“I’m not saying Mingshi is bad.”
Su Lan said, “I mean Jiang Luo. I’m worried he might do something rash. That kid has a strong-willed personality. Could he be thinking—he should have gone to Fudan University, but because of the mix-up, it was Mingshi who went instead?”
Zhao Shuo muttered under his breath, “Would he have even passed?”
That single remark fell heavily over the car, leaving everyone silent.
Even Zhao Guangyuan and Su Lan agreed—just because Zhao Mingshi could get into Fudan on his own didn’t mean that Jiang Luo, had the swap not happened, would have turned out obedient, well-behaved, and academically successful like Mingshi.
After all, they had all seen how “wayward” Jiang Luo had become.
“You guys didn’t sleep much last night, huh?”
Zhao Shuo, still driving, didn’t dwell on Jiang Luo further. “I’ll take you home, then I’ll drive around and see if I can find him. He doesn’t have money, so he probably hasn’t gone far. Maybe he’s at some other disco or arcade—we just don’t know.”
“I’ll look too. Mom, don’t worry.”
After dropping off Su Lan and Zhao Guangyuan, Zhao Shuo, as he said, began searching the entertainment venues around the Second Silk Factory area for Jiang Luo.
As he searched, he felt a little angry—maybe Jiang Luo was doing this on purpose, just to make them worry.
He thought: once I find him, I need to ask why he ran off. If it isn’t for a proper reason, I, as his older brother, really need to give him a serious talking-to.
Zhao Shuo felt deep down that Jiang Luo couldn’t compare to Zhao Mingshi—he fell short in every way, especially in temperament.
Meanwhile, shortly before the trading hall closed that afternoon, Yanzhong surged, and the traders panicked, rushing to buy before the hall shut.
Where was Jiang Luo at this moment?
He was “betting” with the glasses guy.
The glasses guy believed that Yanzhong would drop again tomorrow. It was too unstable, so he refused to buy—absolutely refused.
Jiang Luo said, “You’ve already sold off your shares, right? Lend me ten thousand. I’ll write you an IOU and buy them. If it rises, I’ll split the profit with you. If it falls, it’s on me. I’ll pay you back the ten thousand.”
The glasses guy hesitated.
Jiang Luo added, “You don’t trust me? I’ll put my ID down as collateral. You risk nothing—profit is shared, loss is mine.”
The glasses guy wasn’t stupid. “If you lose it all, how will you pay me back?”
Jiang Luo pulled his Dian Vacuum settlement slips from his pocket. “I have this, don’t I? If Yanzhong really crashes, I’ll settle with this.”
The glasses guy was tempted. He couldn’t help it—he’d sold his house, divorced, and already treated stocks like gambling.
Jiang Luo had precisely spotted that, knowing he could get some “starting capital” from the guy.
Sure enough, the glasses guy gritted his teeth, handed over the money, and gestured: “Give me your ID, and write the IOU!”
Jiang Luo smiled. The money was in hand.
Amidst the curious onlookers, he squatted by the chair, wrote the IOU for ten thousand, promised to split profits, take losses himself, and handed over his ID.
The glasses guy glanced at Jiang Luo’s ID. Originally, he just wanted to see the name, but when he saw he was born in ’71—making him just eighteen—he nearly jumped.
“You’re only eighteen? I thought you said you were thirty!”
People around started looking at the ID, murmuring in surprise and admiration.
Jiang Luo calmly pocketed the ten thousand and the settlement slip, smirking slightly, then walked toward the counter.
Someone shouted, “Hey! That’s him! He’s eighteen! Eighteen and buying stocks—his family doesn’t care at all!”
The ID circulated and ended up in the hands of Huo Zongzuo, who had just stepped out of the office.
Huo Zongzuo held it, glanced at the name and birthdate, and smiled faintly. Eighteen, indeed.
He thought: Jiang Luo—‘Luo’ as in falling blossoms.
Someone else wanted to see it, so Huo Zongzuo let go.
Then he looked up, hands in pockets, watching the young man confidently push through the crowd toward the counter.
Bold kid—borrowing money to buy stocks at that age. Huo Zongzuo’s interest piqued.
Not long after, Jiang Luo returned from the counter. Huo Zongzuo calmly said, “Want to bet with me? I’ll give you a hundred thousand.”
Jiang Luo, looking down at the settlement slips, glanced up at the man.
This man was unlike anyone else in the trading hall: tall, long-legged, handsome, perfectly suited in a tailored suit, radiating presence and refinement.
He stood out among the ordinary crowd.
Jiang Luo remembered him from his previous life. They had crossed paths often, though never personally acquainted. No business ties, no private interactions.
The man’s name: Huo Zongzuo, eleven years older.
He had a growing reputation in business circles, and soon, through “exchanging everyday goods for airplanes,” he would cement a national reputation.
Jiang Luo thought: it’s 1990, April. Did Huo Zongzuo already get the plane last time? Oh, apparently not. Interesting… Last life, Huo Zongzuo frowned and glared whenever he heard Jiang Luo’s name—he probably disliked him.
And now? Not only does he encounter him by chance in the hall, he offers him a hundred thousand?
Jiang Luo showed no reaction, just raised an eyebrow at the man.
Huo Zongzuo, one hand in pocket, said steadily: “Don’t trust me? You can write an IOU too.”
Jiang Luo glanced at the tightly shut office doors across the hall, silently implying: Someone like you—a big investor—shouldn’t be inside? Why out here?
Huo Zongzuo understood, said nothing, continuing calmly: “What’s wrong? Afraid?”
People around murmured: “Are you crazy? He’s just an eighteen-year-old kid! You’re giving him a hundred thousand?”
“What if he loses it all? How will he pay you back?”
Someone handed Huo Zongzuo the circulating ID: “Look—eighteen. Even with the Dian Vacuum slip, he can barely cover ten thousand, let alone a hundred thousand.”
Huo Zongzuo took the ID without looking, still watching Jiang Luo.
Jiang Luo thought: What a coincidence—meeting Huo Zongzuo so early. And he wants to give me a hundred thousand?
Most would hesitate, but Jiang Luo’s bold nature saw this as perfect—he was short on starting capital, and here came a hundred thousand.
1990, a hundred thousand—an enormous sum. With it, he could leverage even more in stocks.
He barely paused, raised an eyebrow, and said to Huo Zongzuo: “Nothing to be afraid of. You dare to offer a hundred thousand, I dare to take it.”
Huo Zongzuo smiled slightly. “Write the IOU. I’ll get the money.”
He turned and walked toward the trading hall door.
Someone followed, noticing him head to a car parked under a tree, opening the trunk.
Jiang Luo squatted by the chair, writing the second IOU, signing his name, and noting the loan date. The onlookers whispered and discussed Jiang Luo, Huo Zongzuo, and these two “bets.”
Soon, Huo Zongzuo returned, carrying a brick-shaped bundle wrapped in newspaper. Jiang Luo approached and handed over the IOU.
Huo Zongzuo took it, glanced, and handed the “newspaper brick” to Jiang Luo.
Jiang Luo opened it publicly. The crowd gasped—inside were ten bundles of bills, each containing 100 notes: a total of a hundred thousand.
Jiang Luo quickly counted, raised the “brick” to the man, and glanced at the pocket square on Huo Zongzuo’s suit.
Huo Zongzuo asked: “How many days?”
Jiang Luo replied: “How many days can you lend me? How long do you want to lend?”
Huo Zongzuo, calm and even: “Any. Your choice.”
Jiang Luo thought: Huo Zongzuo is generous when pleased. Since he had to repay Lu Fuhua soon, he said: “Three days, starting tomorrow.”
Huo Zongzuo asked: “Not a few more?”
Jiang Luo turned, toes pointing away, lifted the “brick” casually, relaxed expression, said: “Just strangers crossing paths. Three days is enough.”