“I have a counter brand generating 15 million in turnover over ten months. If I take a 10-million loan, what’s the problem?”
“No problem at all. If you can get the loan, you can pay it back.”
Qian Heng wiped his brow secretly. No wonder this guy came from Tongji—sharp, quick-minded. He muttered to himself: “It’s different, Mr. Jiang. One is turnover and revenue, the other is actual cash.”
“If you really don’t need this ten million, why bother getting a bank loan? You could just use your own money as capital, right?”
Having just started his career, Qian Heng didn’t have the savvy yet, so he offered some well-meaning advice: “Mr. Jiang, maybe you should borrow less? Ten million is really too much. Our bank probably won’t approve it. Even if you apply, it could get rejected. If you borrow less—one or two million—the chance of approval is much higher.”
Jiang Luo knew well that loans couldn’t be rushed. He remained calm: “Let’s just go through the proper procedures. If it doesn’t work, it’s fine. Haicheng has plenty of banks—I can try a few more.”
Qian Heng sighed inwardly. He’d finally landed a deal of his own and had been excited. Now, the “ten million” looming over him made his head spin. Was he just inexperienced, or did Mr. Jiang simply not treat money like money?
“Alright, let’s get the paperwork ready first,” he told himself, adjusting his glasses. “Regardless, prepare the materials properly.”
Later, Bank Manager Zhou Qian arrived. He hadn’t come late because he slacked off; he’d been busy with other projects—Pudong development meant banks across Haicheng had to disburse funds. He’d been attending meeting after meeting, completely tied up. Finally back in his office, sipping tea, he remembered Qian Heng had a client discussing a loan. Zhou called him in.
“How did it go today?” Zhou asked, sipping his tea.
Qian Heng stood by the desk, holding the paperwork in one hand, pushing up his glasses with the other. “We talked this morning.”
Zhou casually asked, “How much did he want?”
Qian Heng, obedient and nervous, remained silent. He placed the documents carefully on Zhou’s desk. “You can see for yourself, Manager.”
Zhou frowned, lifting his cup. “Come on, answer me. How much?”
Qian Heng mumbled, barely audible: “One thousand…”
“How much!?” Zhou leaned forward. “Speak up!”
“One… ten… million! That Mr. Jiang—he wants ten million!”
Pft!
Zhou Qian literally spat out his tea. Soon, his roar echoed from the office:
“Ten million!!?
Does he think he’s developing Pudong himself?!”
Around the same time, Huo Zongzhuo visited the Zhao family.
“Zongzhuo, you’re here!” Zhao Guangyuan greeted warmly.
Huo Zongzhuo handed over a small gift. “Just a token. Nothing expensive—some imported fruit.”
Zhao Guangyuan smiled. “Thanks. Don’t worry about it next time—treat it like coming to your own home.”
Su Lan, standing nearby, introduced herself, “Hello, Mr. Huo, I’m Guangyuan’s wife.” She added in her Sucheng accent, “I’m half Sucheng myself—my father’s from Sucheng.”
“Come in, have a seat.”
“Coffee? I can make it for you. Milk, sugar?”
After brief greetings, Zhao and Huo went up the three-story house together. Su Lan went to make coffee while Zhao and Huo sat on the sofa, surrounded by snacks and fruit.
With land being auctioned and Pudong development in full swing, Zhao naturally discussed the future development of Pudong with Huo.
When Su Lan brought the coffee, she laughed: “Pudong, Pudong… nowadays everything leads back to Pudong.” She handed Huo his cup. “I added milk, so it’s not too bitter. Sugar’s here—adjust to your taste.”
Huo thanked her. Su Lan handed another cup to Zhao and sat down herself. Zhao sipped but grimaced, not used to coffee. Huo noticed the expression—somehow reminiscent of Jiang Luo.
In fact, when Huo first saw Su Lan at the door, he had been momentarily taken aback by her resemblance to Jiang Luo. But he figured it was just coincidence—there couldn’t be any real family ties. Zhao’s wife’s surname was Su; Jiang Luo wasn’t a Su or a Zhao.
Huo decided it must be chance and continued chatting with Zhao and Su Lan over coffee.
Zhao asked, “For Pudong development, to support local banks, you all use Haicheng banks for your loans, right?”
Huo confirmed. Zhao nodded: “Our office has held multiple meetings about this. It’s unavoidable—Pudong must develop, and so must Haicheng. Banks mainly hold ordinary people’s deposits. Deposits are high, loans are low—they need to survive. You have to understand.”
Huo smiled: “Of course we understand, but honestly, there’s been a lot of entertaining lately. If it continues, my stomach won’t hold up.”
They laughed. Zhao said, “No choice. Same in our office—every meeting, every person, there’s a meal. But at least we eat the cafeteria food—no fancy stuff. Unlike you, every meal is in a restaurant with wine.”
Su Lan, understanding social nuance, offered advice: “Next time you have a banquet, bring your medicine. Take it before eating—then no one will dare push wine on you.”