Chapter Twenty-Six: Bargaining

By sheer coincidence, Ren Bida himself owned a house in Gaogang Village.

As soon as the topic of the house came up, Ren Bida was lost in a flood of memories. Perhaps this shrewd real estate manager wanted to add a touch of legend to the property, so he shared many stories from the past with Zhao Zejun.

His grandfather had lived near Yijiang City before the Liberation, when the city had only a few tens of thousands of people—just two main streets running front and back. To call it a city was generous; at best, it was a sizable market town. Gaogang Village and its surroundings were considered suburban countryside. After the Liberation, as the city expanded, Ren Bida’s grandfather became one of the first residents of Gaogang Village and owned four adjoining houses in the area.

Ren Bida’s grandfather had two sons and a daughter. Upon his death, three of the houses went to his eldest son—Ren Bida’s uncle—and one to Ren Bida’s father. The daughter had long since married and received nothing.

The Ren family could be said to be both ill-fated and unlucky; the men in the last two generations did not live long. When Ren Bida was just past ten years old, both his father and uncle died. His mother remarried, but her new husband had one condition: she could not bring the boy with her.

So, the house fell to Ren Bida. A boy just over ten, he lived alone in that one-bedroom, one-living-room house in Gaogang Village, receiving a few ration coupons from his stepfather each month. During holidays, his mother would sometimes secretly slip him half a pound of sugar coupons and two feet of cloth coupons. Thus, he muddled through and grew up.

In his early teens, Ren Bida started making a living—selling eggs at the train station, speculating on popsicles in the street, scraping together a few cents here and there. After the economic reforms, he shuttled between Shenzhen and Yijiang City, trading tape recorders. By his thirties, he’d finally made a tidy sum. Together with a few fellow traders, he started Home Love Realty.

His journey was a near-perfect portrait of the first wave of people to grow wealthy after the reforms. When Zhao Zejun finished listening, he nodded and said, “Mr. Ren, you’ve really had a hard time of it.”

“Ah, I’ve said too much and wasted your time. It’s just, when I heard you wanted to buy a house in Gaogang Village, I thought I’d give you the full story. Who knew I’d get so carried away?” Ren Bida laughed sheepishly.

“So, this house of yours—it’s the one you mentioned, with a main room and a bedroom?” Zhao Zejun asked.

“That’s right,” Ren Bida said. “Most of the homes in Gaogang Village are like that.”

“What about the price?” Zhao Zejun asked.

Ren Bida smacked his lips, hesitated for a few seconds, then made up his mind. “Well, it’s an old house. No one lives in it now, and honestly, if I really have to sell it, I do feel a bit reluctant. After all, I spent more than a decade there. How about this? Let’s stick to what we said—thirty thousand.”

Zhao Zejun didn’t agree or disagree; instead, he shook his head and smiled.

“Mr. Ren, you’re a master at business. If you don’t get rich, it’s against the laws of nature!”

This Ren Bida, with his honest face and seemingly heartfelt words, always appeared to have the other person’s interests at heart—advising against buying a rundown place in Gaogang Village to avoid getting stuck, then spinning a moving tale of personal struggle, seeking sympathy with hardship and resonance with dreams. The fairy tale of a poor boy changing his fate through hard work and honest dealings seemed to spring vividly to life, moving all who heard it.

Nonsense!

From the start, the man had been setting a trap as soon as he heard Zhao Zejun wanted to buy in Gaogang Village. If there was no padding in that thirty thousand asking price, Zhao Zejun would eat his own eyeballs.

Having dealt with all kinds of traders in his previous life, Zhao Zejun understood one thing: there are foolish buyers, but there are never foolish sellers.

Moreover, among the first to get rich after the reforms were scoundrels, bullies, roughnecks, and smart operators—but never honest men! Those who made their start as speculators knew the art of maximizing profit, buying low and selling high to perfection.

In his past life, Zhao Zejun had been such a person himself. It had nothing to do with personal virtue or morality; as long as one didn’t cheat, swindle, or break the law, there was nothing wrong with seeking profit through better goods and negotiation skills.

The pursuit of profit and the creation of value are the merchant’s code of conduct, as natural a way to prove oneself as governing for the people or teaching students.

One can earn money by the handful, then turn around and give it away to friends or charity—these aren’t mutually exclusive.

By the same token, haggling was his right.

“I don’t understand what you mean. Didn’t we agree on thirty thousand from the start?” Ren Bida said.

Zhao Zejun remained unhurried and smiled. “Mr. Ren, the issue is, you didn’t tell me you owned a house at the beginning. Before that, you quoted me the ‘market price,’ then suddenly revealed you just happened to own a house and were willing to sell it to me at the market price. Isn’t that a bit too convenient?”

“You young boss, you have too many tricks up your sleeve.” Ren Bida chuckled, neither admitting nor denying it. After a moment’s thought, he said, “All right, I’ll waive the agency fee.”

“Mr. Ren, this is your own house. It’s a direct deal between owner and buyer—why bring up agency fees? Even if we go by thirty thousand, the three percent fee is less than a thousand,” Zhao Zejun replied.

“Listen, young man, thirty thousand isn’t cheap, but I’m not in a hurry to sell. Don’t you think that’s fair?” Ren Bida said.

“It is fair. But even so, there’s more than one agency in the city, and Gaogang Village has nearly two thousand households. What do you think?” Zhao Zejun countered.

After a few rounds of verbal sparring, Ren Bida realized the young man before him was not just wealthy and inexperienced, but was even shrewder than he’d imagined, with a solid grasp of the real estate industry—even some insider tricks.

He had indeed inflated the price by a few thousand at first—not out of malice, but as a businessman’s instinct, treating all customers the same, especially young, affluent ones.

But Ren Bida wasn’t so concerned about those few thousand. Since he’d been seen through, there was no point pretending. The city had several agencies; for him, building up Home Love Realty mattered more than winning a petty contest. So he asked, “Young man, what price do you think is fair?”

Zhao Zejun weighed it in his mind. Some of what Ren Bida had said was true, some not.

The Gaogang Village housing market did have its peculiarities: houses sold by the unit, above the average market price, and the larger the house, the lower the unit price—these three points were likely accurate and consistent with market logic.

“Twenty-five thousand, no agency fee,” Zhao Zejun offered after some thought.

As soon as he named his price, Zhao Zejun keenly noted Ren Bida’s eyelids narrow just a fraction, his gaze dropping slightly.

An old salesman from his previous life had taught him how to read people. Over time, you listen to what they say and watch what they do; in a short meeting, you focus on physical cues.

Unconscious gestures often betray true feelings—habitual movements are hardest to disguise. In fact, whenever there’s a psychological ripple, the body always reacts.

Ren Bida’s tiny movement revealed he was weighing his options.

And if he was weighing, then the offer was not far off.

Of course, it was possible Ren Bida was a master actor, able to control even the slightest instinctive reactions. If he really was such a player, Zhao Zejun thought he wouldn’t mind being duped out of a few thousand.

But someone that good would either die young from overexertion or have long since made their fortune—they wouldn’t be sitting here haggling over a few thousand.

A professionally trained agent could control their physical reactions well. But if Ren Bida were a secret agent... he was overthinking it.

A few seconds later, Ren Bida spoke up. “We can go with your price, but I still need to charge the agency fee and go through the formal company process.”

He explained that it wasn’t about the seven hundred or so in fees; property transactions through the company counted toward its performance, and his own as well.

This time, Zhao Zejun didn’t object. Going through the agency meant contracts, registration with the police station and property bureau—both sides would be safer.

“Let’s go have a look at the house. If everything’s in order, we’ll sign the contract,” Zhao Zejun said.