"Brilliant."
Wang Yaofa clapped his hands abruptly. "A battle between men is really all about psychological tactics."
"Ah, if only I'd known, I wouldn't have chosen economics. Even after studying it, I'll just end up inheriting the family business. I should've studied psychology instead."
"From now on, my romantic pursuits would be completely unstoppable—charging forward and knocking down Mount Buzhou."
The more Wang Yaofa thought about it, the more regretful he felt, until he suddenly remembered the money-making scheme they had just discussed, which brought his mind back to reality.
For a guy, aside from girls, only making money could spark any real interest. Since he'd picked the wrong major, he couldn't give up on the other option; between girls and making money, you had to have at least one.
"What was that about you wanting to make money just now?"
Liu Chuanfeng glanced at the sports lottery shop by the roadside. This year was 2014, and the World Cup was about to feature a massive upset. After all these years, the only match he truly remembered was Germany versus Brazil; he honestly didn't have the slightest impression of any of the others. He felt a bit envious of those transmigrators—how did their brains work so well?
Still, it didn't matter. One match was enough, provided he saved up as much money as possible right now. Even an extra single yuan would make a difference.
Calculating the time, there should still be a little over a week left.
"I want to make thirty million before heading to Shanghai, and then stop."
"Huh?"
"What?"
Wang Yaofa figured he must have misheard. "You mean three thousand, right?"
Liu Chuanfeng glanced at him. "Thirty million."
"Heh."
Wang Yaofa let out a cold laugh and triggered his taunt skill: "Stop joking. My old man said the exact same thing when I was little, and to this day, his savings still aren't thirty million."
Liu Chuanfeng thought for a moment and sighed. "That's a movie line, you know?"
"Don't you think that sounds pretty badass?"
"Oh, oh."
"Okay, maybe a little pretentious."
Only then did Wang Yaofa relax. So it turned out his own exposure was just lacking and he hadn't caught his buddy's reference, rather than his brother losing his mind.
Unless someone was roaring drunk, nobody was going to bet on a 7:1 scoreline. Liu Chuanfeng felt it was best not to tell even his closest friends about this. It wasn't that he didn't want to get rich together with his brothers, but if something unexpected happened down the road, he wouldn't be able to handle the consequences.
Yet somehow, they would find out eventually. A massive sum of money would suddenly appear, and no matter how hard he tried to hide it, he wouldn't be able to.
That meant he had to figure out a way to make the money himself without raising too many suspicions.
"Living in a place like Shanghai still comes down to the cash in your hand. If you want to live even a little comfortably, having money is an absolute prerequisite."
Wang Yaofa didn't have much of a concept for this. "My monthly allowance is two thousand. When I get to university, it's bound to double at the very least. Does that count as having money?"
"It counts!"
Liu Chuanfeng said fiercely. Comparing yourself to others really could drive you crazy; his own monthly allowance in high school had been only a thousand, which was already considered quite high. After starting university, his parents in his past life had given him anywhere from two thousand five to three thousand a month.
Compared to many of his peers, that was significantly higher. Most people fell in the one to two thousand range, and anything over two thousand meant you were living fairly comfortably. But he was different—he was heading to the Shanghai Theatre Academy, where everyone from the dirt poor to the obscenely rich could be found.
Even the poor weren't all that destitute, though. In the arts, how many people hadn't been raised on expensive training since childhood? It all depended on how and who you compared yourself to.
"When I went to the campus yesterday, I noticed quite a few construction sites nearby."
"Construction sites?"
Wang Yaofa was momentarily stunned. "Are there any ways to make money at a construction site?"
He really didn't know much about this. Were they supposed to sell building materials? That required establishing connections and networking; basically, every contractor had fixed suppliers—it wasn't something you could just walk into whenever you felt like it.
"There are."
Liu Chuanfeng said with absolute certainty: "I asked the owner of the small supermarket yesterday."
"There are three construction sites over there in total, with three residential zones per site. Add them up and you get around four or five hundred workers, mostly outsiders. Most of them rely on their boss's mess hall for meals."
"They pay the boss three hundred yuan a month to cover lunch and dinner, but the food is terrible—just rice, Chinese cabbage, and some kind of watery soup."
"The workers' meals are completely bland, so a lot of them often gather together in the evenings to hit up small eateries and order a couple of stir-fried dishes."
"So you want to run a roadside food stall?"
Wang Yaofa caught the drift. His brain was actually quite sharp: "Running a food stall means you need carts, chairs, and tents. I can go back and ask my old man if he has any channels for that, but even if we get them, it'll still cost over ten thousand."
"Plus, you have to know how to cook. For one thing, I don't know how; the most I can do is help you collect the cash."
"We're not doing a food stall."
"Too much trouble."
Having a family with a business really made a difference. Liu Chuanfeng still had a lot of appreciation for his buddy. He himself was a transmigrator who had already started businesses before, whereas the other guy spent money every day, yet the moment entrepreneurship came up, he immediately understood that cost and technique were the core of starting a business."
"If we're not doing a food stall, what are you doing?"
Wang Yaofa was completely baffled now, sweat already beading on his forehead—a clear sign of mental overload.
Liu Chuanfeng didn't beat around the bush: "I can handle the cooking, but running a food stall is too costly. We're going to sell pre-made meals."
"Pre-made meals?"
He recognized all three words individually, but strung together, Wang Yaofa couldn't picture how it actually worked.
"Go back and help me check if anyone sells aluminum lunch boxes and what the wholesale price is. Oh, and disposable chopsticks, too."
"I don't have much time left, so I need to get this off the ground."
Liu Chuanfeng's gaze lingered once more on the sports lottery shop. His primitive accumulation of capital would depend entirely on it.
"Hurry back and ask around. When the time comes, I'll take you along for the ride."
"Whatever."
"The amount doesn't matter, it's the participation that counts."
For his first venture into business, Wang Yaofa felt the exact amount of money wasn't very important; gaining experience mattered most.
His old man, Wang Defa, thought the same way. After listening to his son's account, Wang Defa was in a pretty good mood, feeling that the name he'd chosen for his son was spot on. Back then, the whole family had disagreed, calling the name too rustic.
Hah, what did they know? He was the visionary father, after all.
Not only had the boy tested into a tier-one university, becoming the first undergraduate in the family, but on top of that, he was now thinking about starting a business. Look at that—so driven! Wasn't this a sign that their Old Wang family was finally going to strike it rich?
He knew Liu Chuanfeng, too. The son of Lawyer Liu and Accountant Sun, he'd always studied hard since he was little and was a handsome kid to boot. Wang Yaofa had only started improving his studies after following him around. He'd thought the kid had lost his mind wanting to study directing, but now it seemed the youngster had a mind of his own.
Since the kids wanted to stir up something during summer vacation, he was quite supportive. Lessons told to you by others might not stick, but experience you gained yourself was an invaluable treasure.
"Don't look at those migrant workers on the construction sites and think they're poor just because they dress poorly or smoke cheap cigarettes. They've got plenty of cash in their hands."
Wang Defa had seen a lot and knew a lot, so he offered a warning: "Some college graduates end up earning less money out in the world than these guys do."
"If you want to pry money out of their pockets, though, it all depends on the value of what you're selling."
"If the price is too high, they definitely won't be willing. With that kind of money, they'd rather go back to the dorms and play cards."
"If the price is too low, you won't make any money yourself. You have to strike the right balance with the pricing."
"And one more thing, which is the most important."
"This business idea belongs to him, and he's the one doing the cooking. The most you're doing is helping out. If he's willing to split the money with you, take at most twenty percent. Even if he tries to shove more at you, don't take it."
Wang Defa had seen too many friendships ruined over business ventures, which was why he drilled this final point home the most.