Courtyard House: A Start with Black Gold Swallowing 100,000 Silver Dollars

The third private room in the state-run restaurant was packed with people sitting at the round table.

Li Guohang was wearing a dark blue work jacket with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms, followed by Li Guozhui. As soon as the door opened, Li Jiacheng immediately stood up: "Uncle Guohang! Uncle Guozhui!"

Hu Yeming stood up immediately afterward, his voice clear and loud: "Uncle Guoxing! Uncle Guozhui!"

The others hurriedly greeted him as well. But as soon as they called out, many stiffened – Li Guozhui looked to be only in his early twenties, younger than several others at the table, and calling him "uncle" felt awkward. Some lowered their heads to pick at their chopsticks, while others pretended to cough; the atmosphere became slightly tense.

Fortunately, Li Guohang was straightforward. Upon hearing that these kids were also in the cassette tape business, he immediately pulled out several lists of stall owners, along with contact information for several wholesale stations, and pushed them all to the center of the table: "From now on, you'll be charged at this price. I'll set a uniform price here, so I won't pressure you or take away your stalls."

Li Jiacheng and his team immediately declared that they would not touch radios or televisions at all, and would only focus on tape recorders and cassette tapes; the warehouse would be set up in the old courtyard in the back alley of Xiushui Street, and the unloading, sorting, and shipping of goods would all be done by their own people, saving them a lot of temporary help.

After everyone finished calculating their accounts, their faces relaxed. Money is enough as long as it's sufficient; who really expects it to buy a house or a car? What they're after is a stable, respectable life, and independence from others.

-

The news spread quickly. Other circles also set their sights on this opportunity. Several second and third-generation members of the outer circle inquired through intermediaries and learned that the person in charge was a young man named "Little Buddha," so they came to him one after another.

Xiao Fo announced his name: "I'm Guo Xian's man."

The other party immediately waved his hand: "Oh, Brother Guoxian—then it's nothing, please go back."

Li Guoxian is in his early thirties. Among the second-generation rich kids of his age, he isn't the most prominent, but he has a solid reputation: he's reasonable, doesn't steal credit, and doesn't throw tantrums. Many people have worked with his father, and two families are even related by marriage. Because of him, no one makes things difficult for Xiao Fo.

Whether it's difficult or not is one thing, but wanting to lend a hand is another.

People started asking Xiao Fo to pass on messages: "Please invite your brother Guo Xian to a casual meal to discuss cooperation."

Li Guoxian initially declined twice, but by the third time, he counted—there were no fewer than seven or eight people coming to his door. They came from various departments, bureaus, and even the military region's logistics system.

He sat by the study window, tapping his fingers on the table, half-covered in cigarette ash.

In the capital, personal connections are like a flowing river, while money is stagnant. When the water flows, the path widens; when the water dries up, even the strongest back cannot stand straight.

He stubbed out his cigarette, got up, and dialed a number: "Air China, Guo Zhui, come to my house. We need to discuss something."

-

The three sat around a table in the living room.

After listening, Li Guohang frowned deeply: "Share? We started from scratch, developing the market, stockpiling goods, dealing with customs, and now they're reaping the benefits?"

Li Guoxian didn't reply, but simply pushed the teacup over, the bottom of which hit the glass coffee table with a crisp sound.

"Air China," he said calmly, "those guys surnamed Li, Chen, Zhou... were playing chess with the old man in Xishan last month. Tell me, can we lock the whole city inside our own walls?"

He didn't care about the daily dividends of tens of thousands of yuan at all. What he really cared about was the intricate network of connections in the capital, especially the layers upon layers of kinship relationships that were difficult to unravel.

This idea had been ingrained in his mind since he was a child, mostly influenced by his mother, Xu Wanqing.

"Now that Brother Guoxian has spoken, which piece of land should we give to them?"

Li Guoxian's words carried weight, and Li Guohang nodded in agreement without much hesitation.

He also knew that among these second-generation rich kids in Beijing, anyone who wanted to monopolize the whole thing had to think twice about whether their teeth were strong enough—it was better to share some of the spoils and leave a way out so that they could greet each other with a smile in the future.

"Just give them the roughest, slowest-moving, and least profitable piece."

If you eat braised pork knuckle yourself and sprinkle some broth on them, even if they find it not flavorful enough, they'll have to swallow it and remember the favor. After all, they didn't put in any effort; it's a free benefit, so why should they be picky?

……

"Huh? This will work?"

Even he himself found the place too uncomfortable to eat; those eager young men waiting to get a share of the spoils probably wouldn't even be enough to fill their teeth.

"Young Master Guoxian, Young Master Guohang, I have something on my mind."

Little Buddha, who had been squatting beside them making tea, suddenly spoke up.

"Brother Fo, you helped out with this business, so just say what you mean and don't beat around the bush."

Li Guoxian frowned slightly. The two had grown up together since childhood and had been friends for over twenty years. He had long considered him a brother, but Xiao Fo still acted with a bit of restraint and a bit of obsequiousness when they met, as if he were fawning over a host. Li Guoxian found it irritating.

"Didn't we already plan to distribute our goods all over the north? Those second-generation rich kids are all very familiar with their own territories—let each of them run their own city and sell independently. We'll be the main suppliers, and they'll be the main sellers. We'll share the profits, and we'll keep the rest separate."

"We don't need to run around and negotiate with each supplier; they've already established their own distribution channels. It saves us time and effort, and we don't have to take any risks."

Little Buddha doesn't talk much, but every word he says is insightful and practical.

This idea only took him a while to warm up after being invited to tea, meals, and fishing by various second-generation rich kids nearly twenty times. Last month alone, he couldn't turn down thirty dinner invitations—all for the goods he had.

"Snapped!"

Upon hearing this, Li Guohang slapped his thigh so hard it shook the heavens.

"Yes! Absolutely right! Little Buddha, your method is much more brilliant than what we've been thinking about for half a month!" He grinned, giving Little Buddha a thumbs up. "One person, one city; we sit firmly in the rear while they charge into battle—they earn more, gain face, and nobody loses!"

"Hehe," Little Buddha rubbed his hands together, his eyes crinkling with laughter, "It's just that I've lived a dozen years longer, seen more, and suffered more setbacks. When you get to my age, your minds will be working faster than mine."

He was in his early forties, and had spent half his life in the underworld. The world he had seen, the things he had experienced, and the nights he had stayed up were far more substantial than those two young men in front of him.

"Alright! Little Buddha, you arrange the meeting and let them choose among themselves—first come, first served."

As soon as the news broke, the eyes of those privileged second-generation rich kids who had been eyeing the opportunity immediately lit up. Some clung to their two spots, refusing to let go, while others boldly demanded the entire province, only to be immediately rebuked by onlookers: "Do you think this is like dividing dumpling filling?"

After a long and heated debate, the final decision was made: fifteen key cities in the north would each have a seat, and the matter was settled.

this day.

Sun Qiang and Lü Wei went to find Li Guojiang together.

The reason was simple: the entire capital city, from Xiushui Street to Liulichang, from Houhai Hutong to Sanlitun (Note: the original text should have read "Sanlitun" instead of "Wulitun", corrected according to historical facts and contextual logic), was completely filled with Li Guohang's goods—street stalls lined up everywhere, prices were driven down to the limit, and their original business became more and more deserted day by day.

Actually, the two of them had already saved up nearly 100,000 yuan a few years ago. But once you get used to making money, would you really go back to earning a monthly salary of fifty yuan? You wouldn't even look down on it.

After discussing it, they decided to change their business model—instead of selling mass-market goods, they would sell "hardcore" products: expensive, scarce, in high demand, and with no one following suit.

In a private room on the second floor of a state-run restaurant, the food and drinks had just been served.

"Guojiang, now there are street vendors everywhere. Our old-fashioned radios and megaphones, even the roadside candied hawthorn stalls are all hawking their wares. Sales have plummeted, almost to zero." Sun Qiang tilted his head back and gulped down a glass of baijiu, his voice a little hoarse.

"That's right," Lü Wei chimed in, tapping the table with his chopsticks. "These days, vendors are fighting tooth and nail. If you lower your price by two cents, they'll sell at a loss. My purchase price is high, so I lose money on every sale. I can't last more than a few days."

Li Guohang's side doesn't limit the number of vendors, and the more they are allowed to set up stalls, the more chaotic it becomes, with price wars fought haphazardly—for middlemen like them, profit margins have long been squeezed to the thinnest possible area.

"How about... I lower the price a bit more?" Li Guojiang asked tentatively.

He didn't want to alienate them. These two people had earned him over two hundred thousand yuan in total, and he couldn't live with himself if he turned against them.

"Forget it, Guojiang," Sun Qiang waved his hand, his breath reeking of alcohol mixed with a bitter smile, "Even if you offer more discounts, they'll still cut the price down. It's useless. There's no 'profit' left in this business."

"So...you're planning to quit?"

Seeing the two looking dejected, Li Guojiang couldn't help but ask.

"Take a break? Of course not!" Lü Wei immediately sat up straight. "Now that the policies have been relaxed, self-employed individuals can operate more freely. Who would go back to sitting in an office and earning that fifty-yuan salary? It's shameful."

"Exactly!" Sun Qiang nodded in agreement. "You couldn't earn a fraction of what you've made in two years even if you worked your whole life. We'd rather stay home and relax than clock in."

Li Guojiang was speechless for a moment—if he couldn't beat his rivals and didn't want to go back to his unit, what was he after?

"Hehe, Guojiang," Lü Wei suddenly lowered his voice and leaned forward, "Could you...get a motorcycle?"

Sun Qiang didn't say anything, but slammed his cup on the edge of the table, his eyes shining like lamps.

That's right, they've set their sights on motorcycles.

It's the end of 1979, and the Lunar New Year is just two months away. Families with better means will definitely have televisions, refrigerators, and washing machines on their New Year's shopping lists; those with even more money are already thinking about upgrading their "28-inch" motorcycles to an even better one.

But this stuff was precious, rationed, and extremely difficult to obtain. That's why it became the most coveted "hard currency" in their eyes.

Expensive means high profit margins; high demand means no worries about sales; high barriers to entry mean no one will follow suit and drive down prices. Selling one of these machines is equivalent to selling ten tape recorders in the past.

"Motorcycles?" Li Guojiang was taken aback, then narrowed his eyes. "I have to go back and ask—my older brother runs a factory in Hong Kong; he can even manufacture cars, so surely he can make a few motorcycles, right?"

Sun Qiang and Lü Wei exchanged a quick glance, their lips curving into smiles. They didn't speak, but their excitement was palpable, radiating from their brows to their fingertips.

They had already investigated and knew that motorcycles did indeed run in Hong Kong.

The goods that Li Guojiang brought in were all made in Hong Kong, so motorcycles were naturally no problem for him.

The only thing on his mind was how to get the truck in—whether it could pass through the checkpoint smoothly depended entirely on how strong Li Guojiang's connections were.

As soon as Li Guojiang got home, he made a long-distance call to his older brother, Li Wenguo. He asked bluntly, "Brother, can the factory produce motorcycles?"

Without the slightest hesitation, the person on the other end of the phone replied, "Yes."

The Li family's sons are scattered across various places, and have long been doing their own thing in unconventional ways; the blueprints were bought by Li Wenguo from the system, and even the automobile production line was laid out there, while the motorcycles have already gone through multiple trial productions.