“Making something of oneself.”

Four simple words to say, yet incredibly difficult to achieve.

Smuggled into Hong Kong, failing to find relatives made her want to cry.

Carrying loads at the dock made her want to cry.

But she couldn’t cry.

Crying solved nothing. When wanting to bow her head and cry, one should look up at the sky instead – but from her tiny room, she couldn’t see the sky at all. Back on the mainland, everyone said Hong Kong was paradise, with streets paved with gold.

Only after arriving did she learn that Paradise had its poor too, and Hong Kong’s poor weren’t much better off than mainlanders.

But Hong Kong had one advantage – if you were willing to work hard, you wouldn’t starve. Unlike the mainland, where state-owned units tied workers down for life, being fired meant disaster… In Hong Kong, changing jobs was commonplace.

Her last job was carrying loads at the dock; her next could be working at a tea restaurant.

With better luck, she could become a clerk at a big company.

No one’s life path was fixed here. She kept encouraging herself, picking up the newspaper by her pillow. She’d studied the job listings in its margins for ages. Office clerk positions only required a high school diploma and English skills.

Mainland diplomas weren’t recognized in Hong Kong – these positions were meant for locals.

But she could still try.

She already knew English.

And had worked hard learning Cantonese these past two months.

Having overcome the language barrier, she might establish herself quickly in Hong Kong. She wasn’t unwilling to work at tea restaurants – it couldn’t be harder than dock work. But restaurant workers, though earning enough for daily life, had neither spare money nor time for self-improvement.

“Restaurant work is a dead end. Young people choose it for convenience but end up stuck there for life. If I’m going to do menial work, better at a big company. Starting as a helper is fine – helpers can become secretaries, and secretaries can keep rising…”

After some time in Hong Kong, she’d thought it through clearly.

Sleeping with the newspaper, she began job hunting the next day following the listings.

Submitting resumes was pointless – with no formal Hong Kong work experience, a blank resume would be instantly rejected. Better to try door-to-door, test her luck.

Her only decent outfit, though 80% new, could hardly be called presentable.

But she’d kept it neat, unwrinkled, and clean.

Hong Kong’s female office workers dressed fashionably. She wasn’t that provincial, just couldn’t afford nice clothes.

Youth and good looks were her advantages.

Once they discovered she could read, write, and speak English, companies didn’t care about her diploma – it was just a basic clerical position after all.

“Your English is fluent, you’re pretty – work hard and you’ll become permanent eventually. By the way, what did you say your name was?”

Most Central office workers had English names, though their Hong Kong-style versions seemed strange to her, like “Cici” which wasn’t a proper English name-

“I’m Ah Qiong.”

Just Ah Qiong then, quite rustic – if not for her good English, she’d never have been hired.

The Second Young Master was in charge now, having studied abroad, and more fluent in English than Cantonese. His subordinates naturally followed suit.

“Start tomorrow, probation salary…”

Ah Qiong listened attentively.

Cheng Wing Group was a major Hong Kong company – she hadn’t expected to pass the interview.

Though just an office helper needing to complete probation, this job was leagues above dock work. Not just better pay – the entire platform was several social classes higher.

Thinking this, her eyes began to sting again.

She quickly tilted her head back. “Ye Xiaoqiong, crying shows no promise. You can do this.”

A black car stopped outside. The driver eagerly opened the door, and a young man in an immaculate suit stepped out. Someone moved to take his briefcase, but he seemed displeased.

“Don’t waste effort on such things. I don’t like flattery. Will I meet the new secretary today?”

“Second Young Master, we’ve preliminarily selected…”

Several people crowded around the Second Young Master entering the company. Simply dressed Ye Xiaoqiong wasn’t even in his field of vision.

She stepped aside, not deliberately drawing attention.

That was Du Zhaoji, Cheng Wing Group’s Second Young Master. Probably younger than her – Hong Kong papers said he was more capable than his playboy older brother, returning from England to take over the family business, forcing his half-brother to flee to the mainland. Hong Kong’s wealthy family feuds fed many local papers and magazines – Ye Xiaoqiong didn’t know the true story.

Hearing Second Young Master Du ask about hiring a secretary, Ye Xiaoqiong felt envious.

Not of working for a wealthy young master, but of the secretary’s salary and career prospects.

But without credentials, Hong Kong residency, or work experience, her chances of such advancement were zero. She could only start as an office helper and work her way up.

Ye Xiaoqiong walked with light steps. Today had gone unexpectedly well – success required taking things one step at a time.

She certainly wouldn’t be a helper forever!

…

Ye Xiaoqiong wanted to make something of herself.

Besides a tiny minority content to idle away, who didn’t?

Mao Guosheng had wasted nearly 20 years. An opportunity had presented itself, but he’d refused it.

He’d rejected his senior fellow apprentice Zhou Maotong’s goodwill, unwilling to work for Xia Xiaolan… consoling himself that she was young, her money would likely sink without a trace. Who knew Qihang Real Estate would get land rights immediately after its founding?

Mao Kangshan and his wife were stationed in Peng City permanently now. In Hang City, Mao Guosheng could only get news through Zhou Maotong.

He didn’t admit caring about Xia Xiaolan’s company, claiming concern for his father.

Through Zhou Maotong, news of Qihang kept coming:

Qihang had hired people.

Qihang had acquired land.

Qihang had cleared their “garbage” land and found gold sand.

The wasteland became a gold sand pit, and land prices soared!

Foundation work had begun.

With foundations laid, construction moved quickly – Qihang had plenty of capital for building, with banks lending Xia Xiaolan heavily after land prices rose.

Mao Guosheng maintained his dignity, waiting for someone to “visit the humble cottage three times,” but no one came.

Xia Xiaolan never personally invited him, his father Mao Kangshan forgot about him – no one remembered him at all. With each piece of good news from Zhou Maotong, Zheng Shuqin would berate Mao Guosheng, saying his ability didn’t match his pride, destined never to prosper.

Humiliated by his wife’s scolding, Mao Guosheng couldn’t help retorting:

“Should I bow my head in apology, beg Xia Xiaolan for a job like a dog wagging its tail?”

Zheng Shuqin spat at him, “Just tell Senior Zhou you’re willing to go to Guangdong Provincial Construction – surely he’ll understand what to do next!”