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

"The situation in the north has just stabilized, but the south is still in chaos." Li Guoman popped an orange segment into his mouth. "A box of these sells for eighteen yuan on the black market in Guangzhou, and the genuine products have been out of stock for three months."

"Tomorrow morning, I'll have Xiaozhi go to the city again and tell my dad—we need to get another plot of land approved. The new factory site will be twice the size of the current one." Li Jiacheng blinked. "The factory won't need to be that big, but we need to secure the land first."

In the living room of a detached villa on the outskirts of Shanghai, the fireplace flames flicker.

Qi Zhendong had just taken a bottle of red wine from the bar and poured it into two stemmed glasses; the dark red liquid shimmered under the light.

Wang Hanli took the glass, but didn't drink it, only staring at the swaying shadows in the liquid: "Old Qi, that cassette tape factory in Shanghai has secured its position. They also hold the copyrights to Hong Kong songs."

Qi Zhendong paused for a moment, the wine rippled slightly.

"Where is he? What's his background?"

"On the surface, he's just a greenhorn, but in reality—" Wang Hanli tilted his head back and finished his drink, "there's a mountain behind him, and it hasn't been fully revealed yet."

Qi Zhendong didn't reply, but slowly pushed another glass of wine in front of him.

The bottom of the cup touched the glass coffee table with a very soft "click".

They believe in the American way of thinking: might makes right, and what you grab is yours.

Greed is no longer just a superficial emotion; it has seeped into our bones and grown in our blood.

Qi Zhendong originally thought this matter could be suppressed, but Wang Hanli slowly shook his head: "Mayor Li is standing behind the factory. The reputation of the tape factory cannot be touched."

"What about... taking a stake? Would they allow us to share?"

Qi Zhendong tapped the table with his fingertips, his tone still carrying a hint of reluctance to back down.

If he could acquire a stake, he had plenty of ways to do it—first take a 10%, then set up a pretext of "technology upgrade" or "equipment update" to slowly add people, change accounts, and amend contracts. Right now, China has just begun to loosen its grip on reforms, many rules are not yet firmly established, the articles are written broadly, and loopholes are blatantly exposed, just waiting for those in the know to reach out and exploit them.

Once they control the lifeline, the copyrights of those songs that are popular everywhere will eventually fall into their hands.

"I've spoken with the person in charge," Wang Hanli sighed, "and he flatly refused to discuss investing."

Although Xiao Zhi is just a "shadow" figure who's out in the open, the fact that he's made such a definitive statement means there's no need to guess what the person behind him is thinking.

The road is now completely blocked.

"Damn it!" Qi Zhendong loosened his tie, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down. "Not giving them a way out? Then force them to have no way out—piracy to disrupt their business and drag Li Jiacheng and Li Guoman's factories down."

"For now... this is the only thing we can do."

"By the way, is Tingxuan's factory, license, and registration all complete? Let me take a look at your 'authorization letter' first."

Wang Hanli looked up and asked.

"The day after tomorrow at the latest, and the entire set of equipment will arrive early the next morning."

As Qi Zhendong spoke, he picked up a gray cloth document bag from the armrest of the sofa and opened it with a thud—inside was a thick stack of papers, several hundred pages in total, with gold-edged covers and several lines of foreign language printed on them with red stamps, looking quite professional.

It's all fake. They haven't bought the copyrights to a single popular song.

Wang Hanli gripped the stack of papers, his knuckles slightly clenched. The papers were thick, but his heart was pounding with anxiety—it was still not too late to stop; if he took another step forward, his nephew Wang Tingxuan's name would be buried in the mud along with him.

Qi Zhendong had noticed his hesitation long ago. He leaned forward, his voice low but firm: "Old Wang, everyone looks out for themselves. You've worked your butt off for over twenty years to get to where you are today. Do you really want to watch it all crumble into ruins overnight?"

I know what I'm doing.

Wang Hanli kept his eyes down, his face expressionless.

Qi Zhendong smiled, his smile smoothing out the fine lines around his eyes.

He's a man who acts quickly, ruthlessly, and without looking back.

Wang Hanli was the same—otherwise, the two of them would have been wiped out long ago in the cutthroat capitalist jungle of the United States, leaving not even a trace.

Blood is not shed in vain, lives are not endured for nothing. The friendship forged on the edge of a knife is judged solely on results, not on benevolence or righteousness.

Three days later, truckloads of magnetic tape laminating machines, slitting machines, and labeling stations were successively transported into the factory area.

At Wang Tingxuan's command, the assembly line started running that very day.

Wang Hanli was meticulous. He rented an old warehouse in the west of the city, seven kilometers away from the factory, separated by three streets and two vegetable markets. Newly produced cassette tapes were packed and sealed as soon as they left the workshop and taken away directly, never left overnight. Production was production, and inventory was inventory; the two places were unrelated. If anyone were to investigate in the future, at most a few boxes of "trial production samples" would be confiscated from the factory, and he could easily deny any knowledge of the mountain of goods in the warehouse.

Just before starting work, he specifically called Wang Tingxuan over and whispered, "Don't mention the tapes to anyone. Tell everyone—we're holding back, we're going to catch Qin Youzhi off guard."

Wang Tingxuan nodded in agreement, his eyes bright, but his heart felt empty, as if he knew nothing.

the other side.

Li Jiayu, leading his uncle Li Guoshu, stood on a twenty-acre plot of wasteland by the river, stepping on half-foot-high wild grass.

The grass was withered and yellow, rustling in the wind; a few tattered sacks, half a brick, and a few rusted wires were scattered on the ground, so desolate that even birds didn't want to stay there for long.

But here it is right next to the riverbank. Looking south, the river water glistens like broken silver. Walking north, there is a riverside road in 500 meters, with bus stop signs polished to a shine. Two kilometers further east is a village called "Yangjia'ao". At the entrance of the village, there is a meat and vegetable market. Pig offal is hung neatly, and green vegetables are piled up to overflowing. In 1983, supply and marketing cooperatives had not yet been established, and supermarkets were unheard of. People relied entirely on markets like this to buy a pound of meat and a bunch of green onions.

"Foreman, could you estimate how many buildings could possibly be built on this plot of land for a residential complex?"

Li Guoshu took off his glasses, wiped them with the corner of his clothes, put them back on, and his gaze fell on the middle-aged man with gold-rimmed glasses next to him.

This guy was sent by Hong Kong Brother's company. He's worked on over ten real estate projects and knows the blueprints better than his own kitchen.

The foreman glanced at the site, then looked up at the surrounding slope and wind direction before saying, "Mr. Li, if we disregard greenery, spacing, clubhouses, and parking lots, and only focus on speed, profit, and appearance, twelve buildings of twelve stories would be just right."

In the 1983 housing market, there was no such thing as "livable," "ecological," or "community amenities." Company dormitories were considered villas, tenement buildings were considered respectable, and courtyard houses were a luxury. As for residential communities? The word might not even exist in the dictionary. As long as the building was straight, the exterior walls were bricked, and the balconies had wrought iron railings, people were willing to pay—for novelty, for face, for the feeling of "my family also lives in a high-rise."

"Based on this scale, including labor, materials, permits, and water and electricity connections, what would the approximate cost be?"

Li Jiayu interjected. The uncle and nephew always shared the accounts when they worked together.

"Around sixteen million," the foreman answered readily.

The two immediately started doing mental calculations: twelve floors × twelve buildings = 3D, one hundred and forty-four floors; four households per floor, a total of five hundred and seventy-six apartments; an average of one hundred and twenty square meters per apartment, with an average price of six hundred yuan per square meter—once sold, it would be a little over thirty-eight million yuan.

The land was acquired for 3.5 million (slightly west of the city center), and with costs of 16 million, the total investment was less than 20 million. After deducting taxes, fees, and working capital, the net profit is easily over 10 million.

And that doesn't even include the thirty shops along the street. If we really take them over, adding another 1.5 million in profit wouldn't be a problem.

After they finished calculating, the uncle and nephew looked at each other, their breathing becoming heavier.

—Ten million.

It's not the few dozen yuan you see on your payslip every month, it's a stack of cash that could break your toes.

This is the smell of money—so strong it's pungent, so hot it's scalding.

Of course, Shanghai's housing prices are rising along with Beijing's, and if you hold onto your property for two years before selling, it's not impossible for it to double in value. But who in business is willing to leave their money tied up on the wall? In the next two years, enough money could be used to build three or four more new residential complexes. Making money from money is the only way to survive.

"Foreman, do the same for all twelve buildings. How long will the construction take?"

Li Guoshu asked.

"If everything goes smoothly, we can hand over the keys in one year and two months."

Mr. Guan knew that these two individuals had powerful backers, so the approval process for building the house would be smooth sailing. The only real bottleneck was the construction period.

"If we double the manpower, how much can we shorten the construction period?"

Li Jiayu couldn't sit still any longer. His knuckles tapped the table unconsciously, and his words were filled with urgency—the sooner the project was topped out, the sooner the funds would be recovered; once the money was in the account, they could immediately acquire land and start construction again, so that the snowball effect would be much smoother.

Mr. Guan pondered for a moment, then looked up and said, "Working in two shifts, it will take about six months to complete the house."

"But the costs of labor, food, and overtime pay add up to more than a million yuan."

"Over a million? Worth it!" Li Guoshu accepted readily. "Hire another team and we'll keep doing it."

Being young and inexperienced, his heart was pounding like a startled bird. But upon reflection, it's understandable—

In those days, pre-sale permits were issued before the foundation was even laid, and the money was already in the developers' pockets. With the money in hand, the developers would turn around and acquire new land, launch new sales, and collect money again. The slower construction was not a problem; it was the ordinary people who were anxious to pay their deposits.

But things are different now. Ordinary people believe in seeing is believing: if there are no bricks, no tiles, no windows, just a sand table model, who will pay for it? Who will believe you?

So it's not hard to understand why the two of them were constantly on the go.

With money on their hands, they have no worries whatsoever.

At the beginning of this year, Li Wenguo specially set up a "Li Family Children's Special Loan" window in Xiangjiang Yellow River Industrial Bank - no interest is charged, only the solidity of the plan is considered; as long as it is written clearly and calculated clearly, the money will arrive in the account on the same day, as fast as boiling water.

Each person has an annual quota of 20 million, which can be increased if they perform well. That's why Li Guoshu and Li Jiayu decided to partner up, both for the sake of convenience and to keep their relationship more closely aligned.

Of course, if it's really not enough, you can ask your older brothers for help.

However, having this "own window" means we should go here first—we won't owe anyone favors or have to worry about what others think; if we're really strapped for cash, then we can ask for help later.