Chapter Twenty-Five: Home Realty

In 2016, there were at least twenty real estate companies of varying sizes in Yijiang City. Among them were large listed corporations as well as shell companies that dared to open shop with nothing more than a handful of people and a rented house. These companies shared a common trait: they profited from both sellers and buyers, earning from both ends and deceiving both sides, playing the margins with slick cunning.

However, in Zhao Zejun’s memory, there was one company called “Home Sweet Home Realty” that was relatively more reputable. Though they too occasionally skirted the edges of legality, at least their operations were legitimate and compliant. It was said that the company’s reputation had been excellent in its early days until it expanded into property development, at which point it became indistinguishable from the rest and began to stray down dubious paths.

Among the few remaining real estate agencies in Yijiang City, Home Sweet Home Realty was known for its good reputation and excellent service.

Yet Zhao Zejun was in no hurry to visit a real estate agency.

After wandering around Gaogang Village for several days, he had come to an important realization: as a high school student wishing to engage in adult affairs, he needed to alter his image.

Judging by appearance is human nature; most people in the world are not immune to this, including Zhao Zejun himself. When conducting business, the treatment and respect one receives is vastly different if dressed in tens of thousands’ worth of clothes compared to mere tens. Looking young is not something that can be changed overnight—a new hairstyle, some makeup, or sunglasses won’t transform a youth into a middle-aged man.

But attire could be improved.

It couldn’t be too ostentatious—after all, even if he could afford an Armani suit, most people wouldn’t recognize it. He went to the pedestrian street and picked out a set of Li Ning sportswear. The brand, founded by the Prince of Gymnastics, had become wildly popular across the country in recent years, with a momentum rivaling Adidas and Nike. The prices, however, were steep, and most students couldn’t afford them.

The service at Li Ning’s store was far superior to other local Wenzhou brands. Zhao Zejun entered in cheap, nondescript clothes, yet the staff greeted him politely and patiently accompanied him throughout his shopping.

Even snobbery has its degrees; the staff at Li Ning, even if somewhat snobbish, at least knew how to read people.

He bought the clothes and wore them out of the store, braving the pain of shopping. Then, dressed in his new outfit, he crossed the street to Septwolves and bought a leather jacket.

He looked at himself in the mirror, quite satisfied. He found a touch of Tom Cruise in “Top Gun,” clad in a U.S. Air Force jacket.

“You look amazing in this! Just like Dao Ming Si from ‘Meteor Garden’!” the saleswoman gushed, unreserved in her praise, despite the 880-yuan price tag.

Zhao Zejun pursed his lips. That flattery was so unrefined, it instantly made him feel several notches less distinguished.

After assembling his new look, Zhao Zejun hailed a cab and headed straight for the largest Home Sweet Home Realty branch.

Perhaps the new outfit really worked. As soon as he stepped into the sales hall, a female agent promptly stood up to greet him, politely asking, “Good afternoon, sir. Are you looking to buy or sell property? We also offer rental services.”

“To buy. Is your manager in? I’d like to speak with him directly,” Zhao Zejun replied.

Though his face still looked young, in 2002, an outfit worth two thousand yuan in total could fit any face—on the young, it signaled promise; on the older, a late bloomer; on the middle-aged, success in business.

He was soon ushered in to meet the duty manager, a man in his forties with an honest, solid appearance. His surname was Ren. After introducing himself and handing over a business card, Zhao Zejun learned his full name was Ren Bida—a name more fitting for a courier than a real estate agent.

Ren Bida was not only the branch manager but also one of the partners of Home Sweet Home Realty.

After Zhao Zejun briefly explained his purpose, Ren Bida seemed surprised. “Are you a local?” he asked.

“Does that matter for buying a house?” Zhao Zejun replied. As far as he knew, there weren’t yet any restrictions on non-locals buying property.

“It’s just that, judging by your accent, you’re a local. Locals rarely buy property in Gaogang Village. As an agent, I hope my clients find a home that truly suits them—I can’t in good conscience cheat anyone. To be honest, the environment in Gaogang Village is poor. If you’re planning to live there, I’d advise you to reconsider,” Ren Bida said sincerely.

“I’m not planning to live there,” Zhao Zejun smiled. “It’s an investment.” He thought for a moment, then added, “Waiting for demolition.”

Ren Bida showed no surprise, simply nodded. “I thought as much. Just make sure you know what you’re getting into. Every year there’s talk of demolishing that area, but nothing ever happens. Who knows when you’ll see a return on your investment.”

He could tell the young man before him was serious about buying. He’d seen plenty of wealthy, headstrong youths, convinced they’d spotted a golden opportunity. Once their mind was set, nothing could stop them—often not until they’d run up against a wall.

His advice wasn’t meant to dissuade Zhao Zejun from purchasing; after all, if no one bought property, how would he make a living? He simply wanted to clarify things in advance, so if the investment went sour, the responsibility wouldn’t fall on him.

Having said his piece, Ren Bida quickly shifted gears. “Of course, Gaogang Village is within the first ring road, in a prime location, with convenient transportation. Sooner or later, it will be demolished. If you’re not in a hurry for cash, buying several houses as a long-term investment could yield excellent returns—once it’s demolished in a few years, your profit could easily double.”

“Exactly my plan,” Zhao Zejun replied, mimicking the confident expression of a rich heir from a modern film, “So how are the houses sold, specifically?”

Ren Bida pulled up the company’s internal records on his computer and checked for a while before answering, “Houses in Gaogang Village are a bit special. We’ve sold a few before—they’re not priced by square meter, but by unit.”

“By unit? How does that work? How much for one?” Zhao Zejun asked.

Ren Bida explained.

The homeowners in Gaogang Village mainly fell into two categories.

Some original residents had found new jobs and moved out long ago. These people weren’t in urgent need of money and wouldn’t sell their houses cheaply.

Others included lonely elderly folks, idle youths, and women left behind while their husbands labored elsewhere. For them, their single house was a necessity—if they sold, they’d have nowhere to live.

It wasn’t impossible to buy from them, but the price certainly wouldn’t match the normal market rate.

Most houses in Gaogang Village were single-story homes built in the 1980s, with the earliest dating back to the liberation era. They were generally small, with three main layouts: one living room and one bedroom, one living room and two bedrooms, or just a single room.

The smallest one-bedroom units were under ten square meters—just enough for a bed and a table. The largest two-bedroom with a living room barely reached thirty square meters.

At normal prices, given Gaogang Village’s location and the condition of the houses, five to six hundred yuan per square meter was already optimistic. That meant the cheapest house could cost just a few thousand, and the largest just over ten thousand.

But that was clearly impossible.

Sold by unit, a one-bedroom cost twenty thousand, a one-bedroom with a living room thirty thousand, and the largest two-bedroom with a living room forty thousand.

On average, these dilapidated urban village houses far exceeded Yijiang City’s standard property prices—the largest units were more expensive than commercial apartments in the city, and the priciest small units approached three thousand yuan per square meter.

“That’s about the price,” Ren Bida said. “It doesn’t fluctuate much. The agency fee is one and a half percent from both buyer and seller, three percent in total, though usually the buyer pays. If you buy a lot, the fee can be negotiated.”

“Are there any vacant properties?” Zhao Zejun asked.

“There are, actually,” Ren Bida replied with a peculiar smile.

———

A note from the author: Some earlier content has been revised, including chapter names and numbers, but the main storyline remains the same and the reading experience is unaffected.