Chapter Forty-Nine: The Final Deal

In less than a week, Ren Bida had indeed managed to dig up several useful pieces of information.

On the northwest edge of Gaogang Village, there was a cluster of over twenty houses, which had once served as staff dormitories for the old Tractor Factory. Zhao Zejun was the first to dismiss this option. The Tractor Factory had shut down ten years ago; to purchase any of these properties, one would first need to track down the factory’s original housing supervisor and the accountant who had handled the transactions, and then negotiate with each tenant family individually under their mediation... Who knew how long such a process would drag on, or how much it might ultimately cost.

The second location had formerly been military barracks. In the early days after the Liberation, the first batch of troops stationed near Gaogang Village had left behind a cluster of empty barracks for the locals when they were absorbed into the military district after the war. A few years prior, a company had bought out the entire lot and converted them into warehouses.

There were over forty units—far too many for Zhao Zejun to take on. Still, he made a point of inspecting the site in person. The location was good, right on the outskirts of Gaogang Village and very close to the main road. Several large trucks were loading goods from the warehouse, hauling out sacks of coal. The bags bore the name “Huayang Group.” At the sight of this, Zhao Zejun turned on his heel and left. Huayang Group was a well-known private coal enterprise in Jiangnan Province. In plain terms, this was coal baron territory. What would a coal boss want with a paltry sum of a few hundred thousand?

The last prospect, however, seemed promising. A minor businessman, also looking to invest in demolition prospects, had purchased a two-story building in Gaogang Village three years ago, along with six surrounding houses. But every year brought rumors of the village’s imminent demolition, and year after year, nothing happened. The man’s money was thoroughly tied up in Gaogang Village. In 2001, when the stock market opened strong and the Shanghai Index surged past 2,100 points right after New Year’s, this fellow, carried away by the excitement, mortgaged his house and car to try his luck in the market. By year’s end, the stocks had dropped back down to just over 1,600 points; he’d gone in with an Audi and came out with a bicycle, his face as green as the plunging market. The bank was pressing for repayment, and left with no choice—he couldn’t sell his own home or car, much less his company—he thought of offloading his Gaogang Village properties.

Ren Bida acted as the middleman. The three men met outside Gaogang Village to view the houses and discuss terms. The seller, Wu Chengpeng, was a rotund man in his forties. Zhao Zejun made a point to check out his car: an old-model Toyota Crown. Not a bad car, indicating some degree of affluence, but it was coated in dust, clearly untouched for quite some time.

“You’re the one buying?” Wu Chengpeng frowned the moment he laid eyes on Zhao Zejun.

Zhao Zejun was momentarily baffled by the question and glanced at Ren Bida, who laughed heartily. “Old Wu, Boss Zhao is a promising young man—he’s bought quite a few places from my agency already. Wu, you’ve been in business all your life. When did you lose your knack for reading people?”

“Oh, right.” Wu Chengpeng nodded slightly, giving Zhao Zejun another look.

Zhao Zejun nodded back, offering a faint smile.

“Young man, these houses aren’t small potatoes. Can you afford them?” Wu Chengpeng came straight to the point.

“Let’s see the houses first,” said Zhao Zejun.

“Very well.”

Wu Chengpeng, who had bought the Gaogang Village properties as a speculative hold for demolition, rarely visited the area and was unfamiliar with the village. He wandered around for quite a while, even got lost once, and after half an hour of searching, finally found the houses.

They weren’t far from the last house owned by the old war veteran, separated by a well and a two-meter-wide lane. There was a two-story building, with a unit on each side, and four more units lined up across the way.

Zhao Zejun started with the shanty houses, touring each of the six in turn. The four units opposite were all of the same layout: two-room dwellings, unfurnished, cluttered with leftover bricks and bamboo poles—probably remnants from previous repairs. Of the two units beside the main building, one was larger, one smaller; the small one consisted of just a single room, the door gone and replaced with a tiny fence. Someone had raised a few chickens there, along with a brood of chicks.

It was a rare thing in Gaogang Village to raise chickens and not have them stolen.

“Whose chickens are these? How did they end up in my house?!” Wu Chengpeng, clutching his briefcase, stood akimbo and shouted for a long while, but no one answered—only a few hens regarded him and clucked, thinking their feeder had arrived.

“I don’t care whose they are. If they’re still here next time, I’ll kill them and eat them!” he finally blustered, then retrieved a key and unlocked the main building.

The building was decent: cement floors, walls that, though dusty, had clearly been whitewashed. The structure was L-shaped; upon entering, there was a small courtyard with a cement pool. Four rooms lined one side, and an outdoor staircase at the L’s corner led to the second floor. The upper level was even more spacious, with a large living room and kitchen on one side—much like a modern apartment’s combined living and dining area. The long side had four rooms, mirroring those below.

“That’s about it,” Wu Chengpeng said, leading them through, then all three returned to the courtyard. He found a few bricks in the corner to use as stools, and they sat down to talk.

“Boss Zhao, what do you think?” Ren Bida broke the ice.

“It’ll do. Mr. Wu, let’s discuss the price,” Zhao Zejun replied.

Wu Chengpeng didn’t name a figure right away, instead launching into another pitch for the property: “Just this building alone cost me nearly two hundred thousand when I bought it. I spent over forty thousand more on renovations. The six rooms below are practically all connected. Boss Zhao, we all know what’s at stake—you’re buying for the anticipated demolition payout. Look at these layouts; you could easily build on several more units. If I didn’t need the cash, I wouldn’t be selling.”

Zhao Zejun didn’t interrupt, simply nodding along as Wu Chengpeng spoke.

Ren Bida smiled. “Mr. Wu, Boss Zhao knows the ins and outs of buying property in Gaogang Village. Let’s cut to the chase. Name your price!”

Wu Chengpeng thought for a moment and said, “Twenty-four thousand for the building. The six houses below—I won’t make a profit on you; at market rates, four medium ones at ten thousand, the big one at three thousand, the small one at two thousand—thirty-nine thousand in total. I won’t cover any fees, including agency commissions, as long as the net amount is clear. No haggling!”

“Boss Zhao, what do you think?”

Ren Bida grinned at Zhao Zejun. “Frankly, just this building alone would fetch thirty-nine thousand the moment demolition comes.”

“But what if demolition never comes? Or drags on for years?” Zhao Zejun countered with a smile. “The stock market’s at rock bottom now. If I had thirty-nine thousand, I could buy up some penny stocks and maybe make more in a year or two than I would from demolition compensation.”

Ren Bida looked to Wu Chengpeng, who waved dismissively, his tone rising. “If you’re that risk-averse, there’s no point in talking. People who can’t stomach any risk have no business in this game—just stay home and play it safe.”

“Mr. Wu, no need for reverse psychology. Whether I’m bold or cautious is my business. Young men who are too daring often get themselves in trouble.”

Zhao Zejun wasn’t biting. He spoke evenly, “Buying in Gaogang Village is especially risky. I’m only investing because I don’t need the money right away. If the price is too high, I might as well put my money elsewhere.”

He added, as if offhandedly, “Or just stick it in the bank—they’re talking about raising interest rates these days, aren’t they?”

Wu Chengpeng winced at the mention of banks and stocks, his scalp prickling. He frowned. “How soon can you pay?”

“As soon as we reach an agreement,” Zhao Zejun replied.

Wu Chengpeng lowered his head in thought for a moment. “Alright, I’ll drop it by two thousand—thirty-seven thousand. Any less and there’s nothing to talk about.”

Zhao Zejun remained unhurried. Business was all about negotiation. He didn’t believe that, after he had demonstrated both his sincerity and financial clout, a man like Wu—who’d spent half his life doing business and was now in urgent need of cash—would really walk away. “Nothing to talk about” was simply a bargaining tactic.

“Mr. Wu, here’s how I see it: I’m buying for the demolition payout. No matter how well you’ve renovated, it’ll all be flattened by a bulldozer in the end—even if this were a palace, it would become rubble, so none of that matters to me. On the contrary, if I take it over and want to adapt it, I’ll have to hire people to tear it down and start over.”

He pointed toward the entrance. “Those houses, I’ll take at market price—you haven’t inflated it. But if it were so easy to sell Gaogang Village houses at market rates, why would you be coming to me? Let’s be honest: the price might be market rate, but who’s buying property in this dump?”

“Well, you’re here, aren’t you?” Wu Chengpeng retorted.

“Exactly, which is why we’re negotiating,” Zhao Zejun replied calmly. “Mr. Wu, as Mr. Ren pointed out, I’m well aware of these houses’ advantages. He wasn’t wrong, but he left something out: since I’m taking a risk on demolition, I’m even more aware of these properties’ disadvantages.”

Wu Chengpeng’s right eyebrow twitched, perhaps without his noticing, but Zhao Zejun caught it. He made a snap decision. “Twenty-five thousand for the lot. I can have the paperwork and payment done tomorrow.”

“Impossible!” Wu Chengpeng nearly jumped out of his seat.

“Then let’s both take some time to think it over,” Zhao Zejun said, rising to his feet.