Zhao Dong stood, casually closing the browser on his computer.
“Bestselling author, young screenwriter…”
Hmph, how much could that earn?
Wealth accumulation is slow early on. The Zhao family’s fortune took three generations, built through less-than-honest means, but most wouldn’t even have their luck to rise that way.
Zhao Dong’s logic was self-consistent. He felt no shame in how his father and aunt amassed wealth. Most people, he thought, were hypocrites, preaching morality but would jump at the chance to live off others faster than the Zhaos if given the opportunity.
Besides, after returning to China and careful branding, the Zhao family is seen as a refined overseas merchant family, descended from a Qing dynasty scholar, investing in their homeland’s progress.
No one knows their past, and he would forge a brighter future.
Three generations of wealth—how could a girl from an ordinary Rongcheng family compare?
A bit of royalty money might seem big to common folk, but to the truly rich, it’s pocket change.
China’s publishing industry is small. Becoming the next J.K. Rowling is impossible. A hit book brings piracy—sell a million legitimate copies, and pirated ones might sell several times more.
Fame grows, but the money goes to pirate publishers, not the author, even if millions are sold.
This thought cheered Zhao Dong up. No matter how big a splash she made, Wen Ying was just a girl, unworthy of his envy. Before heading out, he reminded his secretary to bring extra copies of *The Zhao Family Chronicles* to gift.
Xie Jinghu’s idea was clever. At any meeting or banquet, gifting *The Zhao Family Chronicles* for “refined feedback” instantly opened conversations.
Far better than handing out business cards.
A card holds a few lines; a book carries much more.
Even if recipients didn’t read it, *The Zhao Family Chronicles* was a perfect way to learn about Zhao Dong.
He’d been on TV talk shows, discussing the Zhao family’s noble traditions and modern success, crafting an image of a cultured merchant and patriotic elite.
This not only integrated him into Rongcheng’s cultural circle but cemented his persona.
Local authorities had heard of Zhao Dong. If he could secure funding, granting him the amusement park license wasn’t out of the question—before, he wasn’t even on their radar. Without the means to develop, a license would just be for resale profit, so why not give it to a capable conglomerate?
A new amusement park isn’t about land transfer fees—it creates jobs, boosts tourism, and could become a city landmark.
Rongcheng, in the southwest basin, carries the ancient Shu legacy, but relying solely on historical charm won’t do in the modern era.
Beyond heritage, it needs new labels.
Wen Ying’s group had sparked a food festival for their snack stall, showing Director Lü the power of “cuisine” as a city hallmark.
Food, pandas, old teahouses, and a laid-back lifestyle define Rongcheng.
But it also needs youthful energy—a major amusement park to attract the young!
Last year’s approved park is under construction.
It doesn’t block new approvals.
A seasoned conglomerate is interested, with funds and expertise, while Rongcheng has the demand and land for licenses. It’s a perfect match, just needing final terms to ensure a win-win, making negotiations long and intricate.
Both sides use subtle tactics.
Investors hint at other city options to pressure faster signing, while the government suggests they have other suitors.
It’s a dance of probing and bargaining, typical in business.
Zhao Dong muscled in during this, initially lacking the funds until he partnered with Xie Jinghu. His plan was to secure the license, then pull in investors.
A nice dream, but local governments aren’t easily fooled anymore, no longer swayed by foreign investors. Before his image overhaul, Zhao Dong’s attempt to leverage a small base for a massive project was delusional.
Now, things have changed.
Some cultural and tourism officials actually believe in his capability.
A polished image and earnest attitude make him a fallback if talks with the conglomerate fail.
The conglomerate didn’t catch this shift early. Many who drown can swim—they didn’t see Zhao Dong as a peer initially. By the time they did, he’d gained traction!
—Where did this guy come from?
In this new era, clinging to pre-liberation glory is absurd!
The conglomerate isn’t soft. Once aware of Zhao Dong’s moves, they dug into his background fast.
Pre-liberation, his family ran a laundry in Chinatown—somewhat inspiring. But the second generation? One married up, another abandoned family for a rich woman’s support. Quite the “struggle.”
As for Zhao Dong himself… nothing much. Some wealth, no experience with large physical projects, yet he’s fixated on the amusement park.
They could expose him, but his positive image and ties to domestic banks make him viable. If he secures funds, even borrowed, granting him the license is legal and compliant.
Fearing an upset, the conglomerate opts for a subtler approach.
Tonight’s cocktail party at Jinjiang Hotel is the appetizer, with the bidding meeting as the main course.
As Zhao Dong heads to Jinjiang Hotel, the Song family’s living room hosts the conglomerate’s representative, making a final pitch to Song Foxiang.
