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

"Hong Kong's economy is growing much faster than ours, and their real estate industry is already well-established. The hotel design this time really shows their skill. Why don't we ask the architects at Guoding's company to draw up some plans for new-style residences for us: higher ceilings, brighter interiors, better lighting, and the latest plumbing. Once the buildings are up, we won't have to worry about them being in high demand."

Li Jiayu's lips relaxed, and a slight smile appeared: "This idea is sound. I'll finalize it later."

No sooner had the words left his mouth than a group of people appeared from around the corner ahead, their leather shoes clicking deliberately on the marble floor.

"Hey—isn't this the youngest of the Li family? Come and broaden your horizons too?"

The person at the front slightly raised his chin, lowered his eyelids slightly, and had a half-smile on his lips. He asked a question, but his tone was like announcing a conclusion.

"Yes, I came here to broaden my horizons. And you? Perhaps you are too?"

Li Jiayu didn't laugh; his voice was flat, not even bothering to stir up any emotion.

The thin layer of ice between the two could be easily cracked with a single step.

That's right, the other party is the son of the deputy secretary of the municipal party committee, whose roots are no less deep than the Li family's; however, the two families have never been on the same side, their political paths are different, so naturally they can't be considered close. When they meet, they inevitably exchange barbs and sarcasm.

"I've been to the White House three times already, why would I need to come here to 'broaden my horizons'? Unlike some people—" Wang Tingxuan let out a soft snort, "Heh."

He did study in the United States for a few years, and he took photos of the lawn outside the White House and the police tape outside the iron fence.

"Pshaw, what's so special about the White House? In terms of grandeur, it can't even compare to a flagpole in Tiananmen Square in Beijing."

Li Jiayu's words were spoken lightly, but everyone could hear the weight beneath them—it wasn't a comparison of architecture, but a comparison of bones.

Wang Tingxuan's eyelids twitched, but his shoulders relaxed, and he shrugged: "There's always someone better. People in our position can't just sit in their own backyard counting bricks. We need to go out and explore more so our minds don't rust and we can keep up with the times. If we always stick to our little patch of land, we'll fall behind sooner or later."

He's from an official family, so how could he not understand the subtle nuances in his words? This response, on the surface, seemed to demonstrate his magnanimity, but in reality, he subtly slipped the words "country bumpkin" back into his mouth.

"Ha, drinking too much foreign ink doesn't necessarily broaden one's horizons; it's more like wrinkling one's eyes, making one unable to see how wide one's own threshold is."

Li Jiayu's gaze was fixed directly on his face, without flinching. He knew very well that the Li family had been entrenched in Hong Kong for decades, and also had docks and warehouses on the East Coast of the United States. They were well-versed in business acumen from dinner parties and had thoroughly discussed international affairs over the phone—when it came to vision, Wang Tingxuan's overseas experience was simply not enough.

"Hmph, the United States is the number one superpower, with the world's largest economy. My brother and I have both lived there and witnessed things you've never even heard of!"

Suddenly, a sharp and urgent voice interrupted from the side. The speaker was a young man whose eyebrows and eyes resembled Wang Tingxuan by a large margin. He buttoned his shirt all the way up and wore a shiny Rolex on his wrist. He had just returned from the United States a few days ago, and even the air there smelled "high-class" than back home.

He is Wang Tingwei, Wang Tingxuan's cousin.

Li Jiayu glanced at him sideways, her tone lazy: "Who put this banana here? And who gave you the right to peel it?"

The moment the word "banana" was uttered, the surrounding air tensed up by half an inch.

"you--!"

"Tingwei." Wang Tingxuan reached out and pressed down on his arm, not with much force, but not enough to break free. "Come on, we haven't seen the guest rooms upstairs yet, let's go up and take a look."

Wang Tingwei's chest heaved, his Adam's apple bobbing, but he didn't say anything more.

As they entered the elevator, the doors closed, and two faces were reflected in the mirror. He couldn't hold back any longer and whispered, "Brother, why are you stopping me?"

"This isn't the United States." Wang Tingxuan stared at the fluctuating numbers, his voice low and steady. "Shanghai has its own rules. Neither you nor your second uncle are in the system, you're not wearing that uniform, so if you go head-to-head with people in the circle, you'll only suffer."

"But you're here!" he said, his neck stiff.

"I can protect you in Shanghai. But what about outside of this area?" Wang Tingxuan turned his head, his gaze calm. "Factions don't recognize territory, they only recognize their own power base. If you go to Guangnan or Chengdu someday, and the Li family happens to have old connections there, can you expect me to make a phone call from hundreds of miles away and have them stop?"

Wang Tingwei opened his mouth, but remained silent.

"By the way, where's Second Uncle? Why didn't he come along?"

"My dad went to the airport to pick someone up."

Airport arrival hall.

Wang Hanli was in his early forties, with graying temples. His suit was impeccably pressed, and he held a handwritten welcome sign in his hand, the handwriting neat and tidy.

Before long, a middle-aged man wearing gold-rimmed glasses came out dragging a suitcase. He was tall and slender with a thin face and a gentle smile that always played on his lips. He was like an open textbook—refined, restrained, and impeccable.

His name is Qi Zhendong. His flight arrived in Shanghai from the United States. His passport shows that he is a US citizen. He has a foreign investment background and came specifically to invest.

Without much pleasantries, Wang Hanli took him directly to a three-story detached house in the suburbs. The courtyard was filled with the swaying shadows of trees, and the windows were bright and clean.

After taking his seat, Qi Zhendong picked up his wine glass, the dark red liquid slowly swirling in an arc on the glass: "I'm here to report good news—the new material project we invested in has been successfully developed, and we're currently conducting the final rounds of testing. Production will begin next year, and we'll see real profits the year after."

He paused, tapping his fingertip lightly on the rim of his glass. "But bad news has also arrived—the other shareholders, seeing the project coming to fruition, immediately want to raise more capital. If we don't follow suit and inject funds, our shares will be diluted. In that case, we'll still have the blueprints, but we'll likely have to relinquish our control."

The red wine swirled between his fingers, round and round.

Wang Hanli's face darkened, his fingers unconsciously digging into the sofa armrest: "They promised each other back then, no more share issuance, no more share expansion... and now, after only two years, they're going back on their word?"

Qi Zhendong didn't reply, but instead brought the wine glass to his lips, took a sip, and his Adam's apple bobbed slightly: "Americans, you know... it's not like you're dealing with them for the first time."

This statement left room for interpretation.

To be honest, they didn't consider cooperation as equals at all—in their eyes, bringing Chinese people on board was already a favor; as for promises? They were nothing more than rags used to wipe the table during negotiations, to be thrown away after use.

Wang Hanli understood, of course. He didn't say anything more, only looking down at the veins on the back of his hand, which looked like earthworms lying there.

"The domestic market is opening up now, and it seems like you can make money no matter what you invest in, but the cycle is too long. I'm afraid that before the financing is in place, they'll kick us out of the game."

His brother is the deputy secretary of the municipal party committee, and he has a better understanding of the pulse of this land than anyone else.

"Then let's not take the right path." Qi Zhendong suddenly laughed, tilted his head back and downed the wine in his glass. "Side paths, quick money, the faster the better."

He put down his empty glass, his gaze sweeping across the lush shadows of the plane trees outside the window: "Perfect timing, your brother's in charge of the entire Shanghai market—this is just a matter of a word, isn't it?"

The liquor slid down my throat, burning.

He had another set of calculations in mind: over the years in the United States, he had seen partners stab him in the back, board meetings turn on each other in the middle, and contracts being amended before the ink was even dry... When it comes to interests, even blood ties can be pickled like salted vegetables.

He needs to leave himself a way out.

Just then, the door to reform was just being opened here—setting up factories, building factories, hoarding land, trial production... Even if the US side is completely devoured in the future, at least he can still stand on the balcony of Shanghai, watching the smoke rising from the factory under his name and hearing the roar of the machines on the assembly line.

That sound made him feel more at ease than the changing of the guard at the White House.

"Zhendong, stop thinking about those underhanded tactics." Wang Hanli waved his hand, his tone calm, as if he were talking about the weather. "My brother is a tough guy, he can't tolerate any dishonesty. When it comes to the Guo family, he'd rather suffer a loss himself than have any crooked thoughts. If we're doing business honestly, he'll not only nod his head but also lend a hand; but if we're going to take shortcuts or try to find loopholes—he'll be the first to block the way, not even leaving you a crack in the door."

He sighed, put the teacup back on the table, and tapped the rim of the cup lightly with his fingertips.

He was actually holding a grudge: with power in his hands and being his own brother, why wouldn't he let him get a single penny?

Qi Zhendong didn't reply, but simply pushed his glasses up, his brows behind the lenses slowly furrowing like two low mountain ridges. After a long while, he finally spoke, his voice low but heavy and unsettling: "Your eldest brother's second son, Tingxuan, didn't he also want to try his luck at sea? Pull him into the water—if things really capsize, I'd like to see if your brother will stand idly by, or jump in himself to rescue them?"

His lips twitched slightly, but he didn't smile. However, a cold glint flashed in his eyes, like a blade scraping against glass—short, sharp, and tinged with a metallic scent.

"Should we bring Tingxuan in?"

"No way." Wang Hanli shook his head decisively, without pausing for even half a second. "He's my nephew."

The words were few, but the meaning was clear: no matter how resentful, the blood is still hot; no matter how angry, the bottom line remains.

Qi Zhendong leaned forward, the chair legs scraping softly on the wooden floor. He stared at Wang Hanli, his eyes like a leopard eyeing its prey: "Hanli, do you remember—that agreement we signed in the US? If the shares fell below the red line, we had to sell them all. We didn't even get the money; we were kicked out first. Over twenty years, we've poured everything in. What was it all for?"

His Adam's apple bobbed, and he lowered his voice even further: "Trying to get something for nothing?"

Wang Hanli didn't speak, his fingers unconsciously twisting the teacup lid until his knuckles turned white.

It's not that I'm afraid of Qi Zhendong's ruthlessness, but I'm afraid of the word "out of the game"—if things really come to that, there won't even be any hope of turning things around.

They'd toiled in the US for over twenty years, not bringing a single penny home, but pouring it all into a fledgling new project. Everyone said that once this thing took off, it would multiply tenfold or even twentyfold—that was just the starting point. But now, the flame had barely begun to ignite, and a shift in the wind could extinguish it completely.

"Every day we delay, another variable becomes possible." Qi Zhendong leaned back in his chair, his tone softening but becoming more serious. "We can't let the last brick of our 20-plus-year journey cause us to stumble."

These words carried no threat, nor were they sentimental; they were like an old farmer squatting on the edge of a field saying, "If it doesn't rain soon, the rice seedlings will turn yellow." Yet, it was precisely these words that made Wang Hanli lower his eyes and slowly nod.