Chapter 103: Becoming a Vulgar Tycoon

University student Song Yun experienced for the first time what it was like to deal with a wealthy tycoon. After their conversation, the return train ticket had already been booked by the other party’s company—a top-tier soft sleeper compartment.

The very next day after returning to the provincial capital, fifty thousand yuan had landed in his account. Zhao Zejun didn’t even ask for a receipt.

Startled, Song Yun finally understood the difference between ordinary people and the wealthy. For an average person, fifty thousand yuan was a fortune; for the rich, it was just a whimsical game.

Of course, those who could casually “play” with fifty thousand yuan also had the means to easily crush a college student who regarded such an amount as a windfall.

Back at school, though classes had yet to begin, Song Yun’s first order of business was to urgently contact several friends and senior classmates with strong programming skills to form a development team.

For Song Yun, spending lavishly was both motivation and pressure.

...

Over in Yijiang City, Zhao Zejun created a QQ group called “Writers’ Home” and sent the number to Yu Zhe.

Everyone who had dined with them, except for the writer Zhuang, joined the group first. In the following days, more than a dozen unknown writers applied to join—young enthusiasts passionate about words, fantasy, and the future. The newly formed “Writers’ Home” quickly grew to a few dozen members, buzzing with lively discussion.

Zhao Zejun’s theory on “Alexandre Dumas and formulaic writing,” shared during their meal, spread widely through those present, impressing the newcomers greatly.

“Boss Zhao, are you busy? When you have time, please take a look at my novel and give me some feedback…”

“Brother Zhao? I wrote an outline based on what you told me the other day. Could you help me polish it when you’re free?”

“My new book is published! Everyone’s welcome to read, and Boss Zhao, please review it!”

...

Within just a few days, Zhao Zejun’s inbox received a dozen emails.

He prioritized reading the novels from those present at the meal.

These writers would bring the initial wave of traffic to the future online novel platform, helping the site overcome its most difficult early period.

Much like when he first reviewed Yu Zhe’s stories, Zhao Zejun mainly assessed whether these writers had the talent for online novels and what style suited them best.

Those without talent might compensate through persistent effort and learning, and some latent talent might not be immediately apparent to Zhao Zejun.

But he wasn’t doing charity work; there was no need to spend excessive time nurturing untalented writers. With so many classic works already available, he saw no point in struggling to create a new literary school.

Song Yun himself was the first to be eliminated.

His writing bore the hallmarks of a typical science and engineering student: dry, stiff, often filled with half a chapter of historical data. It felt more akin to writing a research paper or a textbook than a novel.

Better for him to quietly remain a science and engineering student.

A freckled young girl named Linglong sent him an outline inspired by Zhao Zejun’s prompt during that meal: an ordinary girl traveling back to the Kangxi era of the Qing Dynasty.

It was reasonably well done, though still immature and with ample room for refinement.

Zhao Zejun recalled the popularity of the “Palace” series in his previous life, but as a man, he had little interest in palace intrigue and had only watched bits and pieces here and there, his impressions vague and often confused—characters like Luo Qingchuan and Zhen Huan blurred together.

He had, however, watched the entire “Crown Princess” series from start to finish.

No matter—palace intrigues were palace intrigues. Why be fixated on one book? He would simply blend them all together into a rich stew.

“The outline is good. I made a few tweaks to the first part. As for the novel’s title, let’s tentatively call it ‘Palace Lock, Heart Jade.’ The heroine’s name could be Luo Qingchuan. What do you think?”

Suggestions from Boss Zhao were naturally excellent.

Besides Linglong, Zhao Zejun identified two other promising talents.

One called “Dreamer” wrote captivating xianxia (immortal hero) fiction. Zhao Zejun felt that this person would do well writing a story like “Zhu Xian.” He checked online but found no sign it was being published on the internet yet.

“Well then, no holding back! Zhang Xiaofan, please say hello to everyone!”

The other wrote urban romance, though with a somewhat heartbreaking tone. The pen name was “Who Kisses the Blade.” When Zhao Zejun asked for the real name, the writer refused to say. But no matter how he looked at it, the style resembled early works from the author known as “Dance.” Could it be the original author himself?

After this near encounter with the original author, Zhao Zejun became more cautious and assigned Yu Zhe a new task.

“Yu Zhe, I think I heard someone mention a few talented writers—names I can’t quite recall—one was Tang something… If you meet them, bring them into the group so we can all chat and discuss together.”

...

As the days slipped by, university acceptance letters had long arrived, and Song Yun needed to report early for military training.

Before leaving, Zhao Zejun made a trip to the stock exchange. After his rebirth, he only clearly remembered the trend of one stock. Before, he lacked funds to buy it; now with spare cash, he purchased shares and held onto them.

Then, he arranged all sorts of miscellaneous affairs in Yijiang City.

Zejian Company was now truly on track, with an office building and eight full-time employees. They could readily assemble a construction crew of a hundred workers.

Though demolition projects were not yet fully complete, Jiang Xuan took on two new contracts: the demolition and recycling of East Vegetable Market Road, and the reconstruction of a partner’s office building. The combined income from these two projects was enough to keep Zejian Company comfortably afloat for a year or more.

The company’s account currently held 1.38 million yuan. This was pure profit after deducting 40% donations to the demolition office, various operating costs, and taxes, earned from the Gaogang Village recycling and bargain projects.

Zhao Zejun convened a meeting with all key employees.

For the first time on paper, the company’s organizational structure was officially defined.

Chairman: Zhao Zejun

General Manager: Jiang Xuan

Office Director: Liang Shi, responsible for all internal affairs and supervising the design department

The engineering department was led by veteran foremen like Old Chen.

However, the Chairman’s assistant was Junzi, who concurrently served as the head of the engineering department.

Zhao Zejun’s staffing decisions were deliberate.

Additionally, Junzi would accompany Zhao Zejun to the provincial capital. This served two purposes: to have an assistant nearby, effectively opening a temporary Zejian Company office in the provincial capital, and because Zhao Zejun didn’t fully trust Junzi and Jiang Xuan being left alone together.

Jiang Xuan was wild; Junzi was ruthless. With Zhao Zejun around, he could keep them in check, but without him, those two together might stir up serious trouble.

At the same time, the company’s development blueprint was set for the first time: establish a foothold in Yijiang City, build strength, seek opportunities, and eventually enter the provincial capital’s real estate market.

It was also made clear to everyone that though Zhao Zejun himself wouldn’t be in Yijiang City, the company’s future focus would be by the chairman’s side in the provincial capital.

People have desires. Jiang Xuan and Junzi were not the type to forget loyalty for profit or be insatiable. If someday they turned against each other, it would mean Zhao Zejun had failed to maintain proper balance within the company’s internal relations and profit distribution.

From the start, Zhao Zejun sought to prevent such scenarios at their root. The current personnel arrangement and corporate plan fully reflected this consideration.

At home, his mother had finally retired completely and seemed at a loss for what to do. Fortunately, the family’s financial situation had drastically improved, so there was no worry about daily life. Though Zhou Ya was bored, she was not anxious.

Zhao Zejun had casually mentioned the gas station to his family a few times, and his father, Zhao Tao, showed considerable interest.

His younger sister, Zhou Na, took all the bags Zhao Zejun had given her and headed back to Shanghai, planning to approach the provincial capital from another route.

“If I really break into the fashion industry in the future, you have to support me!” Zhou Na hugged Zhao Zejun passionately before boarding the train, batting her eyelashes and thrusting out her chest flirtatiously.

Zhao Zejun felt overwhelmed and dodged her advances, waving his hands frantically in front of himself. “Alright, alright! When I make it big and invest a few hundred million for you, you can film all the movies you want, hold as many fashion shows as you like, even hire handsome men to be your companions! I’ll invite top mainland and Hong Kong-Taiwan celebrities to be your supporting actors. We won’t care about making money—your happiness is all that matters! I’ll just be a vulgar, nouveau riche guy throwing money around, happy to back my little sister! How’s that?”

“That’s what you said!”

“Of course! Now hurry up and get on the train—dream away in your sleeper compartment!” Zhao Zejun gave Zhou Na’s cheek a playful pinch and laughed heartily.