Chapter Forty: Knowing When to Stop

Lu Kun was a bit conflicted at the moment. He still had over twenty thousand catties of sand ginger in his hands—if he sold it all at once, he could easily make two hundred thousand yuan. Two hundred thousand! Even in the years to come, that wouldn’t be a small sum, let alone now.

But if he really let his greed run wild and brazenly dumped all this sand ginger onto the market, he’d likely face no good consequences. He already had more than eight hundred thousand yuan on hand; he basically had his startup capital. Best to keep a low profile, Lu Kun sighed to himself. Those big dealers’ patience with him was probably reaching its limit.

He estimated that the small players among those dealers had about as much cash flow as he did right now. But if they thought they could force him to choke on twenty thousand catties of sand ginger, they were sorely mistaken. Heh.

...

Lu Kun called Stone and the others over and entrusted them with selling off the sand ginger.

“Brothers, I won’t beat around the bush. I called you here today because I need your help with something.”

Lu Kun smiled, then his expression grew serious.

“If you’ve got something to say, just say it—no need for all this formality,” Stone, always the straight-talker, backed Lu Kun up.

With the boss speaking out, the others were happy enough to show their support.

“That’s right, Kunzi, if you ask me, you’re just too polite sometimes,” said the honest Bamboo Pole, grinning broadly.

“Exactly, exactly…” The others chimed in, not to be outdone.

These brothers of Lu Kun and Stone had already shown their faces in the market, so it wasn’t suitable for them to sell sand ginger again. People might get suspicious and think Lu Kun wasn’t willing to quit while he was ahead.

So, he simply told them to find some distant relatives—no need for anyone clever, just honest old farmers would do. He gave them a set minimum price and had them sell in the various towns.

Before they left, Lu Kun gave a special reminder.

“Sell the sand ginger to those old farmers at ten and a half yuan per catty. The money must be settled as soon as the goods are handed over…”

Anyone with half an eye could see this was a sure-fire deal. The price of sand ginger was still soaring; it wouldn’t drop anytime soon.

Lu Kun figured, as long as he could recover ten yuan per catty, he’d be earning over two hundred thousand. That extra half yuan per catty was the commission for Stone and his six companions.

It wasn’t that Lu Kun was stingy. For just a few days’ work, each of them could make over ten thousand yuan—split evenly, that was more than a thousand apiece, enough for a dowry.

Stone’s brothers were utterly convinced this time. In the old days, they’d drifted along, never making any real money—a whole year would pass and they’d still be penniless. Unlike Stone, who had a well-connected uncle to help him out, if they ever got into real trouble, it wouldn’t be easy to get out of it.

But now, they could finally hold their heads high. With this money, who would dare call them “good-for-nothings” to their face again?

...

Lu Kun was now living the life of a retired official, seated securely in his courtyard. With money in hand, he was even too lazy to bother with the vegetable trade. The sand ginger frenzy would be over in another two weeks, and then those speculators who’d driven up the price would have their day of reckoning. He couldn’t wait to see their arrogance come crashing down.

Low profile, low profile, and once again, low profile. Important things need to be said three times.

A sharp glint flashed in Lu Kun’s eyes before his expression turned calm and serene.

“To open a teahouse, to wish for prosperity, loyalty among friends comes first; the commander comes and goes, and I, leaning on a great tree, enjoy the cool shade…”

Since Lu Kun had begun discussing business with his brothers, Mrs. Liu had tactfully retreated to the house. Now, hearing Lu Kun singing in the courtyard, she couldn’t help but smile. The tune was a bit odd, but rather charming. Underneath the gentle melody, it seemed there lurked the clash of blades and an unyielding spirit.

In his previous life, Lu Kun had loved this song and had even found a master of Qin opera to learn it from. Maybe it was force of habit, but he never minded when others teased him about his elementary school education. Only a few clever people realized just how many had been outmaneuvered by this “country bumpkin” with only a primary school diploma.

“Patience is still needed.”

Basking in the sunlight, Lu Kun held a copy of “On Protracted War,” reading with great interest. This book was the distilled wisdom of a great man’s thoughts. It had played no small part in Lu Kun’s success in his previous life.

The core of “On Protracted War” was the word ‘struggle’—teaching you how to fight, how to contend. “When the enemy advances, we retreat; when the enemy camps, we harass; when the enemy tires, we attack; when the enemy retreats, we pursue.” Relying on this sixteen-character maxim, Lu Kun had climbed step by step to his former heights.

Though he only just made it onto the Rich List, and had spent millions on public relations to get there, it was no small feat. After all, if his strength hadn’t been real, no amount of PR could have helped.

A pity, really. After finally managing to publicize his way onto the Rich List, he hadn’t even had time to start the next phase of his life before being sent back to this era.

Watching the two children chasing and laughing in the courtyard, Lu Kun’s lips curled into a faint smile.

“But this feeling isn’t bad at all. I’m lucky to have a second chance at life.”

...

“Papa, do you think the little tadpole will find its mother?” After starting school, the elder and younger girls had abandoned the old-fashioned “Daddy” for the more modern “Papa.” The one asking was the younger girl, who could nearly recite her entire preschool book from memory.

“Of course it will,” Lu Kun replied with a smile.

“Then do you know who its mother is?” The little girl asked, a hint of pride in her voice.

“Well, let Papa guess,” Lu Kun set down his book and lifted her onto his lap. “Is its mother Auntie Turtle?” he teased, deliberately giving the wrong answer, much to the girl’s frustration.

...

“Papa, you’re so bad! I’m not talking to you. The little tadpole’s mother is a frog, not a big-headed fish!”

The younger girl snatched up her book and, cheeks puffed out in indignation, ran inside to complain to Mrs. Liu about Lu Kun teasing her.

Lu Kun simply chuckled and picked up his book again, reading quietly.

He rarely left the house now, content to watch clouds drift overhead, unmoved by the turmoil beyond his little courtyard. Day after day, money seemed to find its own way to his door.

In just a few days, all the sand ginger in Lu Kun’s hands had been sold. As its price kept climbing, Stone and the others repeatedly lamented in front of Lu Kun that they’d sold it too cheaply—if only they’d waited, they could’ve fetched a much higher price per catty.

Whenever this happened, Lu Kun only smiled.

“An ordinary man is not guilty, but holding treasure makes him a target,” he thought to himself.

He advised the group to keep a low profile for a while, to stay off the streets and avoid becoming scapegoats.

They scratched their heads, confused and unsure what he meant. Only Stone’s eyes lit up, as if he half-understood.