Chapter 55: A Little Favor

Fifteen minutes later, Huang Guolun strolled leisurely to the roadside in front of the Zixing Mansion community, waiting for Yao Dajun. In the distance, he saw a black Passat driving toward him. Even from afar, Yao Dajun couldn’t wait and was already waving at Huang Guolun.

With sharp eyes, Huang Guolun could see Yao Dajun through the windshield. As the car approached, Huang Guolun’s eyes lit up. It turned out Yao Dajun wasn’t driving a Passat, but a Phaeton!

Yao Dajun pulled up in front of Huang Guolun and leaned over from the driver’s seat to open the passenger door for him. Huang Guolun got in and immediately praised him, “Not bad, Dajun! Haven’t seen you for a few months and you’re driving a Phaeton now!”

“What are you talking about? This isn’t mine. It’s my boss’s car. Just finished the maintenance, so I took it out for a spin.”

“Oh, I see. I thought you struck it rich.”

“Rich, my ass. If anything, I’ve been losing money lately.” A wry, unspoken smile crossed Yao Dajun’s handsome face.

Among their childhood gang, Yao Dajun was the best-looking—starry brows, bright eyes, broad shoulders and sturdy build, with a look a bit reminiscent of the comedic actor Allen: striking and energetic. At first encounter, others might think he was a bit slow-witted, but that was just a disguise. Yao Dajun was no fool like Zhang Liang, the big lug; he was sharp and a bit sly, though that was only toward outsiders. With his own people, he was loyal to a fault.

When they were kids and got into gang fights with other children, the oldest—Huang Guokun—along with Knife, Furball, and the others, always led the charge. The tallest and strongest, Yao Dajun, would also rush to the front, but after a few shouts to intimidate the opposition, he would look for a chance to slip away, leaving the fighting to Huang Guokun and the rest while he lobbed bricks into the crowd from the rear.

When the fight was over, Yao Dajun would get fired up again, aggressively smashing the other kids’ bikes, puncturing their tires, removing their seats, and breaking off their pedals—always looking for the most ruthless way to vent.

The youngest, Huang Guolun, often hung around with the group but never fought; he was the lookout. If things looked bad, he’d urge Huang Guokun and the others to run for it. If the other side was too tough and his friends were getting the worst of it, he’d jump out and pretend to shout that the police were coming, trying to break up the fight.

None of their crew—regardless of family background—were considered traditional “good kids.” Huang Guolun might have seemed obedient at home, but during his adolescence, he got up to far more mischief with Huang Guokun and the others than the so-called good students he now taught at a top high school.

But as time went by, those once-troubled youths gradually matured, abandoned their brawling and mischief, got proper jobs or started businesses, and settled into respectable lives. The wild, rebellious years of their youth became cherished memories, always brought up over drinks.

Unlike the Huang brothers, who both went to college, Yao Dajun only finished a vocational school before starting work as an intern at a hotel, beginning his life in society. Later, he joined an engineering boss as a driver, a job he’s held for nearly a decade. As the boss’s projects grew, Yao Dajun stuck with him loyally and rose with the tide; now, he was doing quite well, making five or six hundred thousand a year—better than most white-collar workers.

Huang Guolun knew that money wasn’t usually a problem for Yao Dajun.

But today, Yao Dajun had said he needed to talk in person, and upon meeting, mentioned a recent financial loss. This made Huang Guolun wonder if Yao Dajun was having money troubles.

He tested the waters, asking, “Have you been playing the stock market lately?”

“Me? I don’t know the first thing about stocks, not interested either.”

“Then what happened to your money?”

“Ah, damn, just down on my luck!” Yao Dajun cursed and spat. “Let’s head to Xinghui Billiards while we talk. I already called Furball and the others; they’ll meet us there.”

“Alright,” Huang Guolun said, rubbing his hands with a smile. “I can’t wait to beat you guys.”

Yao Dajun shot him a look of contempt. “Who’s beating whom? Same old rules—whoever goes to the bathroom first is the loser!”

“Did you get the cola?”

“Of course! Two whole cases in the trunk!”

Their group never gambled for money when they played pool; instead, they bet on bladder endurance. They played American eight-ball: for every ball lost, you had to chug a can of cola—no debts, drink on the spot. If you lost seven balls in one game, you had to down seven cans in a row. Whoever gave in and went to the bathroom first lost.

Huang Guolun had come prepared, making sure to empty his bladder completely before leaving home; he was sure the others did the same, all aiming for victory. Silly as it was, their group of grown men found it hilarious.

After chatting a bit, Huang Guolun pressed again about Yao Dajun’s financial woes.

“Ah, this time I really got screwed! Last week, my wife was playing PUBG on the computer, got thrashed by someone, and in her anger, she kicked my computer case. Out popped my secret stash card I’d hidden inside. Damn! There was over three hundred thousand yuan in private savings on that card—all confiscated by her!” Yao Dajun pointed bitterly at his own face. “Look at these grooves by my eyes; I cried my eyes out!”

Huang Guolun laughed. “You’re such an idiot. Why hide your stash card in the computer case?”

“How was I supposed to know she’d kick it?” Yao Dajun grumbled. “It was just bad luck; one kick and out it comes! Now I’m back to being a pauper—so damn depressing!”

“Did you try talking to her, ask her to give some back?”

“Give it back? What are you thinking? You know how fierce my wife is. I’m lucky she doesn’t make me kneel and beg for forgiveness every day, let alone dare ask for my money back.”

“Didn’t you have another hiding place? I remember you once said you had money stashed under the vinegar jar on your balcony. You even told us, if anything ever happened to you, we should tell your wife about it.”

“That was years ago—she found that one ages back!”

“Man, you really are out of luck.” Huang Guolun observed a moment of silence for Yao Dajun’s lost savings. “If you’re strapped for cash, I can lend you some.”

“No way, that’s embarrassing. It’s not urgent anyway. I just feel uneasy without my own stash—don’t even dare go out for fun.”

“So what do you want to do?”

“Well, if you’ve got some spare cash, I’ve got a quick money-making opportunity I wanted to discuss.”

“How does it work?”

Yao Dajun patted the steering wheel. “See this car? It’s a 2015 4.2-liter top luxury Phaeton, V8 engine, barely two years on the road, less than 20,000 kilometers. My boss doesn’t want it anymore—he wants to sell.”

“Why doesn’t he want it? Something wrong with it?”

“No, the car’s perfect, not a single issue, drives like a dream.”

“Then why’s he getting rid of it?”

“He’s just fed up with it. Driving this car doesn’t bring any prestige—the front’s got a VW badge. Even when people recognize it as a Phaeton, it feels cheap. My boss has been trying to curry favor with a certain official, used to always drive him around in an S500. But the official said it was too flashy, not good for his image, asked for something more low-key but still impressive. So my boss bought a Phaeton. But when he used it to pick up the official, the guy just laughed and said he might as well come in a Passat. After a couple of rides, the official wouldn’t get in anymore—he’d rather use his own A6 than be seen in the Phaeton. Said it was too lame.”

Huang Guolun shook his head. “What kind of official is that, so picky?”

“Exactly! These officials are all about putting on airs these days, with the most refined tastes. Even the Phaeton isn’t good enough. My boss ended up getting an A8 just for him, so the Phaeton was left unused. Then a friend borrowed it for a wedding. My boss’s other luxury cars weren’t available, so he lent out the Phaeton. The friend wasn’t satisfied either, said the VW badge ruined the effect. The Phaeton ended up as the last car in the wedding procession—my boss was furious.”

After a sip of water, Yao Dajun continued, “But that wasn’t the worst. Last month, I was driving my boss somewhere, stopped for gas, and a couple of young guys recognized the car. One was really impressed, said, ‘Wow, a top Phaeton, awesome!’ My boss was happy, finally someone who knew cars. Then the other kid said, ‘Can’t believe anyone’s dumb enough to actually buy a Phaeton!’ My boss was so mad he almost beat them up.”

“Haha, aren’t you exaggerating?”

“No, it really happened. After that, my boss didn’t want the car anymore. He wanted to use it to settle a debt, pay off a contractor. You know how it is in the engineering business—if the client doesn’t pay, you can’t pay the folks under you, so they use luxury cars for payment. It’s a bit of a scam. The contractors are in a tough spot: take the car or get nothing. It’s all about who can outmaneuver whom. The slyest makes the most.”

Huang Guolun had nothing to say to that.

“My boss used to pay with BMWs, Benzes, Range Rovers, and the contractors had no choice but to take them. But this time, when he offered the Phaeton at 600,000 yuan—way below market price—they flatly refused, said it was too low-class. My boss was at his wit’s end. He told me to take it to Huaxiang and sell it to a used car dealer. Anything over 600,000 was fine.”

Huang Guolun saw where this was going. “So you want to buy it yourself and resell it for a profit?”

Yao Dajun grinned, “Exactly. My boss paid 1.1 million for this new, with some connections. Even now, the cheapest ones sell for 1.4 million. I checked Huaxiang; you barely see used Phaetons there, and if you do, they’re always the 3.0 base model. I saw one 4.2, an older 2011 model, worse condition than this one, but still listed at 600,000. Ours could easily fetch 800,000 if we’re patient. The dealers only offered me 650,000, way too low, so I didn’t sell. I was thinking, if you’ve got the cash, buy it for 600,000. I’ll help you sell it, and whatever profit we make, we split fifty-fifty. What do you think?”

Huang Guolun laughed, “So this is the ‘favor’ you wanted to ask?”

Yao Dajun smiled sheepishly, “One of them. I talked to your brother first, but he said his finances are even tighter than mine, so he told me to ask you.”

“No problem for me,” Huang Guolun replied readily. “If you think it’s a good deal, go for it. Just don’t rip me off.”

“Who am I ripping off? I just don’t want those used car sharks ripping us off. This car could easily sell for 900,000 and still be a steal for the buyer!”

“Alright, just let me know when you need the money and I’ll transfer it.”

“Man, you’re the best! Way more generous than your brother!”

Huang Guolun defended his brother. “He’s promoting a new movie at his company, all that advertising costs a ton. He really is short on cash right now. If he wasn’t, he’d have helped you for sure.”

“Fair enough. You’re both stand-up guys. I’ll tell my boss I sold the car to a friend.”

“Do what you need to do. And when we sell it, you keep all the profit; just pay me back for the car.”

“No way! We split any profit fifty-fifty!”

“You’re sure? If you insist, I’ll take it,” Huang Guolun joked.

Sure enough, Yao Dajun changed his tune. “Heh, if you’re really flush, you can just give it all to me! After my wife cleaned me out, I’m broke. Without some cash in reserve, I feel my very soul withering.”

“Quit being sappy. You said this was just one thing—what’s the other?”

Yao Dajun relaxed. “The other thing’s minor. If you guys can help, great. If not, don’t force it—it’s not really important.”

“What is it?”

“You know my nephew—Yao Ming? Last year he entered the ‘Super Boy’ audition and was noticed by a record company. Got excited and signed a contract, only to find out later it was a scam.”

“I know about that—my brother told me.”

“Yeah, if it hadn’t been for your brother, we wouldn’t have gotten him out of it. This year, he wants to try ‘Super Boy’ again. Last year he made it to the regional semifinals but not the main competition. This year, he wants another shot. But he heard that only contestants with record company backing get into the finals, regular guys can’t make it. So he came to me, asking if he could join your Kunlun Culture company. He thinks your company is legit—way better than those scam outfits. He wants to see if Kunlun Culture can help him get on ‘Super Boy’.”