Chapter 28: I Have No Time to Joke With You

Ren Bida brought Zhao Zejun to the doorway of the neighboring house. The door wasn’t locked, but when he pushed it, it wouldn’t budge—clearly it was barred from the inside, which meant someone had to be home.

Knock, knock, knock... Knock, knock, knock... Ren Bida rapped on the door. No response. Zhao Zejun pressed up against the greasy window, peering in, but the house was shrouded in gloom. Nothing could be made out inside.

After knocking for quite a while with no sign of life, both Ren Bida and Zhao Zejun were about to leave. They had just turned away when the door creaked open behind them.

“Who the hell’s banging on my door in broad daylight? Can’t a man get some sleep?” came a surly, irritable voice.

They turned to see a haggard, short man with heavy bags under his eyes, wrapped in a tattered army coat. His hair was a matted mess, his mouth split in a yawn like a man desperate for his next fix, revealing a set of stained, yellow-black teeth.

Zhao Zejun glanced up at the sky. It was already past four in the afternoon—and he was still sleeping?

“Cousin? Well, if it isn’t a rare visitor.” The man’s demeanor shifted instantly when he saw Ren Bida, upright and proper in a well-tailored suit. His tone did a complete about-face.

Ren Bida felt embarrassed to have such a cousin, but, mindful of Zhao Zejun, he coughed and made introductions: “Boss Zhao, this is my cousin, Ren Jifu. Jifu, this is Boss Zhao, a friend of mine. It’s already past four in the afternoon—why are you still in bed?”

“Ah, I was up all night playing cards with those bastards. Damn it, lost more than fifty bucks again.”

“We need to talk to you about something,” Ren Bida said.

Ren Jifu’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. “What is it?”

“It’s a good thing!” Ren Bida shot him a fierce glare, then waved his hand. “Step aside, don’t block the door. Let’s talk inside.”

As Zhao Zejun took in the state of the house, he couldn’t help but frown.

It was true that Gaogang Village was dirty and rundown, but these were still people’s homes. Aside from houses like Ren Bida’s, which sat empty year-round, most homes, though shabby on the outside, were nonetheless equipped with the basic necessities—simple furniture, maybe a black-and-white TV if the family was better off. If a woman kept house, things might be relatively tidy, even pleasant enough for daily life.

But Ren Jifu’s home was hardly fit for a pig.

The main room was much larger than Ren Bida’s, yet it was barren—a legless wooden table, four chairs, an old coal stove with a wire strung above it and a filthy towel hanging from the wire, a hot-water flask in the corner. That was it. Not another stick of furniture.

Cigarette butts littered the floor. Great swathes of plaster were peeling from the walls...

The bedroom adjoined the main room, visible at a glance. There seemed to be only a bed, piled with grimy, greasy bedding that looked as though it hadn’t been washed in years.

It felt like the scene of a crime—like a place where a body might be dumped.

Without a trace of shame, Ren Jifu sidled up to Ren Bida and said, “Cousin, got a cigarette? Damn it, smoked the last one last night.”

Ren Bida frowned but pulled out a pack anyway, offering one first to Zhao Zejun, then handing one to Ren Jifu.

Ren Jifu eyed the remaining half-pack greedily and grinned, “Wow, this is the good stuff—fifteen bucks a pack. Cousin, you’ve really made it. I usually smoke those one-fifty packs of Da Qianmen. Lost so much last night, I can’t even buy smokes today.”

“You’re a grown man and all you ever do is gamble,” Ren Bida snapped in disgust, tossing the half-pack onto the table. “No wonder your wife and kid left. How do you expect to go on like this?”

Ren Jifu snatched the cigarettes and stuffed them into his coat pocket as if afraid Ren Bida would change his mind. His tone turned sly, “Cousin, I don’t like what you’re implying. My gambling doesn’t hurt you, does it? Am I spending your money? As for the wife, good riddance—I wasn’t that attached to her anyway. And the kid’s better off with her. Saves me the trouble of raising him! He’ll grow up without costing me a cent, and still be there to support me when I’m old.

“And besides, what kind of relative are you? We’re cousins, aren’t we? Now that you’ve made it, why not give me a hundred or two hundred thousand?”

Zhao Zejun was dumbfounded. The world really was full of the unimaginable.

What was the point in keeping such a person alive, apart from squandering food?

Yet fate had smiled on this very man. In his previous life, before the demolition, he was hounded by creditors, his wife and child fled. But when the houses were torn down, not only did he pay off his debts, he ended up with a few apartments and became a little landlord living off the rent.

Rumor had it that with his newfound fortune, he fell in with a bad crowd, got hooked on drugs, and died in his forties.

Zhao Zejun hadn’t come here to listen to cousins bicker. He cleared his throat.

Ren Bida took the hint, waving his hand impatiently. “Alright, alright, you want money, don’t say I never look out for you. Boss Zhao’s interested in buying your house. Name your price.”

Ren Jifu finally turned his attention to Zhao Zejun, scrutinizing him from head to toe. A greedy light shone in his narrow, shifty eyes, as if he were sizing up a fattened sheep ready for slaughter.

And Zhao Zejun’s appearance certainly fit the bill: not yet twenty, dressed head-to-toe in designer brands, the very image of a wealthy overseas Chinese as seen on TV.

“Boss Zhao, this house has been in my family for generations—over a hundred years. You could call it a historical relic, a genuine piece of history! To be honest, a businessman from Taiwan once offered me three hundred thousand for it, and I turned him down!” Ren Jifu boasted.

Ren Bida knew at once this was a disaster in the making.

He hadn’t known Zhao Zejun long, and while he doubted the wisdom of Zhao Zejun’s investment, he didn’t underestimate him for a second. In just a day of dealing with him, Ren Bida had realized that this was no lamb to the slaughter.

He shot Ren Jifu a look of scorn. If I can’t take advantage of him, do you really think you can? Keep dreaming.

Zhao Zejun gestured for Ren Bida not to worry, then turned a cheerful smile on Ren Jifu. “Oh? The man offered three hundred thousand for one house, or for all three?”

Ren Jifu was caught off guard. “You—you want all three?”

Zhao Zejun laughed expansively, “If I’m buying, I buy them all. Money’s no object.”

Ren Jifu gritted his teeth. “Three hundred thousand per house—three houses, the Taiwanese buyer offered a million!”

As he spoke, his heart pounded. He watched Zhao Zejun closely for any reaction.

He figured he’d throw out a wild number. If he really landed this pigeon, it’d be enough to live in comfort for life.

Even if he only got two or three hundred thousand in the end, that would be a windfall.

“Oh.” Zhao Zejun nodded, then stood up without another word and headed for the door.

“Mr. Ren, let’s go. We’ll look at other houses. Leave this one for our rich, gullible friends from Taiwan.”

By the time he finished, he was already at the door. Ren Bida shot Ren Jifu a cold smile and followed Zhao Zejun out.

Now Ren Jifu panicked and rushed after them, spreading his arms to block Zhao Zejun’s path.

“Boss Zhao, can’t you take a joke? I was only kidding. The price is negotiable, really.”

“I’m here to do business, not to joke around,” Zhao Zejun said coldly, his face darkening. “And your joke wasn’t funny at all.”