Courtyard House: Starting with a 28-inch motorcycle

Upon closer inspection of the leave slip: a full sixteen days, written in black and white, without a single explanation, only a red stamp. Jiang Shouqin felt a lump in his throat, and a surge of anger rose within him.

"Ha, are they using the factory director as a weapon? I'd like to ask Director Yang, does the steel rolling mill still have any rules? Who has ever seen a cadre disappear for half a month?"

His mind was in turmoil. He grabbed the People's Daily from the table and twisted the edge of the newspaper with his fingertips, but his eyes did not fall on the words.

The phone suddenly rang loudly. Installing a telephone in the deputy factory director's office was as common as installing a steam valve in the workshop; He Yuzhu had already been equipped with one long ago, after all, he was a proper level 16 deputy director, and his telephone line was more secure than the soy sauce vat in the canteen kitchen.

"Feed".

He initially thought it was Director Yang calling to sound him out, and he was planning how to explain He Yuzhu's situation in detail.

But before half a sentence could even escape the microphone, Jiang Shouqin straightened his back, his posture instantly rigid, and even his Adam's apple bobbed involuntarily: "Yes, sir!"

"Yes, that's true..."

"I understand, I completely understand."

"Yes, yes, so it was a task assigned by the department! Director He didn't mention this earlier... Okay, I understand."

He hung up the phone, staring at the receiver for a full three seconds before slowly placing it back on the fork spring. His face was ashen, his fingers unconsciously digging into the table, a speck of wood embedded in his fingernails.

He never expected that He Yuzhu would have such close access to the highest levels of government—that he was the vice minister of the Ministry of Industry, whose mere stomp of his foot could loosen even the smallest screws, and who was currently the most popular successor to the minister.

"Tsk...you really have connections..."

He gritted his teeth, his voice hoarse. What could he do when his superiors spoke up? Resist? That would be like throwing his career away like a firecracker.

What he was still unaware of was that the call wasn't made by He Yuzhu himself—it was Director Zhang of the Foreign Trade Department who first contacted the Ministry of Industry, and only then did Li Huaide's father-in-law make the call.

There was no other way. He called his secretary and ordered in a deep voice, "Go and bring back Director He's leave slip."

With a stroke of the pen, he wrote the word "Agreed" in a flourish.

Time flies, and the end of the year is approaching.

He Yuzhu has been in Hong Kong Island for almost half a year. He's so busy that he barely has time to breathe, but his heart has long since flown back to Beijing—the snow pear soup stewed by Lou Xiao'e, the blue cloth shirt that Chen Xueru hung out to dry on the windowsill, the height line drawn by his son when he stood on tiptoe to reach the door frame, and He Yushui's eyes that were always filled with moisture.

At the end of the year, the Ministry of Foreign Trade needed to transport a batch of in-demand goods back to the mainland. He Yuzhu volunteered to go with the cargo ship northward.

Lou's mother originally planned to go back to see her daughter on the same boat, but Zhenghe Group and Lou's father really couldn't do without her—the accounts, legal affairs, and bank credit were all in her hands. If she left, the entire group would be like a broken erhu, buzzing but out of tune.

Today, Zhenghe Group has emerged as a rising star in the Hong Kong business world. In just over a year, its assets have ballooned to nearly 40 million, all from factories, equipment, and inventory built with real money. Its loans are as thin as a candy wrapper, and its cash flow is as stable as the tide. When HSBC saw Mr. Lou's balance sheet, they immediately approved an 80 million credit line.

The business at the Chinese medicine pharmacy was booming. Word of mouth spread like wildfire, with Hong Kong's wealthy lining up to order medicinal wines and snapping up beeswax pills, and middle-class families bringing their children for treatments on weekends – it had become a new trend. They had no shortage of goods to sell; their only concern was that the pharmacists couldn't keep up with the orders to brew the medicine.

The brewery also launched two powerful products: a special medicinal wine, of course; and another, "Zheng He Xiao Zhuo," with a rich aroma, smooth taste, and an alcohol content just right, like a handshake between old friends—neither too hot nor too cold. Hong Kong people became addicted to it, and Southeast Asian merchants placed orders after just one taste. The annual production is 13,000 tons, half of which is used as a medicinal ingredient in Chinese medicine shops, and the rest is all snapped up. Even night market vendors in Singapore use it to mix with chilled coconuts to sell.

The beverage factory's ginseng fruit drink is an even dark horse. Its three signs of "health, wellness, and deliciousness" are shining brightly, and the shelves are sold out before they are even fully stocked.

Today, just from "Zheng He Xiao Zhuo" and ginseng fruit drink, they earn more than three million yuan a year.

Not satisfied with that, Mr. Lou led his technicians to tinker with a semi-automatic washing machine—using domestically made parts with a Hong Kong-stamped casing, resulting in fast assembly, fewer malfunctions, and being the first of its kind in the world. The first batch of several thousand units sold out quickly, not only in Hong Kong, Siam, and Vietnam, but even John Bull came knocking, ordering a thousand units in one go. Mr. Lou didn't bother to ask where they were shipped to; as long as the money was in his account, that was all that mattered.

Zhenghe Group has only been established for a little over a year, and its foundation is still shallow. No matter how big its steps are, it dares not cross into Southeast Asia.

With ample funds and efficient cash flow, Lou's father stepped on the gas in shipping—acquiring two more 6,000-ton secondhand cargo ships. These old vessels, remnants of World War II, had never been hit by gunfire and were well-maintained like newlywed bedspreads, their hulls gleaming and engines humming—they could easily run for another ten years.

He still had his sights set on the dock. After several secret talks with He Yuzhu, the two hit it off immediately: the smuggling business was getting bigger and bigger, and without their own dock, it was like holding a golden bowl and begging for food; the slightest sign of trouble would expose them.

What's even more ingenious is that all the students at He Yuzhu's boxing gym who didn't have proper jobs were recruited to be the core members of the dock's security team—teaching them horse stance and grappling techniques, while also paying them wages and providing room and board. These guys were tough and tight-lipped; once they set their sights on He Yuzhu, they would jump over mountains of knives and seas of fire for him.

No matter how good the idea is, it gets stuck on two things: lack of money and lack of sellers.

Money was easy to come by. He Yuzhu quietly moved 20,000 kilograms of ten-year-old wild ginseng out of his spatial storage. In 1958, Hong Kong Island only imported 60,000 kilograms of ginseng throughout the year. By putting this batch of goods in the warehouse, he essentially controlled the throat of the entire ginseng supply chain.

Even if they slowly dump the goods and lower the price, they can still cash out 200 to 300 million Hong Kong dollars.

Lou's father pushed open the warehouse door and saw the rows of neatly stacked ginseng boxes. His legs went weak and he almost collapsed. His hands trembled as he reached into his pocket for nitroglycerin pills. Fortunately, He Yuzhu reacted quickly, administering two needles. Lou recovered, though his forehead was still damp with cold sweat.

Now, Lou's father is already half-believing and half-doubting the claim of "support from the mainland"—the price is outrageously high, how can the country give away exorbitantly priced supplies for free?

However, He Yuzhu was very tight-lipped, refusing to mention his origins, and only told Lou's father to focus on selling goods and not to worry about anything else. He only gave one instruction: "Keep a close eye on the Hong Kong authorities and don't let anyone follow the trail and find any clues."

Lou's father tried repeatedly to persuade He Yuzhu, but seeing that He Yuzhu was unmoved, he had no choice but to give up and stop asking. However, the whole warehouse of ginseng still made him tremble. Fortunately, he had built seven or eight temperature-controlled warehouses in the brewery to store raw materials for winemaking in the early years, otherwise they would have been piled up in the yard.

With this batch of goods sold, the funds immediately became available, and the matter of buying the dock could finally be pursued without hesitation.

Currently, port facilities on Hong Kong Island are scarce, entirely controlled by a few major trading companies. After six months of scouting, Mr. Lou finally identified a breakthrough point: the Blue Chimney Warehouse Terminal. It belonged to the Swire Group, but had recently been neglected; there was no sign of expansion or new ships being deployed, clearly indicating a lack of focus. Mr. Lou reasoned that either they wanted to offload a burden, or they were waiting for the right price—in any case, this was the toughest nut to crack right now.

He Yuzhu didn't get involved in this matter; whether it succeeded or not, he left it to fate. After all, the foreign firm had been based on Hong Kong Island for many years, and the best ports had long been devoured, leaving nothing for outsiders to pick and choose.

During his six months on Hong Kong Island, he was never idle. Not only did he hone his financial skills to the highest level, but he also audited electronic information engineering courses at the University of Hong Kong and the Chinese University of Hong Kong, specializing in several hard-core radar-related courses. He has already reached the maximum level in microelectronics, and the other subjects are at least at level three, with two already at level four—level three is the level of a top student from a prestigious university, level four is the level of a veteran with ten years of experience in the industry, and level five means having thoroughly mastered the intricacies and developed a self-contained system.

Learning skills through a proficiency system is like taking a shortcut over a mountain: for an ordinary person, even if they are bright, it would take twenty or thirty years of hard work to master a skill to level five. But He Yuzhu only took a little over a month, and that was while running his business and practicing in his spare time; if he had really gone into seclusion to study, his progress would probably have been even faster.

With only a month left before his return trip at the end of the year, he was confident: the few skills he had were enough to develop a more robust and sensitive radar.

He personally drew up the plans, ordered all the core components from Germany, and quietly replaced the "eyes" of his cargo ship with a new set of equipment.

Crossing the strait and dodging Taiwanese naval patrol boats will double your chances of success; traveling to and from Tianjin Port will also be much safer.

As usual, the Ministry of Foreign Trade sent a commission before the Lunar New Year—this time, they still hoped to transport meat back to the mainland. Although hybrid grains had stabilized the rice supply, people's bowls were still lacking in oil and fat, and the per capita meat consumption was as thin as paper. Lou's father simply made a decision and bought 14,000 tons of frozen meat from Australia in one go, placing the order in three batches, with the deposit paid for the first batch in September.

"Zhu Zi, is everything ready?"

Before leaving, Lou's father carefully checked everything: the gifts for Lou Xiao'e and He Yushui, as well as his guilt for missing his daughter's wedding, were all entrusted to He Yuzhu to take back without missing a single word.

"Dad, don't worry, I'll make sure Xiao'e gets her there."

As soon as she finished speaking, Lou's mother joined in, adding with a smile, "Yuzhu, now that you're back, you should start thinking about having a baby! Now that Zhenghe Group has established itself, if you have a little one, just send him to Hong Kong Island, and I'll raise him for you!"

These words sounded like they came from Lou's mother, but the way she looked at them clearly indicated Lou's father's meaning; he was just using her words to bring up the topic.

He Yuzhu scratched the back of his head and smiled as he agreed, "Mom, don't worry, I'll talk to Xiao'e as soon as I get back, and try my best to let you hold your big, healthy grandson next year!"

"Good! Good! That's right!"

Lou's mother was overjoyed.

He then boarded the ship and set sail, the deck low and the ship fully loaded with cargo, heading straight for Tianjin Port.

"Xiao He, welcome home!"

At the familiar Tianjin Port, he was greeted by Director Zhang from the Ministry of Foreign Trade.

To put it bluntly, he personally welcomed every ship from the Zhenghe Group—the goods that Lou's father and He Yuzhu brought back were more than the total amount procured by the Ministry of Foreign Trade itself.

They handled the majority of imports through national channels; however, the imports purchased by the Ministry of Foreign Trade were not only small in quantity but also often of compromised quality. Even when transshipped through companies in Hong Kong, very few good goods could be found.