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

He leaned forward, the edge of his briefcase tapping against the table with a soft "thud": "Shen Shanshan, threatening someone's personal safety is enough to warrant a criminal case. I'm giving you two choices: either terminate the contract voluntarily and sign it, or I'll transfer you for prosecution on charges of intimidation—the choice is yours."

"Sue"?

"Going to jail"?

Shen Shanshan's legs went weak, and she almost knelt down.

"I'll solve it! I'll solve it right away!" she replied repeatedly, her hands trembling.

Li Guolei then slowly leaned back in his chair, his eyelids drooping, and a slight, imperceptible relaxation at the corner of his mouth.

Just then, footsteps echoed down the corridor.

Li Guozhui pushed open the door and came in just as his brother was leading Shen Shanshan out of the interrogation room next door. She had her head down, and the ends of her hair were drooping against the back of her neck, like a bean sprout that had been wilted in the sun.

"Guo has come? Perfect timing." Li Guolei stood up, his voice flat. "The engagement is dissolved, witnessed by the police, the formalities will be completed on the spot."

"Brother Guolei." Li Guozhui nodded, then looked at Shen Shanshan, "Shanshan..."

She didn't respond, only glancing at him quickly—her eyes held no resentment, no hatred, only an empty, ashen look. Li Guozhui's heart sank: his brother was always decisive; this time, he probably wouldn't leave any room for compromise.

In less than ten minutes, the two agreements were signed, stamped with the red seal, and the pages were torn apart. Six years of friendship were severed more cleanly than a pair of scissors.

Once outside the branch office, Shen Shanshan remained silent, simply walking forward with her head down.

Li Guozhui quickly caught up with her and blocked her way: "Shanshan, believe me—I didn't call Guolei. Xiuli approached me privately after learning his identity, but I didn't agree. This time... she must have gone to tell him herself."

Shen Shanshan finally stopped. A wisp of hair twirled across her forehead. She looked at him quietly, then suddenly smiled faintly, like ink dripping into water, dissipating before it could even spread: "The engagement is off. Are you satisfied now? Now you can marry her openly and honestly, and we can have our wedding night together, a life of blissful union..."

Before she could finish speaking, her eyes reddened, and her voice trembled slightly at the end. She stepped aside from him, continuing her journey towards the school without stopping.

Li Guozhui stopped chasing her and just stood there, watching her receding figure, as if watching a piece of kite string blown away by the wind.

When she returned to the dormitory building, Zhang Ruoxuan and Li Yingxia were waiting at the door, one holding an enamel mug and the other holding half a peach shortbread.

"Shanshan! How's it going? Where is she? Is the engagement still valid?"

Shen Shanshan threw her bag onto the bed, lay back, and stared at the ceiling without saying a word.

The two exchanged a glance, their hearts sinking simultaneously—something was wrong.

The conveniences Li Guozhui received—desserts, new books, and help with revising papers—all relied on the title of "fiancée." Now that the rope has broken, the benefits have immediately shrunk to nothing. Not to mention, I just heard he's making a fortune... If I don't reach out and try to get a piece of the pie now, I might not even get a taste of the good stuff.

Reality doesn't care about past relationships.

When a rich person suddenly appears in someone's life, they automatically switch to "climbing the social ladder" mode—this is what the neighbors teach, not what's written in books.

So, the two mouths that had just been defending Shen Shanshan now turned to another line:

"Shanshan, don't get stuck on this... Guozhui is a loyal and sentimental person. If you just soften your tone and say a few words, he'll definitely come back to you."

"That's right, Xiuli's baby hasn't even been born yet, so you're the one who's officially engaged! If you work a little harder, maybe you can even get formally engaged?"

Shen Shanshan kept her eyes closed, neither opening them nor responding.

Outside the window, the setting sun was sinking into the western mountains, bathing the entire dormitory building in a warm orange hue.

But the warmth inside had long since cooled down.

"Shanshan, you know very well in your heart—Li Guozhui was seduced by that woman. Now she's pressing you relentlessly, demanding that you break off the engagement. Are you really going to remain silent and stand by and watch? She might be hiding somewhere, sipping her tea and laughing at your foolishness, your weakness, and your inability to even keep your own man."

"That's right, Shanshan. She has the upper hand now, but are you really going to let her have your life? In the future, Li Guozhui will be holding the baby and playing with him, while she wears an apron and hums songs in the kitchen, the whole family will be lively and happy... Can you really swallow this?"

"Don't forget, that should have been the aroma of food wafting from your stove, the lullabies you hummed by your cradle, the two pairs of slippers hanging in your closet—she snatched them all away."

Zhang Ruoxuan and Li Yingxia, determined to cling to Li Guozhui's powerful connections, took turns whispering in Shen Shanshan's ear: Don't give in, don't admit defeat, and certainly don't stand by and watch Ye Xiuli smoothly marry, have children, and live a peaceful life. Their words grew increasingly heated, their words fueling the fire. As Shen Shanshan listened, her chest felt like it was stuffed with damp cotton, both suffocating and bloated—she was the one who had first offered a handkerchief, served hot tea, and waited for her late return; while Ye Xiuli was merely a shadow that had intruded halfway through. A surge of shame and anger, as if her reputation had been exposed, rushed to her head. She clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms, and finally nodded in agreement: Okay, I'll fight for it.

How can we fight for it?

The idea came from Zhang Ruoxuan, and the setup was arranged by Li Yingxia.

The three men invited Li Guozhui to dinner, urging him to drink one glass of wine after another, their eyes lingering on him. At first, he declined, then became incoherent, and later he could barely speak, his body swaying like a reed in the wind. After the dinner, the three men helped him through several narrow alleys and into an old courtyard in Xisi Hutong—a courtyard with blue bricks and gray tiles, and half a bag of unopened cement piled in the corner.

Shen Shanshan gritted her teeth, not letting anyone else do it. She personally helped him into the east room, personally turned off the light, and personally unbuttoned her own clothes.

Afterwards, she leaned against the edge of the bed, her hair loose, but her fingers pressed steadily on the glass of the photo on the bedside table—a picture of her and Li Guozhui taken last spring when they were boating on Beihai Lake. She didn't cry, but stared at his smiling face in the photo, revealing his tiger teeth, and whispered, "Now, I have proof too."

The next day, she cornered Li Guo at the entrance of his workplace, her voice low but clear: "Either we get a marriage certificate, or you have to take full responsibility for the child in my belly."

She didn't want him to turn back; she wanted Ye Xiuli to bow her head.

You're trying to steal someone? Fine, I'll take him back—I'll make you stand at the entrance of the Civil Affairs Bureau with your pregnant belly, watching me lead him in to get his documents stamped.

Li Guozhui was once again stuck in the middle, unable to move forward or backward. The marriage certificate with Ye Xiuli was ultimately put on hold again…

"Buzz—buzz—buzz—!"

Suddenly, the street came alive with activity. Motorcycles sped by one after another, their engines roaring with a deep, powerful sound, like a herd of tireless iron horses. All of them were silver-gray, with gleaming, streamlined front ends. Before the white smoke from their exhaust pipes had even dissipated, the rearview mirrors were filled with the shadows of passersby turning their heads to look.

Hong Kong-style motorcycles have become a new sight in Beijing. But this trend isn't something everyone can keep up with—you need to know about motorcycles, be able to repair them, dare to ride long distances, and have connections to get approval for parts. The high barrier to entry naturally makes the process complex.

But as the saying goes, "the deeper the water, the more eyeing it becomes." Several children of officials somehow managed to acquire a batch of Honda CBs and Yamaha RZs—fully imported vehicles with all the necessary paperwork—and offered prices 20% lower than what Sun Qiang and Lü Wei were selling. Regular customers began to waver, wholesalers started pushing for lower prices, and sales visibly plummeted.

However, after more than half a year, they had already multiplied their capital several times over. With just over 500 vehicles, each vehicle yielded a net profit of 1,000 yuan, and the two of them each pocketed 250,000 yuan. As the supplier, Li Guojiang took 500 yuan from each vehicle, which also amounted to at least 250,000 yuan; several dozen vehicles were also given to the second-generation rich kids at a low price of 4,000 yuan each, so although the books showed no difference, they actually made an extra 30,000 to 40,000 yuan.

But now, the wind has shifted.

When Sun Qiang and Lü Wei stepped into the old private room of the state-run restaurant for the third time, there was still a half-dish of cold seaweed salad and a pot of unfinished jasmine tea on the table.

"Guojiang, we're quitting this motorcycle business." Sun Qiang got straight to the point, tapping the table with the tip of his chopsticks.

"Oh?" Li Guojiang looked up. "Changing the menu again?" He picked up a piece of glistening braised pork belly and slowly put it in his mouth. "You two, you really can't sit still."

"Hehe," Sun Qiang grinned, fine lines appearing at the corners of his eyes, "When doing business, if you don't move forward, you'll have to squat by the roadside picking up cigarette butts that people throw away."

Lu Wei chimed in, "Guojiang, you read the newspaper every day, have you noticed that area to the south? They just put up a sign—Shenzhen Special Economic Zone."

"Yeah, I've seen it." Li Guojiang wiped his mouth. "But that place is practically on Hainan Island on the map. It's a remote, impoverished area with muddy roads, small fishing villages, and not even a decent supply and marketing cooperative."

"It's precisely because it has nothing that we were able to free up space." Sun Qiang leaned forward. "We figured it out—we'd set up a factory."

"Set up a factory?" Li Guojiang paused, almost dropping grains of rice onto his pants. "You guys have some nerve."

"If you don't take some risks, you won't even get a taste of the soup." Lü Wei laughed, pushing over a crumpled copy of "Reference News" with a short message circled on it. "Look, they're recruiting workers, offering tax exemptions, and providing land in the south. They've even thought of the factory blueprints for you."

"We've set our sights on clothing," Sun Qiang said. "Bell-bottoms are everywhere. They cost 12.8 yuan a pair to make, but they sell for 70 yuan in Beijing and 80 yuan in Northeast China, and they're always out of stock."

"What if all the wholesale markets in the north came to our factory to get their goods?" Lü Wei counted on his fingers, "We make a net profit of twenty yuan per item, and we ship one million items a year—twenty million yuan."

The last three words came out almost simultaneously, their voices strained and their eyes shining with an astonishing intensity.

Twenty million—in Beijing in 1982, this number was so heavy it could bend a scale, so weighty that people dared not read it aloud.

But at this moment, not a single person in the private room blinked. The tea had gone cold, but no one went to refill it; the noise of cars outside the window went unheard. Only the newspaper spread out on the table, its edges slightly curled, resembled a flag about to be raised.

Li Guojiang never cared much about money, but when he heard the words "twenty million," his fingertips paused subconsciously, and a bit of cigarette ash fell onto his trouser seam.

When money accumulates to a certain amount, even the most indifferent person will feel a pang of unease—not out of greed, but out of instinct.

The three sat around a stone table under the old locust tree, the tea growing cold without anyone refilling it. They talked about everything from factory site selection to equipment procurement, from tax registration to license application... Two hours passed before the accounts were settled: Li Guojiang took 40%, providing capital and connections; Sun Qiang and Lü Wei together took 60%, handling errands, on-site supervision, and the actual work.

Connections are the ballast.

Without connections, raw materials can't get into the warehouse; without connections, finished products can't get out of the dock—let alone the special train quotas for direct shipment to Beijing.

Sun Qiang had no connections, and Lü Wei had no influence; together, they couldn't even get into the top five ticket windows at Shenzhen Railway Station.

Li Guojiang, however, had several yellowed business cards tucked into his phone book, one of which had the words "Director's Office of Shenzhen Investment Promotion Bureau" printed on the back.