Lu Congzhi had worked himself to the bone for most of his life, all for the words “success and recognition.” He had built his own brand from accessible luxury into the pinnacle of luxury, and as far as he was concerned, he had achieved his goal.
Yet now, watching Wen Rui on television surrounded by titans of the business world, he could only sigh with feeling. Some people were born in Rome; others spent their entire lives struggling, only to arrive at someone else’s starting line.
As Lu Congzhi lay dying, Yu Binbin came to the hospital and took his hand. “Old Lu, do you regret it? If you hadn’t been so proud during those four years at university, maybe you’d have gotten aboard Wen Rui’s ship. Look at you. You worked yourself into the grave, no children, nothing left behind. You turned Dingtai Group into a publicly listed company, but now you’re sick, have any of those directors come to see you? Your whole life’s been such a waste.”
Lu Congzhi smiled helplessly. “What difference does regretting it make? Or not regretting it?”
He asked in return, “What about you? Do you regret anything?”
Yu Binbin rubbed his bald head and sighed. “Of course I do. If I could do it all over again, I’d never guarantee a friend’s loan. If he hadn’t run off, I wouldn’t have had to sell my original ten-percent stake in Xinglian Century for a few million. Fuck! That stake would have been worth hundreds of billions! With that money, my dad wouldn’t have jumped off a building after he went bankrupt.”
Lu Congzhi patted his hand and offered a word of comfort. “Don’t dwell on it. Life doesn’t give you second chances.”
And then… Lu Congzhi was reborn.
He slowly sat up, looking at the white curtain hanging beside him, the bright spring sunlight beyond the window, and the young, pale face with hollow cheeks reflected in the glass.
An undernourished Lu Congzhi, at the most wretched, humiliating point he could remember.
He stared blankly, unsure whether this was some final hallucination before death.
With a swish, the curtain was drawn aside. The school doctor, wearing a white coat, asked with concern, “You’re awake? Are you still feeling unwell? You fainted from low blood sugar, so I gave you an injection of glucagon.”
“Teacher Liu?” Lu Congzhi called, still dazed.
“Mm.” Teacher Liu sat down to take his pulse and said worriedly, “You’re very weak. My preliminary diagnosis is malnutrition. I recommend you go to a major hospital for a full physical.”
It was indeed malnutrition. At this point in his life, Lu Congzhi had been mercilessly depriving himself to save enough travel money to fulfill an obsession. He ate only once a day, surviving on steamed buns and pickled vegetables, and when hunger struck, he filled himself with cold water. He had practically starved himself into a skeleton.
He never went when his roommates ate out together. When they smoked, he frowned and moved away. When they chatted and joked with one another, he sat silently to the side.
At the time, his heart had been full of grievances and resentment. The hardships of life had eaten away at his youthful spirit like poison. Anyone could see how difficult and withdrawn he was, so in a way, his isolation and exclusion had seemed inevitable.
But the Lu Congzhi here now was the man who had known half a lifetime of glory and a whole lifetime of pride, the man who had taken his own brand from accessible luxury to the very top. He might not have been the best of the best, but he was comfortably above average. He had the confidence to face poverty and the ability to deal with the obsession lodged in his heart.
“Thank you, Teacher Liu. I’ll go for a physical next week. How much do I owe for the treatment?” He reached for his phone, intending to pay through WeChat, and only after feeling around for quite a while did he remember that this was the year 2000. Smartphones hadn’t even been invented.
Why was he certain it was 2000? Because his frequent fainting spells from low blood sugar had begun in his junior year. The following two years were an ordeal that completely changed the course of his life. In his senior year, he had not even managed to graduate, and the entire computer industry had blacklisted him.
Just as in his previous life, Teacher Liu waved a gentle hand. “You don’t need to pay. I know your situation. You’re leaving for your internship next week, aren’t you? It’s better to have money in your pocket when you’re traveling. Save it for the road.”
In his last life, Lu Congzhi had stubbornly insisted on paying, unwilling to accept another person’s kindness. This time, his eyes reddened with gratitude, and he murmured his thanks.
Seeing how moved he was, Teacher Liu looked even more pleased than if he had taken the money.
“Go on, then. Once you’ve got money, eat something decent. Don’t neglect your health just because you’re young.”
“All right, I understand. I’ll come see you when my internship is over.” Lu Congzhi bowed and slowly left the infirmary.
He went to the little grove beside the lake, sat on an isolated bench, and turned through the memories of his former life, page after page. On this very day in 2000, while he was fainting from low blood sugar, the other five students in his dormitory had secretly founded Xinglian Century behind his back.
This obscure little company later went public, expanded at an astonishing pace, broke through a coordinated siege by international capital, and ultimately reached the top of the Fortune Global 500. At the height of its success, its founder, Wen Rui, mentioned the company’s beginnings in their dorm room during a media interview.
When Lu Congzhi saw the news, he had stared in stunned silence for a long time before sighing, “So it was that day.”
They’d started a company without him, planned everything behind his back, and become financially free without him. That was what had happened in his previous life.
Before his death, Yu Binbin had asked whether he regretted it, and he had avoided a direct answer. Now that he was back, all he wanted to say was: Fuck, I regretted it so much my guts turned green! If he could get aboard Wen Rui’s ship, perhaps he could finally fulfill his obsession. By taking another road, he might even accomplish what he wanted to do.
But it had already happened. He could hardly run back now, squeeze himself into their group of five, point at his own nose, and demand, “Can’t you let me in too?”
For one thing, he didn’t have a penny to his name; for another, asking would be utterly beneath his dignity. They already looked down on him, and acting that shamelessly would only make them reject him more.
His best move was to pretend he knew nothing, quickly improve his relationship with Wen Rui, and keep demonstrating his abilities until Wen Rui himself begged him to invest in Xinglian Century.
Before that, Lu Congzhi needed to find a way to earn a sum of money so he could secure a meaningful stake. Wen Rui was forceful, ruthless in business, and backed by unfathomable connections. With him around, taking a controlling interest in the company was out of the question.
Ten to twenty percent should be about right. If events followed their previous course, Xinglian would go public in a few years and continue growing at high speed. Those shares would eventually be worth hundreds of billions.
A hundred-billion-yuan fortune… Lu Congzhi exhaled softly. In his previous life, he had been a textbook example of a self-made entrepreneur who rose from nothing. Yet even in his old age, his savings amounted to only a few hundred million.
A thirty-year-old with a hundred-billion-yuan fortune… With that identity, status, wealth, and a backer like Wen Rui, how hard could it be to find one person?
At the thought, Lu Congzhi’s ambition swelled dramatically. His blood raced, and a trace of color finally returned to his pale cheeks.
He rose and headed toward his dormitory. Improving his relationship with Wen Rui couldn’t wait. If Wen Rui took a liking to him and invited him to invest, everything else would take care of itself.
Wen Rui… His background was so formidable that Lu Congzhi had never uncovered the truth, even by the time he died. All he vaguely knew from Yu Binbin was that Wen Rui’s backer was nothing less than Mount Everest.
Wen Rui had concealed it remarkably well, too. At university, no one knew just how distinguished his family was. At most, they thought he was a somewhat wealthy second-generation rich kid.
In his last life, Lu Congzhi had thought Wen Rui rather arrogant and not the sort of person he belonged with, so they’d hardly interacted. It wasn’t until Wen Rui began appearing regularly on the national evening news that he understood: Wen Rui was proud because he had the standing to be, not because he was putting on airs.
Where else but on a university campus could he come into contact with a connection of Wen Rui’s caliber? The more he thought about it, the faster he walked.
Meanwhile, a meeting was taking place in Dormitory 205.
“That’s the general outline of the articles of association. The company’s registered capital is one million yuan. I’ll put up eight hundred thousand, and you can divide the remaining two hundred thousand among yourselves.” Wen Rui tapped his pen against a notebook filled with clauses.
Yu Binbin came from a wealthy family. He raised his hand. “I’ll put in a hundred thousand.”
Wen Rui looked around at the other three. “Any objections?”
In the year 2000, very few people could produce a hundred thousand yuan at once, much less students with thin wallets.
The other three shook their heads, envy hidden in their eyes.
Song Xiuzhu smiled. “I placed first in the college entrance exam in Meizhou, so I received a fifty-thousand-yuan award. I’ve kept it in savings ever since. I’ll put up fifty thousand.”
That left Zhou Ming and Lin Yuan, neither of whom had placed first in the entrance exam, and neither of whom came from a particularly wealthy family. Still, they had won respectable prizes in various university competitions and saved some award money. They could ask their families for a little more.
“How about twenty-five thousand each?” Zhou Ming asked Lin Yuan.
Lin Yuan was dissatisfied but couldn’t contribute any more, so he nodded. “Fine!”
Wen Rui wrote on the paper, his tone gentle yet inexplicably commanding. “I’ll hold eighty percent, Yu Binbin ten percent, Song Xiuzhu five percent, and Zhou Ming and Lin Yuan two and a half percent each. As the controlling shareholder, I’ll have the final say on all company matters. But I won’t infringe on your basic interests. I’ll draft the contract and print it tonight. If you have concerns, you can take it to a lawyer tomorrow and make sure there are no traps before you sign. Once you’ve signed, though, you’ll have to get your capital ready. We can’t delay registration. Any problems?”
“None from me.” Song Xiuzhu had delicate, almost feminine looks, but he spoke decisively.
Yu Binbin waved a hand. “Give me the contract and I’ll sign it.”
Zhou Ming and Lin Yuan said nothing.
Wen Rui nodded. “Then I’ll go to the computer room and type it up.”
Computers were not yet widespread in 2000. Wen Rui considered bringing his own IBM laptop to the dormitory, but decided it would attract too much attention.
He got to his feet and leisurely put on his coat, unmistakable weariness showing on his extraordinarily handsome face. Registering the company had meant days of running around dealing with paperwork while keeping up with his classes and building a team. He’d been extraordinarily busy.
Fortunately, everything was finally ready.
Yu Binbin suddenly spoke up. “Are we really not asking Lu Congzhi? He’s very good at his major.”
Wen Rui shook his head. “His financial circumstances are difficult.”
In other words, Lu Congzhi couldn’t afford to contribute any money, and asking would only embarrass him.
Song Xiuzhu’s lips curved slightly.
But Wen Rui went on, “You’re right. He’s very capable in his field. I’ll ask him later whether he’d be interested in joining by contributing his technical expertise in exchange for shares.”
Yu Binbin said confidently, “He definitely would. Don’t be fooled by how quiet and introverted he seems. He’s actually got real drive. If you invite him to start a business with you, he’ll absolutely say yes.”
Zhou Ming agreed. “He’s even stronger technically than I am, and he’s already been recommended for postgraduate admission. If he can work with me, we’ll make much faster progress in R&D.”
Lin Yuan said nothing, instinctively glancing at Song Xiuzhu.
Song Xiuzhu’s faintly upturned lips had pressed into a straight line. His thick lashes lowered, hiding the displeasure in his eyes. He took out his phone and fiddled with it for a moment. Several text messages quietly arrived on Wen Rui’s phone.
Feeling it vibrate, Wen Rui took out his phone and read them without revealing anything.
The first message: [Don’t let Lu Congzhi become a shareholder.]
The second: [We grew up in the same orphanage. The director liked me better, so he was jealous and constantly picked fights with me. You can see that for yourself. Letting someone so narrow-minded and difficult to communicate with join the team would only tear it apart. Plenty of people at our school are technically capable. We don’t need him.]
The third: [Why do you like me? Can you give me a few reasons?]