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

The young master who had joined the fight shook his head, his voice muffled: "Young Master Wei, it's really not worth going head-to-head with Li Jiayu."

He's never been abroad, and his household registration is in Changning District of Shanghai. He knows what's important—the two families have never crossed paths, and their businesses have never intersected. Why would he ruin things over a moment of anger? Lose money to gain publicity?

"No matter how arrogant Li Jiayu is, he can't be arrogant enough to get close to me," Wang Tingwei sneered, his voice carrying a harsh, metallic scraping quality.

The young master's expression froze, and his fingertips unconsciously dug into his palm.

These words sound like they're talking about Li Jiayu, but they're clearly insulting him—so if I'm afraid of him, it means I'm a coward?

Damn! I offered a kind piece of advice, and you call me a spineless coward?

"Uncle, I'm really sorry for this, I've dragged you into this." Li Jiayu said in a deep voice as he walked down the road.

Last time he clashed with Wang Tingwei, he was the one who stood up for him; Li Guoshu didn't say a word the whole time, not even raising an eyebrow. This time, it's a sure thing that he was the one who got beaten up.

Li Guoshu stretched his shoulders a couple of times and grinned, "It's nothing. I reacted quickly, I only took three or four hits, just superficial wounds, I don't even need a plaster."

He pointed to the corner of his mouth—where a layer of light red scab had formed; then he patted his ribs: "I got hit here, it hurts dully, but it's not broken."

Wang Tingwei wasn't faring much better: his lips were cracked, and there was a shoe print on his stomach. In the end, neither side gained an advantage, and neither lost face.

"Uncle, I can't swallow this insult for you." Li Jiayu's voice wasn't loud, but it was as firm as a block of iron falling to the ground. "Don't worry, I'll definitely get him back."

"Let me warn you first—there's a crackdown going on right now, things are tense." Li Guoshu lit a cigarette, the flame flickering. "Your dad specifically mentioned to me the other day that we should be patient and wait until this period is over before taking action, so it'll be clean and efficient."

"Understood." Li Jiayu nodded, his eyes calm. "I know what I'm doing."

"Snapped!"

The sharp sound startled the office chandelier, causing it to sway.

Qian Ge had just seen off the last police officer, the veins on his forehead still throbbing, when he turned around and called in the waitress who had called the police. He slapped her hard across the face, so hard that her ears were ringing.

"Who gave you the guts to call the police on your own?!" His voice was hoarse, like sandpaper grinding iron. "What kind of place is this disco? A sensitive business! And you, you just invited the police in—are you trying to close down because business is too good?!"

The girl covered her face, tears streaming down her face: "Brother Qian, I was wrong... Please give me another chance..."

"No need to come anymore." Qian Ge ripped off his tie and slammed it on the table. "Starting tomorrow, don't come to work."

"Brother Qian... I beg you!" Her knees buckled, and she almost knelt down.

"Don't you understand?" Qian Ge leaned down, his voice lowering. "Those young masters almost got handcuffed—gang fighting, enough for six months in jail. Who do they hate? You! Do you think you could walk out of that door safely without anyone protecting you?"

He paused, his gaze sweeping over her pale face: "Firing you is to save your life. You have to take the blame; I have to hand over this job. Luckily, it's a crackdown, otherwise—you wouldn't even have a chance to pack your things."

At six o'clock in the morning, the sunlight was suppressed by gray clouds.

Wang Tingxi rolled over on the hotel bed. The dull ache of a hangover crept up from her temples, and her limbs felt languidly sore, yet a strange sense of satisfaction swelled in her chest.

She squinted, bit her lower lip, and said, word by word, "Li Guoshu...you little bastard, you've got some nerve! How many times have I warned you, but you just ignore me? Fine, you wait—I'll make you regret this."

She was genuinely angry, but not to the point of a full-blown falling out. After all, this was the third time. She hadn't said a word the first two times, and the same thing happened this time—angry as she was, she wouldn't call the police.

In the bathroom, she wiped off her lipstick in front of the mirror, then suddenly sneered, "Hmph, you think you can't smell me just because you dried me off?"

Shuyu Real Estate Company, Manager's Office.

Li Jiayu put down the phone, tapped his fingertips on the table twice, and a cold smile appeared on his lips: "Heh...you came quickly."

He got up and walked to the window, pushing it open a crack. A damp, cool breeze rushed in.

"Wang Tingwei, if you punch my uncle, I'll demolish your cousin's factory."

The call was from Li Jiacheng, Wang Tingxuan's brother in Beijing—pirated cassette tapes were still selling like hotcakes, and the source hadn't been cut off. The illegal workshop hidden at No. 20 Hangtou Road in Pudong was under Wang Tingxuan's protection.

Report it? Don't hesitate.

If the police conduct a surprise inspection, the unlabeled cassette tapes on the production line, the pirated master tapes piled up next to the pressing machine, and the neatly stacked "Hong Kong and Taiwan Golden Hits Compilation" in the warehouse... are all irrefutable evidence.

Wang Tingxuan will be imprisoned for at least three years.

He immediately dialed two numbers, speaking calmly and deliberately: "Old Zhang, get three cars; A-Zhe, have the brothers prepare USB drives—tonight at eight o'clock, at No. 20 Hangtou Road, take them all."

Three days later, in the afternoon.

The sky was as dark as if it had been soaked in ink. The sun had been hiding behind the clouds since morning, the wind had stopped, the air was so thick you could wring water out of it, and even the sycamore leaves drooped their heads, motionless—a scene straight out of the silence before a storm.

Damaiwan Industrial Park.

In Pudong District of Shanghai, starting at 3 p.m., several silver-gray vans began to park outside the factory building at No. 20 Hangtou Road. They were scattered at intersections, in gaps in the wall, and next to abandoned guard posts, their windows tinted dark, moving silently.

It's exactly five o'clock.

All car doors opened simultaneously.

More than a dozen uniformed police officers jumped out of the car and marched in unison towards the factory gate.

The wind finally stirred.

"Bang! Bang! Bang!"

The metal gate hummed loudly from three consecutive dull thuds. The leader, dressed in a crisp dark green uniform with epaulets gleaming coldly in the setting sun, was Wang Ruibo, the head of the city bureau's action team.

The rustling sound of slippers scraping the floor came from inside. A moment later, the small door to the security room opened, and a middle-aged man in his forties peeked out, his hair slightly disheveled and his fingers still stained with half-dried tea. He squinted and scanned the area outside, his voice hoarse from just waking up and with a barely perceptible tension: "Who is it?"

His gaze peeked through the crack in the door, and a row of neatly standing uniformed figures came into view. His Adam's apple bobbed, his face suddenly turned pale, and his shoulders involuntarily shrank back half an inch.

"We are police officers." Wang Ruibo's voice was calm and even, but each word resonated deeply. "We have received a report with a real name alleging that your factory is suspected of illegally copying audio-visual products. Open the door and cooperate with the inspection."

"Oh...oh! It's...it's the police!" the man responded quickly, his words coming out as if his tail had been stepped on. "Please wait a moment, just a moment! I'll start right away—"

Before he could finish speaking, he suddenly turned around, his shoes scraping against the concrete with a short, sharp sound, and ran into the depths of the factory area, his back view as hurried as a startled sparrow.

"They've escaped!" Wang Ruibo's eyelids twitched, and he immediately raised his hand to press the earpiece. "Xiao Zhou, pull the car forward! Break down the door!"

"The east wall and the west back alley are completely sealed off—not even a sparrow is allowed to fly out!"

"boom--!"

"Clang—!!!"

A dusty bread truck swerved sharply, its front end slamming into a rusty iron gate. The hinges snapped, the gate flipped inward, kicking up a cloud of choking dust.

The police officers quickly dispersed, striding across the open gap. Their footsteps echoed on the empty factory floor, each one steady and heavy.

At the same time, thirty kilometers away, the tin roof of an inconspicuous brick-and-mortar warehouse in the southern suburbs of the county town was also torn off. Several boxes of unopened cassette tapes were scattered on the muddy ground, with blurry pictures of Hong Kong and Taiwan singers printed on the labels, and the tape seals still stuck with undried paste.

—At this moment, in that beige detached villa on the outskirts of Shanghai, the air conditioner was humming softly.

"Second Uncle, when will the authorization letter finally be signed?"

Wang Tingxuan slammed the crumpled draft contract onto the coffee table, his fingertips tapping unconsciously on the glass. Two weeks had passed, and not even a first draft was finalized. What he saw wasn't paper, but bundles of banknotes—not even warmed before they slipped through his fingers.

Wang Hanli crossed his legs, slowly unwrapped a mint, popped it into his mouth, and then spoke: "Soon. They're still negotiating over there. You know, the copyright is in their hands, so the price naturally goes up. If we rush to agree, they'll immediately add another 20%—in business, whoever gives in first loses." He paused, the candy wrapper making a soft crunch between his fingers. "That's the first lesson I learned from the old Jewish captain at the New York docks."

"Yes, yes, Uncle is absolutely right." Wang Tingxuan nodded hurriedly, his anxiety largely subsided by these words. Indeed, the worst thing at the negotiating table is to be flustered; a moment of panic can expose one's true intentions. Wasn't the same true for the contract with the official factory?

"Haha, it's good to have drive." Wang Hanli patted his nephew's arm with a smile, his palm thick and warm. "Young people, if they want to get things done, they need to be ready to take the plunge. I understand."

None of them noticed the gray pigeon perched on the treetop outside the window. Just as its wings folded, the sound of sirens grew louder, cutting through the lazy afternoon breeze.

Doorbell rang.

Crisp, short, three presses in a row.

Wang Hanli looked up at the security screen in the entryway—seven or eight figures stood quietly outside the ornate iron gate, their dark green uniforms with clean shoulder lines and their hats pulled down neither too high nor too low. He frowned, and a vein throbbed slightly on his forehead.

"Are they from the police station?" Wang Tingxuan leaned closer to the screen, his eyes narrowing. "No... they're from the municipal bureau."

Wang Hanli didn't answer, but got up and walked towards the door, his slipper straps hanging loosely on his heels. As he walked, he thought: There's only one thing recently that can't stand scrutiny. Nothing else, really.

Wang Tingxuan followed behind, his shirt sleeves rolled up to his forearms, his fingers unconsciously fiddling with the seams of his trousers.

When the iron gate opened a crack, Wang Ruibo was standing on the third step. He immediately recognized the young man standing under the eaves—his target, Wang Tingxuan. But he didn't speak, only looking down at a faint scratch on his glove, as if counting his breaths.

"Director Wang?" Wang Hanli forced a smile, his tone familiar. "What a rare guest! If you wanted to see me, a simple phone call would have sufficed. Why bother coming all this way in person?"

Wang Ruibo raised his eyes, his gaze calmly sweeping across Wang Tingxuan's face before returning to Wang Tingxuan, like a bucket of cold water poured on a hot pan: "Mr. Wang, the door is open, so we'll come in."

"Oh... okay, come in."