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

Shuyu Refrigerator Factory is a well-known benchmark enterprise in the city. It not only contributes real money to the treasury but also provides employment for hundreds of unemployed youths. Even Mayor Li specifically praised it at the city's economic coordination meeting. The television station seized the opportunity and prepared a special report, focusing its camera on this "model unit".

"Another interview?"

Li Guoshu raised an eyebrow slightly, his fingertips unconsciously pausing on the edge of the table. A moment later, the unexpected encounter from last night suddenly came to mind—Wang Tingxi had been accidentally bumped into by him, and the way she scrambled to grab the door frame still carried a hint of lingering embarrassment.

I'm afraid I'll see her again.

"It's scheduled for next Friday," my colleague said, pushing the itinerary towards me.

"Okay, I understand." He answered readily, and the corners of his mouth unconsciously relaxed as he nodded.

I actually felt a little hopeful about it.

If we bump into each other again, exchange a few words, even if it's just handing over a bottle of water or asking, "Is the air conditioning too cold?"

--etc!

He abruptly stopped, as if he had stepped on emergency brakes, forcefully snapping his mind away.

the other side.

Li Jiayu sat opposite Yan Lixing, the director of the Industry and Commerce Bureau, with two cups of tea on the coffee table that had gone half-cold.

"Director Yan, tell the truth—besides Dadi Tape Factory, are there any other tape factories registered in Shanghai right now?"

Yan Lixing, holding an enamel mug, smiled and blew a puff of hot air on it: "Young Master Li, when you asked last time, I answered very clearly: no."

He wasn't tall, had a round belly, a round face, and big eyes—he looked exactly like an honest uncle selling sweet cakes on the street corner. But Li Jiayu knew that the deeper the smile lines on this man's face, the more cunning he was; his shrewdness was evident in every bone.

"I'm not here to ask empty questions." Li Jiayu leaned forward, his gaze fixed on the warehouse. "I've already verified the address—Building B7, No. 3 Storage Park, eastern suburbs of Linwa County."

"Oh? Linwa County..." Yan Lixing slowly put down the jar, tapped his temple with his finger, "Isn't that under Director Zhang's jurisdiction? You should ask him."

Li Jiayu didn't respond to that, but lowered his voice slightly: "Director Yan, you've been in this business for decades, how do you spell 'piracy'?"

"Copying and distributing without authorization..." Yan Lixing answered casually, but his voice suddenly stopped. His eyelids twitched, and his smile froze on his face.

Even Qi Zhendong had taken Qi Zhendong's authorization letter to heart. Now that it had been exposed, a thin layer of sweat immediately broke out on his back.

"That's right." Li Jiayu stared at him. "They're all pirated. That violates Article 217 of the Criminal Law. If you pretend not to see it, who will take the blame for you if something happens later?"

"Is it... really a pirated copy?" Yan Lixing's Adam's apple bobbed, and this question was tantamount to admitting the truth.

Li Jiayu pulled a notepad from his briefcase and pushed it over: "Call the hotline for Starlight Records in Hong Kong now. Ask them if they've authorized any mainland record labels."

Yan Lixing didn't refuse and dialed the number immediately. A Cantonese female voice came through the receiver. He listened and took notes. After hanging up, he lowered his head and remained silent for a while before looking up and smiling, "Oh, now that you mention it, I remember—at the end of last month, a new factory did get its license, and I haven't filed the documents yet... So, I'll personally go there before 3 p.m. and deliver the whole set of materials to you."

The words were polite, but the meaning was clear: you know who's behind the roof; if you really want to force your way up, you'd better think twice.

Li Jiayu's eyes darkened as he instantly thought of that old leader in Shanghai whose every move could shake three districts. Although his father, Li Guofu, wasn't on his side, they hadn't completely fallen out. If things really escalated beyond repair, his family would be the only ones to suffer.

He nodded, his tone as calm as an ancient well: "Okay. I'll wait for your reply."

—As long as the other party is willing to stop, this matter can be left unresolved.

Yan Lixing turned around and went into the municipal office system's internal lines room, where he dialed an encrypted short number.

After hanging up the phone, Wang Hancheng sat in the rattan chair in his study, motionless for a long time. His knuckles gripped the receiver, the veins bulging slightly.

"Wang Hanli," he called out.

Wang Hanli, the younger brother, went to the United States more than 20 years ago with Qi Zhendong, the son of a capitalist, and only returned a couple of years ago due to policy changes. Wang Hancheng had always been worried: Qi Zhendong was a man who exploited loopholes and was used to speculation. His brother, having been around him, was likely influenced by him and might have gone astray. Now it seems he has indeed met his end here.

Fortunately, it was discovered early. The son, Wang Tingxuan, had only been in the police force for four months and hadn't even settled into his factory yet, so he could still extricate himself. If it had dragged on for another two months, the evidence would have been solidified, and with this crackdown, he wouldn't just be spending one night in jail, but a lifetime in prison.

At 8 p.m. that evening, Wang Tingxuan was summoned back to the old house.

"Dad, what's the rush? The factory's rushing to finish a shipment!" He kicked off his sandals as he entered, plopped down on the other end of the sofa, and said impatiently, "Sales are slow up north, but the south is waiting! Losing three thousand boxes a day means a twenty-thousand yuan less in commissions next month!"

He stared at the ledger and calculated: nearly 600,000 boxes were sold in four months, at four yuan per box, with a gross profit of 2.4 million yuan. He took 10%, and his dividends alone amounted to 240,000 yuan. At this rate, he could easily make 500,000 yuan a year—three times more than he had made in the past few years dealing in small hardware and acting as a license broker.

He had long since devoted himself to the factory, wishing he could sleep next to the recording machine.

"Urgent?" Wang Hancheng slammed his teacup on the table. "Urgent to print pirated tapes?"

Wang Tingxuan had just reached for the tea when his hand froze in mid-air. He slowly withdrew it, frowning. "Piracy? What piracy? It's fully authorized in Hong Kong, with official red seals and black ink, even the notary office has stamped it across the seam!"

"The seal is fake." The father's voice was as deep as a stone thrown into a well.

"Fake?" He scoffed. "Dad, you must be joking. Uncle is a Chinese-American, a legitimate businessman. What would he gain from fake authorizations?"

“Pah!”

With a crisp sound, the solid wood coffee table shook so hard that the cup lid jumped half an inch.

Wang Hancheng slammed his hand down, his knuckles turning white: "Tingxuan, do you believe your father, or your second uncle?"

Sitting to the side, Lu Wanchan quickly reached out and pressed down on her husband's wrist, then winked at her son, "Your dad has lung problems, don't talk back..."

Wang Tingxuan opened his mouth, but no sound came out.

Outside the window, a water truck slowly drove by, the splashing water filling the room and drowning out the quiet.

Wang Tingxuan stopped in his tracks.

His Adam's apple bobbed, and his voice was low and hesitant: "Second Uncle... is a businessman who came back from the United States. He knows the rules and regulations there much better than we do. How could he possibly tamper with copyright? Dad, are you mistaken?"

"No mistake." Wang Hancheng pressed a thin sheet of fax paper on the coffee table. "Director Yan Lixing of the Industry and Commerce Bureau just called from Hong Kong. The record company confirmed in person that they have only authorized the song to Dadi Tape Factory. It's written in black and white, an exclusive license. They haven't granted it to any other company in the country."

Wang Tingxuan didn't speak, his fingertips unconsciously digging into his palm, his face flickering between light and shadow, like the drifting shadows of clouds on a cloudy day.

"And—" Wang Hancheng's tone turned serious, "The people from Dadi Tape Factory have come knocking on the door and are blocking Yan Lixing's office. I'm holding my tongue for now. You must immediately stop production, shut down all production lines, seal off the factory, and cancel the business license as soon as possible. Otherwise, once they officially report the case, you'll be the person in charge, and you won't be able to avoid going to jail."

Upon hearing the words "going to jail," Lu Wanchan's hand trembled, and she nearly dropped her teacup. She quickly leaned forward, her voice rapid yet soft: "Tingxuan, listen to your father, this is really illegal! The factory will be shut down first thing tomorrow morning, okay? Listen to your mother, don't try to tough it out..."

"But the factory belongs to my second uncle." Wang Tingxuan lowered his eyes, his voice muffled. "I need to ask him in person first before making a decision."

"Snapped!"

The table shook violently, spilling water from the enamel mug and creating a half-circle of water stains.

"You're still asking him?!" A vein throbbed on Wang Hancheng's forehead. "He personally handed you the fake authorization letter. You made all the decisions about production, you signed off on everything, you managed the accounts—and now that something's gone wrong, he's just going to pack up and go back to the US, and you're going to go to jail for him? He's using you as a stepping stone!"

Lu Wanchan immediately chimed in, her voice light yet sharp: "Yes, Tingxuan, your second uncle and Qi Zhendong have long been thoroughly corrupted by the American ways. They're not the same second uncle they used to be. If you continue to trust him and rely on him, sooner or later they'll sell you out and you'll still be helping them count the money."

The fire in her heart actually burned brighter than anyone else's.

As the wife of the swindler and a section chief in a municipal government agency, she knew better than anyone else: her brother-in-law wasn't simply doing business; he clearly wanted to drag Wang Hancheng down with him, so that he, as the elder brother, would become their shield and protector against their illegal and disorderly conduct.

Wang Tingxuan's lips moved: "Second Uncle...it can't be that bad, can it?"

The words felt dry even to himself.

During the years he studied in the United States, his second uncle sent him rent, tuition, and daily expenses every month; his second uncle also took him to eat steak and see Broadway for the first time in New York; even when he later learned to make cassette tapes and set up production lines, he listened to his second uncle talk about "international standards" and "business logic." In those years, Wang Hanli was almost like a father to him.

To suddenly say that this person is fake is like knocking down a wall that has been built for ten years. Bricks and tiles fall down in a flurry, your hands are covered in dust, and you don't know which piece to hold onto.

"He's not the same second uncle he used to be." Wang Hancheng stared at his son. "What they call 'American ways' are a red line here. Listen to your father: cut ties cleanly, and do it sooner rather than later."

Wang Tingxuan didn't argue anymore, just nodded, turned around and left.

He drove to a villa on the outskirts of the city.

When I pushed open the study door, Wang Hanli was sitting in a wicker chair flipping through a foreign magazine. Hearing the noise, he looked up and smiled, "You've come? Have a seat."

"Second Uncle," Wang Tingxuan stood still, his voice tense, "My dad said that authorization letter is fake... Is it true?"

Wang Hanli closed the magazine, sighed, and slumped his shoulders: "Sigh... it's fake. I only completely verified it a couple of days ago."

He shook his head, looking annoyed: "It's my fault for being careless. I thought that agency had been operating in Hong Kong for thirty years and was trustworthy. Who knew they were just waiting for us to take the bait, using fake documents to rip us off."

He paused, then sat up straight, his tone resolute: "But don't worry—I've already sent someone I trust to fly over and talk directly to the record company. If it's a genuine license, it should be signed within half a month at most. Then, once the factory opens, production will resume as usual."

Wang Tingxuan paused for a moment, then remained silent.