Chapter Thirty-six: The All-Rounder

Some people spend New Year’s Eve at home watching the Spring Festival Gala; others indulge themselves in the nightlife; and some, like those suffering from lung disease, struggle to make a living by setting up stalls on the streets. Everything Zhao Zejun was doing now was to allow himself the choice of how to live his life, rather than being forced by circumstances to choose.

Zhao Zejun knew only the basics of construction engineering. In his previous life, when his company built a two-story office building, he was still a white-collar worker at another firm. He explained his intentions clearly to Jiang Xuan, leaving the actual work for him to manage.

“When you buy materials, pay attention. Get extra, and pick up a few sturdier steel bars.”

“If you just want to add a room in the courtyard, with your layout—rooms on all four sides—if you want to save money, you don't even need to build walls, just put a roof over the courtyard.” Jiang Xuan was puzzled, “Why buy steel bars? They're not cheap.”

Zhao Zejun dipped his finger in some beer, cool and refreshing, and drew a simple sketch of a two-story building on the table.

Jiang Xuan stared at the water sketch for a few moments, then suddenly understood. He looked up, surprised, “Are you planning to add another floor?”

“That’s right!” Zhao Zejun replied.

“Wow, that means you’ll have four units, then add one in the middle, making five. With another floor on top, it becomes ten units?! Wait, even with another floor, it can’t be ten— the foundation won't support it, and the project would be too big. But turning it into five units, plus a super-sized one, is definitely doable. Still, this would double the workload. Even if I don’t take a penny from you, your costs won’t be small. Are you sure Gaogang Village is going to be demolished? Don’t pour all your money into it only to lose everything.”

Zhao Zejun was silent for a few seconds before saying, “I’m seventy percent sure. Last time, with the internet café license, I caught wind of it ahead of time. The person who tipped me off is connected to the city, so it should be reliable.”

Director Yu’s reputation was like a tiger skin banner—often unused, but every now and then it could be brandished to ward off doubts and cover uncertainties.

Whether it was the internet café license or the demolition, no one would openly ask Director Yu if he had secretly given Zhao Zejun a heads up; private tips would never be acknowledged in public.

As for Jiang Xuan, Zhao Zejun knew him too well. Even if he knew Director Yu, he would never ask him such questions.

Not only should he not ask, he shouldn’t even mention it; doing so would make him seem naïve, overly calculating, or even scheming—trying to use it to threaten Director Yu.

“Oh, that kid you wanted to deal with last time… Alright, I get it.” Jiang Xuan stopped himself after starting the sentence, then shifted topics. “Seventy percent certainty is worth the gamble. If you win, you’ll prosper; if not, just start over.”

Zhao Zejun nodded. Jiang Xuan’s thoughts mirrored his own; every investment carries risk. If you hesitate at seventy percent certainty, you might as well go home and raise kids. Besides, Zhao Zejun’s confidence was much greater than seventy percent.

Jiang Xuan didn’t ask further about the source of the information. His focus shifted to how to handle the tasks ahead. “In that case, we definitely can’t let Old Song know in advance. I might not manage alone; can we bring Junzi in?”

He glanced at Junzi’s mother, who was grilling meat at the doorway.

“As long as he keeps his mouth shut. Junzi did well with the online publicity last time.” Zhao Zejun thought for a moment and added, “How you go about it, who you use, and how you use them, is up to you. Building an illegal first and second story is a minor thing. If, through this, you can lead your own construction team—even if it’s small—it’ll be great for the future.”

Jiang Xuan was doubtful, “This project is too small. Even if you expand in the future, with only your household, there won’t be enough work to sustain a professional, stable crew.”

Zhao Zejun narrowed his eyes slightly. “What if it’s not just my household?”

“Not just you? You have other business to introduce?” Jiang Xuan tried to decipher Zhao Zejun’s meaning.

“For now, I don’t. I’ve only bought these houses myself, and I’m not sure how many I’ll buy in future.” He paused, then said mysteriously, “Don’t forget, Gaogang Village has two thousand households, and demolition is coming soon!”

Jiang Xuan was startled. “You have the connections to take on the demolition project? That can’t be! Such a huge job—even Chief Song couldn’t handle it. If anyone did, it’d be listed companies or a consortium of local firms…”

The implication was clear: Zhao Zejun couldn’t possibly have the background to take on the Gaogang Village demolition.

“Of course, I don’t have that kind of power. Come on, for a project this big, you’d need billions to get it.” Zhao Zejun waved his hand and explained, “You worked at Chief Song’s construction company, so you know—big companies don’t always do projects themselves. They subcontract. We can’t get the main job, but a sub-contract is possible. With such a large demolition, even a small part would be enough to support a small crew.”

“That’s true. If we can get a subcontract, profit doesn’t even matter—building the team is what counts. Once we get the first job, the rest will be much easier.” Jiang Xuan nodded.

Jiang Xuan’s thinking was long-term. Even if he could assemble a team, his foundation was thin. Any subcontract would be heavily skimmed, leaving little profit. He wasn’t counting on making money, but on gaining experience and reputation, breaking away from Chief Song to form his own project crew.

That was a long-term plan, and Zhao Zejun agreed. But besides the future, Zhao Zejun also had his eye on quick profit.

When he bought the houses, Ren Bida’s comments about building materials had reminded him—the demolition waste is a gold mine. With luck, it could even surpass the construction company’s project fees. If he could coordinate between the construction crew, demolition office, and demolition company, then secure part of the waste recycling contract, that would be the real profit: low investment, minimal expenses, and high returns.

“If you want to take on projects, you’ll need qualifications.” Jiang Xuan frowned. “It’s easy for Chief Song, but for now, we can’t let him know, and I probably can’t get the credentials myself.”

Zhao Zejun nodded. “I’ll figure something out.”

They chatted for a while, and by the time they finished the barbecue, it was already three a.m. Zhao Zejun paid the bill—just over sixty yuan.

He glanced at the stall’s offerings: fried rice, noodles, wontons, various skewers. Plenty of variety, but something seemed missing.

Suddenly, he remembered and asked Junzi’s mother, “Auntie, why aren’t there any crayfish?”

“Crayfish? Those are so dirty—who would eat them?” she replied.

“Auntie, he’s full of ideas. Just listen to him.” Jiang Xuan laughed.

Zhao Zejun recalled that in high school, crayfish weren’t common at street stalls. Most people thought they grew in ditches, eating parasites, and were unhygienic.

Crayfish only became popular around 2005 or 2006. By 2016, stalls in Yijiang City were selling them for over sixty yuan a kilo.

He thought for a moment and said, “Next time, I’ll write down a recipe for crayfish. Auntie, try it out. If it sells well, keep selling it. If not, I’ll buy all of it and eat it myself.”

“Alright, I’ll give it a try,” Junzi’s mother replied.

On the way back, Jiang Xuan joked, “Do you ever stick to one job? One minute you’re a student, then you’re getting an internet café license, buying houses, and now you’re a chef?”

“I’m a jack-of-all-trades!”