Luo looked at Ma Shuwei now with complete detachment. He didn’t like her, then or now. His previous flirtation had been youthful restlessness, nothing to do with love.
Seeing Jiang Luo’s indifferent expression, Ma Shuwei’s smile faltered. Confused, she asked, “Why are you looking at me like that? Don’t recognize me? Buy me a drink, maybe? Then we can dance?”
Jiang Luo removed her arm from his, turned to face her amidst the noisy music, and said, “Let’s just forget it.”
Ma Shuwei was stunned, thinking she misheard. Before she could respond, Jiang Luo leaned closer and whispered something. Her expression changed—awkward—and she turned away without argument or tantrum.
He knew about her affair with Lu Fuhua. Ma Shuwei left, and Jiang Luo went to find a seat. He got two drinks and some fruit and snacks for himself, sinking into the sofa to enjoy the lively, electric atmosphere.
Someone patted him on the shoulder: “Came here to live it up, huh? Got you some drinks and food.”
Jiang Luo handed over one of his drinks to the man, who accepted it with a nod. “Sit tight, the boss will yell at you later,” the man said, then left.
Jiang Luo didn’t care. He continued eating, drinking, and enjoying himself. He knew that ever since borrowing money that afternoon, Lu Fuhua wouldn’t be scolding him—his mind was occupied with sending Jiang Luo to entertain someone.
By mid-afternoon, the crowd thinned. Jiang Luo left Dongfang No.1 and hitched a ride on a hooligan’s motorcycle to the Bund.
The Bund, still without the Oriental Pearl Tower, only had the stately European buildings and the riverside promenade. At night, there were no neon lights, few people, and the streets were quiet.
Jiang Luo grew tired from walking, spotted an iron bench, and lay down with his arms under his head, drifting off to sleep.
Some unknown time later, a car quietly stopped nearby, the window rolled down. The driver’s door opened, and a man wearing men’s loafers stepped out.
Jiang Luo woke up to daylight, noting the occasional passerby and vehicle. He’d slept well, without dreams, though his body was a bit sore from the bench.
As he stretched, he noticed a piece of clothing draped over him. It slipped to the ground as he moved.
Huh?
Jiang Luo grabbed it—an electric blue suit. He looked around but saw no one. The suit had no tags; its craftsmanship and style suggested it was custom-made. A decorative pocket square was sewn into the left breast pocket.
Who left this?
He checked the pockets—empty on the left. On the right, he found a stack of cash, about five or six hundred yuan, some bills with zeroes.
Jiang Luo blinked, bemused. Someone wealthy had seen him sleeping on the street at dawn and generously, if oddly, left him money.
He laughed, put the cash back, slung the suit over his arm, and left.
Meanwhile, at the Jing’an Hilton, Xue Zhizhong entered the breakfast room and spotted a man in an electric blue suit eating alone. Smiling, he approached warmly, “Zong Zhuo, having breakfast?”
The man looked up, handsome and deep-featured, high cheekbones, prominent nose, deep-set eyes, a cold yet refined aura. He gestured for Xue to sit.
Xue smiled broadly, asking, “How’s the breakfast? Satisfied?”
“The Hilton is foreign-run, different from Huating. I figured you travel back and forth often, so staying here must be more comfortable.”
Xue’s smile was genuine—who wouldn’t be respectful to someone like Huo Zongzhuo, a veritable financial powerhouse?
Back at Jing’an’s trading office, Jiang Luo munched on a bun while watching real-time stock prices on the big screen.
“Up again! Dian Vacuum’s up!”
Calmly, with a bun in hand and the blue suit on his lap, Jiang Luo queued to buy another trading slip. Filling out the form, he shoved through the crowd at the counter, this time wearing the suit to blend in more comfortably.