Chapter Fifty: The Moon Never Offers Discounts

Asking for the sky, bargaining down to the ground—Ren Bida, the middleman, played both sides, fanning the flames and pushing for a deal. Three hundred ninety thousand was out of the question, and twenty-five thousand was pure nonsense, leaving Old Wu howling in frustration.

The negotiations fell apart that day, both parties storming off. The next day, the three met again, but still couldn’t come to terms. One side upped their offer to two hundred eighty thousand, the other dropped to three hundred fifty thousand, and neither would budge.

They agreed to meet again on the weekend, but when the time came, Zhao Zejun suddenly told Ren Bida that something had come up and he couldn't make it. Wu Chengpeng was so angry at the Aijia store that he berated Ren Bida mercilessly.

Early Monday morning, Zhao Zejun took half a day off from his teaching job, called Ren Bida, and went straight to Wu Chengpeng’s company—a small building materials shop.

The moment Wu Chengpeng saw Zhao Zejun, his face darkened, he grunted, and turned away. But Zhao Zejun, abandoning his usual cool demeanor, greeted him politely, offering a cigarette and apologizing repeatedly, “Mr. Wu, I’m terribly sorry. I had friends visiting that day and had to keep them company. Please forgive me!”

Wu Chengpeng shot Zhao Zejun a fierce glare but still accepted the cigarette. Lighting it, he said discontentedly, “Keeping friends company? Young man, I’m not trying to lecture you, but is this how you do business? What’s more important, making money or eating and drinking with friends?”

“They were important friends—I couldn’t refuse. And as for this deal, it’s not exactly urgent. Who knows when Gaogang Village will be demolished anyway?”

Just as Wu Chengpeng was about to sing his property’s praises, Zhao Zejun cut him off, “Mr. Wu, let’s not drag this out. I’ll make a sincere offer—three hundred thousand, and I’ll cover all taxes and fees. If you agree, we seal the deal today. If not, it’s still nice to have met an experienced elder like you, and I hope we keep in touch.”

“No.” Wu Chengpeng waved his hand with a frown.

“Come on, Old Wu, that’s enough,” Ren Bida chimed in with a smile. “You know exactly what you paid for these houses. At three hundred thousand, you’re not losing money.”

“I’m in business to make a profit! If there’s no profit, why bother?” Wu Chengpeng rolled his eyes.

“Mr. Zhao, how about increasing your offer a bit?” Ren Bida asked.

Zhao Zejun glanced at Wu Chengpeng’s expression and said, “Alright, since Mr. Ren asked, I’ll add another ten thousand. Beyond that, no more—I’ll have to think of other options.”

“Mr. Wu, what do you say?” Ren Bida pressed.

Wu Chengpeng hesitated for a few seconds, gritted his teeth, “Three hundred twenty thousand!”

“Deal!” Zhao Zejun stood up.

Zhao Zejun’s decisiveness startled both Wu Chengpeng and Ren Bida. The three exchanged glances and then burst into laughter.

Not a single honest word had come out of anyone’s mouth from start to finish!

“You’re a sharp one, young man. Fine, let’s sign the contract and handle the paperwork today. Cash payment—any problem?” Wu Chengpeng asked.

“No problem.”

Ren Bida oversaw the paperwork, and it wasn’t until afternoon that everything was settled.

At the bank, making the transfer, Zhao Zejun felt like both laughing and crying. He wanted to laugh because he remembered that in the latter half of 2002, the stock market had a small rebound—if Wu Chengpeng had managed to hold on until then, he might not have had to sell his property, and Zhao Zejun had picked up a bargain. He wanted to cry because his funds were now completely drained. After paying for the house and all related expenses, Zhao Zejun was left with only a few hundred yuan.

But he felt it was money well spent; he’d have been anxious if he hadn’t been able to spend it. The home-buying spree was over, and the quantity and quality of the properties he’d acquired far exceeded his expectations.

He took stock of his holdings: four mid-sized units in the faux courtyard houses, plus those from previous purchases—a total of ten mid-sized units, one large unit, one small unit, twelve properties in all. There was also the expanded “four plus one small” section in the courtyard, which might not count as a separate unit during demolition, but could be included in the total area.

Additionally, he owned a highly promising two-story building. This building alone, if negotiations went well during the demolition, might bring more compensation than all the other houses combined.

After months of hard work, Zhao Zejun felt a weight lifted from his shoulders.

Even at the lowest compensation standard, these properties would be enough for his entire family to live comfortably for the rest of their lives, doing nothing but eating, drinking, and traveling the world.

What’s more, with these houses in hand, Zhao Zejun had the confidence to negotiate with the demolition office.

He took his keys and returned to the two-story house in Gaogang Village, already considering asking Liang Shi to renovate it once more.

Hell, maybe he could even fence in the narrow alleys on either side.

They’re all mine!

The brood of hens was still there, and the old couple he’d seen before—the ones who’d served in the Volunteer Army—were feeding the chicks with a bamboo tray, their hands trembling with age.

“Cluck, cluck, cluck…” As she scattered feed, the old lady imitated the hens, luring them over.

This won’t do—raising chickens in my house?

I’ll eat them all up, not a single one left!

“Ma’am, are all these chickens yours?” Zhao Zejun called out.

“Oh yes, yes, they’re ours. Is this house yours?” The old lady recognized Zhao Zejun and called back to him.

“That’s right,” Zhao Zejun shouted. “We’re neighbors now.”

“Your door collapsed in last year’s rain, so when I saw no one living here, I raised some chickens. I’ll move them out tomorrow!” The old lady was old, but her mind was still sharp.

“No need, I’m not living here. I just noticed your chickens are healthy—are you selling them? I’d buy eggs, too.”

“Sell them? Sure! When they’re grown, my husband takes them to the market,” she replied.

Zhao Zejun took out fifty yuan. “All right, no more trips to the market, it’s too far. Sell them all to me—I’ll make soup for my mother to nourish her health. And sell me the eggs, too.”

He slipped the money into the old lady’s blue-patterned apron pocket, grabbed the nearest hen by the door, and walked away grinning.

Halfway home, he felt under the hen and chuckled—there was an egg!

“Mom, I bought a free-range chicken for soup tonight.”

Zhou Ya poked her head out of the kitchen, saw the hen, and laughed, “A free-range chicken—nice! When did you learn to buy groceries?”

“Oh, I can buy all sorts of things. As long as I have money, I could even buy you the moon—at a discount, too,” Zhao Zejun replied with a roguish grin.