Chapter Eight: Brushing Against the Edge of the Circle

After his rebirth, Zhao Zejun gave careful thought to the question of “which direction to make money”: there were many profitable industries, but did they share any common characteristics? What exactly distinguished the wealthy who rose after the year 2000 from the first batch of rich people before 2000?

Understanding this was somewhat like grasping an economic law—perhaps it wouldn’t bring immediate profit, but in the long run, it offered valuable guidance.

After some reflection, he said, “Let’s start with the previous decade. Our country’s economy developed rapidly, and the government encouraged commerce. Within the broad class of ‘working people,’ a new stratum emerged: the ‘first batch of working people to get rich.’ However, most of these people started out relying on intelligence, hard work, and boldness—people like Boss Niu—but their true wealth rarely came from labor alone.”

“You’re talking about me, aren’t you? Then tell me, how did I get rich so fast?” Wang Yan smiled.

“Wang Ge, if you put it that way, I’m at a loss,” Zhao Zejun also smiled.

“You just say your thoughts,” Wang Yan urged.

Zhao Zejun continued, “After acquiring the first pot of gold, the real source of wealth came from mergers and acquisitions, exploiting loopholes in laws and regulations, and the local government’s lavish support without regard to cost. Put simply, those first rich folks made their money from the government and state-owned enterprises—or rather, by leveraging the government to make money.”

“That’s not entirely wrong. So you mean that in the next ten or twenty years, it won’t be possible to make money from the government anymore? I’m not so sure,” Wang Yan said.

“It’s not that it’s impossible; it’s just much harder,” Zhao Zejun paused. “From the perspective of historical development, social progress, the constant improvement of laws and regulations, and rising levels of civilization inevitably accompany economic development. As the economy grows, it also drives political civilization. It’s not that you can’t make money, but the difficulty increases. Meanwhile, for the country to develop and the government to function, fiscal revenue is essential. The relationship with enterprises is no longer the previous unrestrained nurturing but more of a partnership.”

“Partnership?”

“In simple terms, everyone makes money off the people.”

Zhao Zejun smiled. “It sounds unpleasant, but that’s the reality. Ten years ago, no matter how good your product was, the people couldn’t afford it. Earlier still, the whole country was under a planned economy. After years of economic construction, people now have some money, and they start seeking things beyond mere subsistence.”

He paused, then smiled again. “Let me give a clumsy analogy: Shepherds have a flock of sheep and make money by selling wool. With the earnings, they repair the sheepfold and provide better forage. The sheep, in turn, grow more wool. Everyone in the system benefits—the shepherds, shearers, feed sellers, builders, and, of course, the tax collectors. Interestingly, only the sheep are the true value creators.”

Wang Yan’s eyes brightened slightly. “That’s an interesting metaphor.”

“That’s not my original idea. If I recall correctly, it’s from Marx,” Zhao Zejun chuckled and continued, “Among the entire industrial chain, only the sheep genuinely create value and yet are the weakest link. To survive, they must keep eating grass, growing wool, and being shorn, continuously providing benefits to all other parts of the chain. That’s why I say it’s easier and safer for shepherds to profit from the weakest sheep rather than from stronger players in the chain. Besides, as long as the sheep live, their wool is an inexhaustible resource. When one sheep dies, it produces lambs, which grow up to provide new wool again.”

“But people aren’t sheep. If you want to shear them, they have to be willing,” Wang Yan said, putting down his cigar.

“Exactly. Sheep stay where there is grass and water they need. This brings us back to the earlier point: in the next decade, whoever can provide what people need will be the one to make money.”

“Health is one of those,” Wang Yan said.

“Of course. Health, food and beverage, entertainment, education—these will be hot industries in the future,” Zhao Zejun nodded. “From a scientific perspective, human needs are divided into five levels. The lowest and most urgent is survival needs, meaning clothing, food, housing, and transportation. Among these, one need remains unmet.”

“You mean real estate?” Wang Yan laughed.

“Yes. Given the same location and investment, I’d choose real estate development over fitness. The demand for fitness is nowhere near as urgent as housing. People say if you don’t have a house, you can’t find a wife, but I’ve never heard anyone say you can’t find a girlfriend without chest muscles. Another promising sector is the internet. Wang Ge, if you’re interested, you might want to explore it.”

“The internet bubble is too big now,” Wang Yan glanced at Zhao Zejun. “And the idea that you can’t find a wife without a house? That’s the first time I’ve heard that. You really believe in real estate?”

“Real estate is the quickest way to shear sheep. A sheep lives for a lifetime, but one house can be stripped dry, and the owner will still willingly beg to be shorn again. As for the internet bubble, it just means there’s no substance.”

Zhao Zejun smiled indifferently. “In the end, the internet is just a carrier. What matters is what the carrier can provide. A carriage, no matter how ornate, is useless without a princess inside.”

...

After chatting with Wang Yan for over an hour, just before leaving, Wang Yan suddenly asked, “We talked about the next ten years. What about twenty or even thirty years?”

“Wang Ge, you’ve been testing me for half a day; I’m afraid my brain cells aren’t enough,” Zhao Zejun joked.

Then he said calmly, “In the next twenty years, the game between capitalists might be quite promising; as for thirty years from now, I’m not sure what to do yet. But I do believe one thing: technology will change the world. If by then I have enough money, I’d probably invest in large-scale laboratories.”

“No longevity elixir, I bet,” Wang Yan laughed heartily, handing Zhao Zejun his personal business card.

After seeing Wang Yan off, Zhao Zejun returned to the reception on the first floor and purchased two membership cards for Wade Fitness Club.

They weren’t cheap—6,500 yuan a year just to join—and all other services cost extra.

The next day, Zhao Zejun went to Deyuan Corporation. Old Niu wasn’t there. The person in charge called Old Niu for instructions, and Old Niu told him to put Zhao Zejun on the phone. “You’ve got some vision, kid. In appreciation, I’ll take care of you and give you 5% of the shares.”

From the tone, exchanging 300,000 yuan for 5% of this bizarre longevity elixir company was a tremendous bargain for Zhao Zejun.

The pharmaceutical company was absurdly named “Longevity Pharmaceuticals.”

Zhao Zejun wondered whether the shabby factory could produce anything at all. If not an elixir of immortality, perhaps some health supplements?

Brain Platinum? Wang Laoji? Donkey-hide gelatin? Calcium tablets? Red Bull? Pulse?

It seemed they already had all of those. He’d have to ponder this when he had time—did Shen Lian know any traditional Chinese doctors?

Three hundred thousand yuan was still a considerable sum; he couldn’t just let it go to waste. Unlike Old Niu, who didn’t care about giving tens of millions as a reward for children born to mistresses, Zhao Zejun wasn’t so carefree.

If it did end up a dead loss, Zhao Zejun thought he could accept it. With Wang Yan’s business card and that small share in Longevity Pharmaceuticals, he had at least touched the edge of a higher social circle, enough to allow him to quietly pursue his own affairs for a long time without interference from scoundrels.