Chapter 3 Stock Market

Chapter 3: The Stock Market

And what was Lu Fuhua pondering at this moment?

He was mulling over that shady business.

Just a couple of days prior, the actual owner of Oriental No. 1, Lu Fuhua’s maternal uncle, had informed him that a very important "guest friend" seemed to have taken a liking to Jiang Luo. He asked Lu Fuhua to devise a plan, even if it meant spending some money, to have Jiang Luo "properly entertain" this "guest friend."

How to entertain and in what manner—there was no need for explicit details; Lu Fuhua understood perfectly.

Lu Fuhua mused, why do all these big bosses nowadays prefer the backdoor?

Aren't women appealing enough?

If it were women, he’d have countless ways to arrange it. But Jiang Luo…

He pondered—he couldn’t just drug Jiang Luo and deliver him to someone’s bed, could he?

That wouldn’t align with his maternal uncle’s original intention of "proper entertainment."

Besides, Jiang Luo was a normal man, still young, just eighteen, in the prime of his life—would he willingly let someone have their way with him?

As it happened, Lu Fuhua had other matters on his mind recently and hadn’t given much thought to Jiang Luo, temporarily pushing his maternal uncle’s request to the back of his mind.

Now that Jiang Luo had come to him, actively asking for money, Lu Fuhua recalled these details and naturally began to scheme.

"Xiao Jiang."

Lu Fuhua waved Jiang Luo over. "Come, come, sit, sit. You’re looking for me, and I just happen to have something to discuss with you too."

Jiang Luo went and sat across the table, watching Lu Fuhua. His mind raced, trying to recall if, in his previous life, Lu Fuhua had discussed anything with him at this point.

His memory was hazy; it was too long ago.

Lu Fuhua then pulled out a cigarette, offering one to Jiang Luo, who accepted it and deftly put it in his mouth. Lu Fuhua tossed a lighter over, but Jiang Luo didn’t light up, placing the lighter on the table instead.

Ignoring Jiang Luo, Lu Fuhua lit his own cigarette, took a drag, and said, "Here’s the thing. Our disco’s owner, my maternal uncle, has a good friend who recently came to Haicheng."

"As you know, my maternal uncle is usually quite busy with all his businesses."

"So he thought of finding someone reliable, young, and quick-witted to show this friend around the city."

Jiang Luo was sharp; he almost immediately grasped the unspoken meaning—this "entertainment" wasn't just ordinary hospitality; it meant he was expected to provide sexual favors.

Jiang Luo instinctively snorted to himself. In his mind, he was always the one sleeping with others—who dared fantasize about sleeping with him? What wishful thinking.

He also wondered, did this happen in his previous life?

He didn’t think so.

If it had, given his straight, ladies' man tendencies back then, he would’ve exploded and definitely remembered it.

Jiang Luo was direct and didn’t beat around the bush. "Brother Hua, I don’t sell my ass."

Lu Fuhua paused. He knew Jiang Luo was clever, but he didn’t expect him to catch on so quickly.

Lu Fuhua was also straightforward; he wasn’t one for beating around the bush either.

He raised his hand and extended his index finger. "You go entertain him for a few days, and I’ll give you a thousand."

"Give it to you, not lend it. You don’t have to pay it back."

"Plus, my maternal uncle’s friend is rich and generous. If you keep him happy for a few days, he definitely won’t shortchange you."

He added, "After you’re done, I’ll make you a Lobby Manager here. You’ll be 'Brother Jiang' from then on."

Jiang Luo wasn’t tempted—not in the slightest. His ass was priceless.

He stayed quiet for the moment only because he was wondering: What kind of friend did Lu Fuhua’s maternal uncle, Xue Zhizhong, have that required such groveling?

After all, Xue Zhizhong was a prominent and wealthy figure in Haicheng.

What kind of person would warrant such treatment from Xue Zhizhong?

Jiang Luo stood up, took the cigarette out of his mouth, and said bluntly, "Since Brother Hua isn’t lending me the money, I’ll find another way."

"Brother Hua, you’re busy. I’m out of here."

"Hey, hey."

Lu Fuhua called out to him. "Don’t rush off, don’t rush off."

"How about this…"

Lu Fuhua thought for a moment. "I’ll give you three thousand, and you write me an IOU."

"Ten days—you pay me back four thousand. Consider it a loan. Once you repay, we’re square."

"If after ten days you can’t pay me back, you go entertain my maternal uncle’s friend. How about that?"

No matter how he phrased it, Lu Fuhua was still after Jiang Luo’s backdoor.

Jiang Luo saw right through it, but this proposal…

Jiang Luo sat back down and asked, "Brother Hua, you’re not going to take the money and then tie me up and deliver me, are you?"

"What kind of talk is that?"

Lu Fuhua said, "The government’s been cracking down on fraud lately—it’s all over the news. Would I dare trick you?"

"Fake and shoddy goods are illegal—would I dare spout phony lines?"

"If I really wanted to tie you up, why would I sit here discussing it with you? I’d just do it. Why waste words?"

He muttered, "I’m not some gangster."

Lu Fuhua added, "Really, I’m not lying to you."

As he spoke, he pulled open a drawer. "I’ll lend you the money, you write the IOU."

"If you pay back, we’re square."

"If you can’t, you go entertain my maternal uncle’s friend."

"How about it? Do we have a deal?"

An ordinary person, lacking confidence or guts, might have refused at this point.

But Jiang Luo was far too confident and self-assured.

In his world, the word "failure" simply didn't exist.

Moreover, when he used to navigate the business world, he relied on his boldness.

Big guts, big money.

Timidity leads to pickles.

Jiang Luo didn't eat pickles—he hated them the most.

He loved money, especially making money.

So even though he knew Lu Fuhua was deliberately setting a trap for him, waiting for him to fail to repay the money and end up selling his ass, Jiang Luo still stepped right into it, unafraid.

Because he knew and believed he could repay the money.

A hundred percent certainty, no question.

So when Lu Fuhua took out a piece of paper and money from the drawer, Jiang Luo reached for the paper, picked up a pen from the table, and began writing an IOU for Lu Fuhua.

Lu Fuhua slouched against the desk, tilting his head as he counted out three thousand for Jiang Luo.

But as Jiang Luo wrote the IOU, he calmly said, "Brother, I want 10k."

Lu Fuhua's hand paused mid-count.

He looked up: "You little punk! Trying to shake me down?"

Jiang Luo kept writing as he looked up and said, "If I can't repay it, 10k—I'll put in a few days with him. Your uncle comes out even."

The money in the office drawer wasn't Lu Fuhua's—it was the club's money.

The club belonged to Xue Zhizhong, so the money naturally belonged to Xue Zhizhong.

Lu Fuhua actually thought it over, considering whether Jiang Luo's ass was worth 10k.

10k! That was 10k!

Lu Fuhua hesitated. "Wait a moment," he said, picking up the phone on the desk to call Xue Zhizhong, who had a pager.

Soon, the landline on the desk rang. Lu Fuhua answered and directly explained the "trap deal" between him and Jiang Luo to Xue Zhizhong on the other end, right in front of Jiang Luo.

Xue Zhizhong said something, and Lu Fuhua responded with "Yeah, yeah" before hanging up shortly after.

As soon as he hung up, Lu Fuhua leaned back in his chair and started counting the money again, not even looking up as he said, "Alright, 10k it is."

"My uncle said his friend is very important—it's his friend who's worth 10k, not your ass."

Jiang Luo didn't bat an eye; as long as he got the money, it was fine.

So shortly after, Jiang Luo left the office with an envelope containing ten thousand tucked inside his jacket.

As soon as Jiang Luo left, Lu Fuhua called over a man named Brother Yu who was sitting in the main hall.

Brother Yu left soon after, and Lu Fuhua leaned back in his chair, taking a drag from his cigarette and thinking: No wonder his uncle could make big money.

He plays dirty.

Meanwhile, Jiang Luo, now with the money, flagged down a van cab at the entrance of Oriental No. 1 and went to the Jing'an Branch, where stocks were traded nowadays—with money in hand, of course, he wouldn't walk.

Taxis back then were all those small minivans, hence the name "van cab."

Arriving at the branch, Jiang Luo went inside and saw the small hall packed with people. The trading counter faced the main entrance, and the open area had many seats, all occupied. Several screens hung mid-air, displaying stock movements in red and green, with everyone staring intently. The counter was crowded with people holding trade forms, waiting for in-person trades.

Jiang Luo glanced at the trading screens and saw the market average was still at 100 points.

The screens showed several stocks—Shenhua Holdings, Vacuum Tube, Feile, Yanzhong Industrial—these would later become known as the "Old Eight Stocks."

No hesitation, Jiang Luo went to line for a trade form.

After buying and filling out the trade form, he also pushed up to the counter for an in-person trade.

While squeezing through, a lady scolded him: "Hey, hey, where did you come from?! Did you even line up?"

Jiang Luo snapped back in local slang: "Line? What line? You squeeze your way, I'll squeeze mine."

Like everyone else, he shoved his trading slip toward the inner counter while pushing through.

After finally finishing the purchase and squeezing out of the crowd, Jiang Luo stopped counting how many times his shoes had been stepped on.

He wiped off his shoes and went to a corner to watch the screens, observing the live ups and downs of the stocks.

Soon, an elderly man sitting next to him stood up, and Jiang Luo took the seat to watch the screens.

The surroundings were loud, full of traders talking about stocks.

Jiang Luo sat quietly, easily the youngest face in the entire hall.

At some point, the person next to him changed—a man around 30, with glasses, sat down.

Seeing how young Jiang Luo looked, the man asked, surprised, in dialect: "How old're you?"

Jiang Luo, still watching the screen, casually replied: "30."

The man: "No shit! I thought you were a teenager coming here to buy stocks."

He then asked: "Which stock did you buy?"

Jiang Luo, sitting casually, replied in a relaxed tone: "Vacuum Tube."

The man: "Me too, and also Yanzhong."

"Yanzhong dipped a bit yesterday, so I topped up today. It's bound to bounce back."

"How much Vacuum Tube'd you get?"

Jiang Luo: "Ten thousand."

The man, surprised: "Ten thousand shares?!"

Jiang Luo: "Ten thousand yuan."

The man: "You startled me again! I thought ten thousand shares—you must be rolling. If shares go for 20 yuan, ten thousand shares would be 200k. This young and already have 200k?"

Jiang Luo: "What'd you get?"

The man: "I grabbed ten thousand shares."

Jiang Luo smirked: "This young and sitting on 200k?"

The man continued his story: "It's not the same, see? I've been buying stocks for a long time. I sold my house, and my wife left me."

Jiang Luo could understand. In this era, there were ordinary people like Zhang Xiangping, who worked stable jobs in state-owned enterprises, earning a few hundred a month and unaware of the outside world, and there were also "radicals" like this man, who sold their houses to speculate in stocks and chase profits.

Jiang Luo chatted with him unhurriedly: "You've been at this a while, made any real money?"

The man: "Ah, not much, really. Just a few thousand."

He said "just a few thousand" as if it were nothing. But for an ordinary worker, that was two or three thousand, three or four thousand a year—and that was in a big city like Haicheng. In ordinary cities or even rural areas, an ordinary person might only make eight hundred to a thousand a year, or even less than that.

The man then said: "You know, the Pudong Development Office was officially established a few days ago. Pudong is definitely going to take off in the future."

As someone reborn, Jiang Luo naturally knew Pudong would develop.

He calmly replied: "Since you don’t have a house, go buy one. Wait for the government to buy you out for redevelopment—you're guaranteed to make a bundle."

The man was surprised, then laughed, his eyes lighting up: "Great minds think alike!"

"That’s exactly what I thought. I’ve already been looking at houses recently."

He added: "Let’s swap numbers. Be friends, you know? Share tips sometime."

Jiang Luo: "I don’t have a phone."

He really didn’t—neither he nor Zhang Xiangping and Jiang Jianmin’s house had one. Landlines weren't yet commonplace at the time.

The man was surprised but quickly recovered: "Then you take my number. You can call me."

The man gave him his landline number.

Jiang Luo casually memorized it after hearing it once, thanks to his sharp mind.

The man then looked at the screen and said happily: "Vacuum Tube is up! It’s up again! Haha, I’m bullish on Vacuum Tube. It’s definitely going to rise more."

Jiang Luo sat lazily, arms crossed and legs spread. Being here felt better than being in that so-called home.

He had already made up his mind: once he left, he wasn’t going back.

From today on, he, Jiang Luo, was no one’s adopted son, nor anyone’s biological son.

Jiang Luo was just Jiang Luo.

Only Jiang Luo.

Author's note: