Xia Ziyu took a deep breath.
“I’m not fortune-telling. I just know it won’t be easy for you to escape this catastrophe. Young Master Du, I thought you had a vision, which is why I proposed cooperation. But now I see I was wrong.”
Du Zhaohui waited for Xia Ziyu to continue, but she fell silent again.
Du Zhaohui particularly disliked people who acted mysterious. Capable people did not need such theatrics—if someone had value, they shouldn’t be stingy about showing it.
“Trust me, if you try playing these games with me again, you won’t get another chance to see me, no matter what excuse you use.”
Xia Ziyu choked on her words.
Du Zhaohui was unlike anyone she had ever dealt with!
He showed no gentlemanly consideration and couldn’t be fooled. Xia Ziyu took a deep breath—the more difficult he was, the less she could afford to give up. If she found him troublesome, Xia Xiaolan’s future dealings with him would surely be difficult too.
“Young Master Du, you’re too impatient. Let me tell you one thing first: in March, the Soviet Union will have a new leader.”
Du Zhaohui looked at Xia Ziyu as if she were an idiot.
Soviet leadership was a lifetime position with no concept of retirement. The current leader had only taken office in February last year, barely a year ago. There were absolutely no signs indicating a leadership change in March.
Unless there was a coup or the current leader died.
Was this Xia Ziyu’s trump card for cooperation? Where did she get such intelligence? Besides Soviet information, did she have any about China?!
Du Zhaohui wasn’t excited enough to jump up. He flipped his lighter in a graceful arc between his fingers, casually lit a cigarette, and exhaled smoke:
“Miss Xia, I look forward to seeing your prediction come true.”
…
Little Wang drove Xia Xiaolan to the guesthouse, arranged her room, and specially instructed the staff to look after her safety before leaving.
Only now did Xia Xiaolan truly calm down, realizing Du Zhaohui’s earlier actions were merely a test.
Sigh, she’d gotten worked up for nothing. In front of Little Wang, she could never have accepted Du Zhaohui’s cooperation terms. If Du Zhaohui had truly wanted to dispose of Xia Ziyu for her, he wouldn’t have chosen a public street.
These Hong Kong people were indeed crafty and difficult to deal with.
Fortunately, Du Zhaohui wasn’t her business competitor at the moment—their connection stemmed from Xia Dajun, with the car accident being merely coincidental.
After several interactions with Du Zhaohui, Xia Xiaolan began to understand his character. Though appearing reckless, he was extremely shrewd. He would mercilessly crush those he could overpower, treating ordinary people like insects; but with those he couldn’t afford to offend, he would carefully restrain his arrogance, masquerading as a refined young master from a wealthy family.
Hah, such a person who had been so arrogant before could apologize to Kang Wei—he had no principles to begin with. How could anyone expect him to remember a bodyguard’s kindness and exhaust himself repaying Xia Dajun?
What was there to repay? For Du Zhaohui, it was just paying for protection—a service rendered, enjoyed as a matter of course.
If Xia Ziyu couldn’t offer Du Zhaohui the benefits he wanted, there was nothing to worry about.
Xia Xiaolan gradually sorted out her thoughts before falling asleep. She wondered how Chen Xiliang’s trip north had gone—if he could convince the Spring Festival Gala performers or female hosts to wear Luna’s designs, that would be incredibly lucky. If not, it didn’t matter—Luna was just starting, and waiting another two years would be fine.
Xia Xiaolan always made multiple plans, but before falling asleep, she felt she’d forgotten something.
The next morning, Liu Yong flew in from Beijing, and their uncle and niece met at the building materials store. Xia Xiaolan completely pushed her vague memories aside.
“Uncle, you should rent an office now.”
Yuan Hui’s business was developing well, but Liu Yong didn’t even have a proper office. He had to meet clients either at the guesthouse or the building materials store. The house he rented was old and shabby, completely unpresentable.
“If Xiaolan says rent one, then let’s rent one!”
Liu Yong was too thin, with hardly any fat on his face. When he smiled, the wrinkles around his eyes were prominent, but every line radiated joy. After all, his renovation company had made money in the past year.
The biggest profit had come from the government guesthouse project—over a hundred thousand yuan—though Liu Yong had given half the profits to Xia Xiaolan, keeping only a few tens of thousands for himself.
Even so, that money was enough to cover his investment in the Beijing courtyard house and his share in the building materials store.
After settling the accounts, Liu Yong smiled so broadly his eyes disappeared. Though the projects after the guesthouse were small, there were many of them. With Li Dongliang and Ge Jian’s help, collecting the final payments went smoothly. Moreover, Manager Wu had proactively offered loans—Liu Yong’s business had truly developed rapidly this year.
He’d withdrawn cash from the bank early to pay his workers. Most workers had worked more than 25 days per month. In this industry, wages weren’t monthly but based on work done. Wages were high in Pengcheng—skilled workers could earn 18 yuan per day, meaning if they worked all 30 days at Yuan Hui, the maximum monthly wage could reach 540 yuan.
That was even more than working in foreign factories!
Of course, very few of Yuan Hui’s current workers earned at this level—working every day without rest was impossible, and most earned between 300-400 yuan. They could receive wage advances, but the bulk was paid at year’s end. Liu Yong wasn’t trying to be an exploitative boss, but worker turnover was high. If he paid daily, he couldn’t guarantee project progress—many would stop working the day after getting paid, so some rules were necessary.
Workers wanting to quit needed to give two weeks’ notice, allowing Yuan Hui time to find replacements.
This led to some impressive payday scenes. Workers who had followed Liu Yong from Shangdu received over 3,000 yuan at once. As Liu Yong handed out money, Xia Xiaolan marked it in the ledger. Both Liu Yong and the workers knew exactly how many days they’d worked—Xia Xiaolan had helped organize these accounts.
Over 60,000 yuan was paid in workers’ wages, including 100-yuan Spring Festival bonuses for everyone.
Li Dongliang and Ge Jian were calculated separately. As Liu Yong’s deputies, they could manage small projects independently and worked diligently. Liu Yong paid them fixed monthly salaries, and their year-end bonuses were much higher than ordinary workers’.
“Xiaolan, I want to repay 100,000 to the bank first. Having debt makes me uneasy—as the saying goes, if you repay what you borrow, future loans come easily.”
Xia Xiaolan wanted to say that with such low bank interest rates, they should use the money as long as possible. But her uncle had different views, feeling uncomfortable with debt, so she didn’t stop him.
After all, Xia Xiaolan had calculated the accounts herself. Her uncle had made a considerable profit this year, even excluding some uncollected project payments.