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

"We need to be fast, ruthless, and profitable"—after much discussion, the three decided on the cassette tape.

Having spent a long time in the US, Qi Zhendong and Wang Hanli knew that copyright was a dangerous issue. Legitimate cassette tapes were ridiculously expensive; the licensing fee for just one song could buy a truckload of raw materials. But what if they bypassed it? Costs would immediately drop by 70%, and profits would skyrocket.

It's illegal, of course it's illegal.

But the illegal activities cannot be revealed through their names.

So, Wang Hanli approached Wang Tingxuan.

"Tingxuan, let's go into the cassette tape business together." He spoke frankly, "I'll provide the money; you rent the factory; you buy the equipment; you handle the licenses. You'll be the legal representative, you'll be the nominal owner, and you'll manage the day-to-day operations—if anything goes wrong, you'll be the one to take the blame, and I'll cover for you."

Wang Tingxuan is the son of the municipal party secretary and has no shortage of food or clothing, but he has rarely had a real opportunity to make money. When he heard that he could start his own factory and also have foreign investment backing, his eyes lit up immediately.

Back then, state-owned factories hadn't loosened their restrictions yet, so privately running a business meant being half a step ahead of the times. Not to mention, this factory also had a "US-owned" label hanging behind it—just hearing the name made it a cut above the rest.

Li Guoman and Li Jiacheng's factory also has foreign investment, but it's a Hong Kong business that owns 10%, nominally to offset song copyright fees. Their brother wanted to give it away for free, but they didn't dare accept it—the rules were there, and anyone who touched it would be in trouble.

The first batch of 100,000 cassette tapes were loaded onto a green train and sent directly to Beijing.

The cost is 2.3 yuan per box, and it's sold to Li Guohang for 8 yuan according to the Hong Kong market price. After deducting shipping, labor, and miscellaneous expenses, the net profit is 5.6 yuan. 100,000 boxes, 600,000 yuan in total.

Two weeks later, Xiao Zhi delivered another 100,000 boxes. Another 600,000.

The factory now produces 200,000 boxes per month, with a monthly net profit of 1.2 million yuan, and a minimum of 12 million yuan per year.

(At that time, one US dollar was worth two Chinese yuan.)

When Wang Tingxuan took the business license to the industrial and commercial bureau for registration, he heard that someone had already opened a cassette tape factory in Shanghai.

He immediately sent someone to investigate, and that afternoon he got through to Wang Hanli.

"Second Uncle, a cassette tape factory has sprung up in Shanghai."

"Authentic?"

Wang Hanli stood up straight, picking up food with his chopsticks, but his chopsticks stopped in mid-air, and his brows furrowed instantly.

He had planned everything perfectly: Shanghai had a talent gap, he could seize the opportunity, work covertly for a few years, and then get a permanent position once things calmed down. But now—

Oh shit!

Even when I drink cold water, sand gets stuck between my teeth!

He gritted his teeth and cursed under his breath.

"What's the background of this factory?"

"It has Hong Kong investment, and—it's a project personally introduced by Mayor Li."

Wang Tingxuan's voice sounded a little muffled.

He understood what his second uncle meant: if you don't have a powerful backer, you can stir up trouble in secret; but if Mayor Li is standing behind you? Then it's not just a matter of muddy water—it's like the reservoir gates are closed, and you can't even make a splash with a shovel.

Wang Hanli's face suddenly darkened, like a low-hanging cloud on a gloomy day.

If this factory can't be brought down, its supply of pirated goods could be cut off at any time.

He's really done for, and he's not the only one who's fallen.

Qi Zhendong had already prepared a fake authorization letter, stamped with a blurry English seal, the paper yellowed as if it had been dug out of an old archive. He was just waiting for Wang Tingxuan to believe it and stride forward—if someone caught him and took him to court, all the evidence would point to this young upstart.

"Okay, Tingxuan," Wang Hanli breathed a sigh of relief, "arrange to have a meal with the owner of that factory. Don't talk business, just get to know him and see what kind of person he is."

He wanted to test the water temperature.

"Okay!" Wang Tingxuan readily agreed.

The entire factory was entrusted to Xiao Zhi alone; this trust was a heavy burden. So Xiao Zhi lived and worked at the factory, even using the toilet more often than others. Wang Tingxuan made a phone call, and the next day they were waiting for him at the factory gate.

In a private room of an upscale restaurant, Xiao Zhi was dressed in a sharp suit and tie, his hair was slicked back and polished.

Wang Hanli sat opposite him, his shirt sleeves rolled up to his forearms, a watch on his wrist with a gleaming strap. He owned companies, cargo ships, and warehouses in the United States; he was a hard-earned boss, exuding an imposing presence and a calm, ballast-like aura.

Xiao Zhi used to be just an assistant, handing over bags, driving, and serving tea. The moment the two of them sat down, the difference in their status became immediately apparent—it wasn't that Wang Hanli was deliberately trying to intimidate others, but rather that the toughness he exuded, weathered by life, subtly overshadowed them.

"Hello, I am Wang Hanli, a Chinese American. Most of my businesses are in the United States. With China currently promoting reform and opening up, I took the initiative to come back and set up a factory, which can be considered as contributing to the development of my hometown."

He smiled, spoke gently, and rested his hands naturally on his knees, displaying impeccable manners.

But his heart felt like it was being pierced by fine sand—this Qin Youzhi, dressed in a sharp suit with a gleaming gold watch on his wrist, did indeed look like a person of importance; but after a few words, his eyes were unfocused, his words were empty, and his speech lacked the composure of an industrialist, more like Old Zhang, the radio repairman on the street corner, who was suddenly pushed onto the stage to receive an award.

"Oh, Mr. Wang, you're too kind!"

Xiao Zhi quickly stood up, raised his hands slightly and then lowered them, rubbing his thumbs together somewhat nervously. It was the first time he had spoken face-to-face with an overseas investor, and his palms were slightly damp, but he dared not show any timidity—they were people with real money, and they were also "patriotic businessmen," so he couldn't be lacking in courtesy.

"Hehe, I heard you opened a cassette tape factory in Shanghai? It's really impressive that you've managed to run such a large business at such a young age."

Wang Hanli picked up his teacup and took a sip, his gaze subtly sweeping over Xiao Zhi's faux leather watch strap and an almost invisible washing mark on his cuff. His words sounded like a compliment, but were actually like a fine needle gently pricking at the other person's core—could a young man who had never been abroad, never worked in a factory, and couldn't even clearly explain which way the workshop door faced really build a cassette tape production line from scratch?

Xiao Zhi had already received instructions from the Li family: keep your mouth shut, don't mention the matter, and don't reveal who you are.

He smiled and, mimicking a Suzhou storytelling tune he had heard as a child, slowly said, "Ah, you flatter me, sir. It's all thanks to good timing and luck. Don't take it too seriously."

For the next half hour, Wang Hanli rambled on about various things: where the raw materials came from, how many workers were hired, who was responsible for setting up the equipment, how the orders were scheduled...

Xiao Zhi answered each question honestly, but his answers were also superficial—like a well that hadn't been dug deep enough, the surface of the water glistened, but the bottom was nowhere to be found.

Wang Hanli became more and more certain as he listened: This guy was just a figurehead. There must be a powerful force behind the factory.

Finally, he placed the teacup back on the tray and leaned forward slightly: "Boss Qin, I'm indeed interested in this cassette tape from your factory. Is there any possibility we could work together?"

The words didn't explicitly say "investment," but the meaning was louder than any drumbeat—I've brought enough money, I've paved the way, all you have to do is nod.

He had a clear plan: once he acquired shares, he could use the copyrights as a shell company and also interfere with the production line; then, by using the old American method of "capital synergy," he could slowly dismantle and reorganize the factory over a few years, eventually changing the signboard and still selling songs, only with all the books going to him.

Xiao Zhi—Qin Youzhi—is easy to understand.

But Li Jiacheng's words still echoed in my ears: "The factory belongs to everyone, but outsiders must not hear a single word about 'everyone.'"

He lowered his head, adjusted the teacup lid, and said softly, "If Boss Wang wants to place an order, I'll meet with the shareholders later and ask about the market for you."

As soon as he said it, he didn't even realize that he had let slip the word "shareholder".

Wang Hanli's eyes lit up, and he gently tapped the rim of the cup with his fingertips.

It's done. It's not that he guessed right, it's that the other party relented.

"Actually," he shifted his posture, his tone more enthusiastic, "I'd like to join them directly—the factory is currently experiencing a supply shortage, with the whole country scrambling for goods. I'll bring capital, distribution channels, and overseas experience. Let's expand production and accelerate the process, tripling output within three months. That'll barely be enough to feed the north, while the south is still starving!"

He lowered his voice again: "As you know, this industry is booming, and others won't just sit idly by. I've heard that people in Guangzhou and Shenzhen have already been quietly testing the molds."

After hearing this, Xiao Zhi laughed and shook his head, as if listening to a child talking about picking the moon.

"Boss Wang has misunderstood—the sheet music, master tapes, and authorization letters for those Hong Kong songs are all locked in our factory's safe. Anyone who dares to rebrand them will face our wrath with a lawyer's letter. The compensation won't even cover the court fees; they might just get a taste of jail time ahead of time."

"But the biggest fear with piracy is that you can't catch them red-handed—they start working as soon as the lights are off in the dark, and their trucks drive around the mountains at night. How are you supposed to find them?"

"I'm not afraid," Xiao Zhi blurted out, only to realize as soon as the words left his mouth that it was inappropriate, but he couldn't take them back. "The supply and marketing cooperatives, department stores, and audio-visual counters in the north... the goods are shipped from our factory, with receipts all the way to the counter, and even the shelf numbers are assigned. Other people's goods can't even get into the warehouse."

Wang Hanli lowered his eyes and nodded calmly, "Oh... I see."

My heart sank.

The northern market was a testament to the purchasing power of industrial workers—the veterans of Ansteel, Shenyang Aircraft Corporation, and Harbin Electric Corporation, with high wages, plenty of spare cash, and a love for music, would buy ten or eight cassette tapes at a time. Whoever controlled this market held the lifeline of the entire cassette tape industry.

But he didn't panic.

Cheapness is always the first chisel to pry open the market. He doesn't believe that ordinary people would insist on a particular brand just to spend an extra five cents. As for distribution channels? If you can't build them, buy them; if you can't buy them, find someone else—in a shopping mall, there's no door that can't be broken down.

He abruptly changed the subject, circling back to the investment: "Boss Qin, can't we really discuss this cooperation further?"

This time, Xiao Zhi didn't beat around the bush and simply shook his head: "The factory doesn't accept external investment. If Boss Wang is trustworthy, we can sign a long-term supply agreement, and the price is negotiable."

That very night, he rode his old Phoenix bicycle through the damp, sycamore-lined streets of Shanghai and told Li Jiacheng the whole story.

"Someone's already targeting our factory?"

Li Guoman was peeling an orange when he heard this and looked up. He hadn't even completely removed the white pith from a single orange segment.

"We've only been open for three months, and the smell of cement from the factory hasn't even dissipated yet, and people are already trying to get a piece of the pie." Li Jiacheng folded the newspaper and placed it next to the enamel mug, laughing candidly. "All the songs in Hong Kong are exclusive deals we negotiated ourselves. Others can't even get close to the originals, so it's no wonder they're envious."

The two brothers exchanged a glance, neither of them taking it seriously.

With Mayor Li Guofu as its brother, the tape factory was like a large ship anchored in a safe harbor—no matter how high the waves were, they couldn't lift its keel.