Chapter 86: The King of Garbage

The minor disturbance caused by people from Zejian Company was quickly quelled. In the end, three thousand yuan was given to the man, who was sent away. All the companies felt a sense of shared hardship—society harbored prejudices against construction firms, believing that those in the business must be involved in the shadier aspects of society. But in truth, none of it was easy. There were demands from above, fierce competition among peers, and at any moment, some troublemaker could appear, needing to be appeased with money. Unless absolutely necessary, no company wanted to escalate matters.

On Ren Jifu’s side, he followed the script taught by Zhao Zejun and smoothly became He Dapeng’s “accomplice,” spending most of his time living and eating in the three-story building.

Especially at night, the two took turns sleeping, guarding against the demolition office taking drastic measures.

As for delivering food and drink, Zhao Zejun told no one—not even Jiang Xuan was deliberately informed. Only Junzi was tasked with the job.

On the fourth night, Junzi used his supervision duties at the site as cover, slipping away alone under the darkness to deliver a bag of food and drink.

On the noisy construction site in Gaogang Village, the floodlights turned night into day. Zhao Zejun squatted on a large stone and asked Junzi, “All done?”

Junzi nodded from the shadows behind him. “I asked him how much he got, but he wouldn’t say.”

“That’s none of our concern,” Zhao Zejun waved dismissively.

No matter how much Ren Jifu got from He Dapeng, he had nowhere to spend it.

On the road to the underworld, there’s no toll or bridge fee.

Zhao Zejun squatted on the stone, took out three cigarettes, lit them one by one but didn’t smoke, lined them up towards the three-story building, letting them burn out on their own.

...

At a refuse dump in Yijiang City, the southeastern corner was a wasteland, covered with dozens of centimeters of construction debris.

A dozen or so well-dressed people were rummaging through the ruins like sanitation workers, carrying baskets, wielding sticks and iron clamps, searching for something.

Site Manager Sun handed Zhao Zejun a cigarette, grinning. “Boss Zhao, you really know how to do business! I admire you!”

Zhao Zejun lit Sun’s cigarette, then his own. “You know, collecting garbage is quite profitable, but there are many palms to grease. I had no other choice but to filter it first. Who knows, some good things might get crushed together—it’d be a shame.”

“Yes, yes, you could say you’re protecting national relics!” Sun joked.

“I wouldn’t dare claim such a thing. It’s better to keep our heads down and make money. Site Manager Sun, I won’t be here every day. If I’m not around, please look after things. If there’s any issue, find Junzi. You watched him grow up—don’t hesitate if you need anything.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll keep an eye on everything.”

Junzi’s father had worked at the dump before passing away, and through him, Zhao Zejun connected with Sun. He rented a patch of land at the dump—every day, Zejian Company’s construction debris was hauled there, not sent immediately to the recycling plant, but left for a day.

During that day, the owners of seven antique shops Zhao Zejun had contacted in the antique market, plus Shen Lian’s family, would come in person or send apprentices to pick through the debris for anything valuable to buy.

Not everything in the rubble was antique; in fact, most weren’t. But there were always things of collectible value, and that took sharp eyes and experience—old thread-bound books, grain coupons and stamps from the early liberation period, commemorative coins from certain years and events, even clothes from bygone eras, all sought by collectors.

The demolition team, in their first sweep, wouldn’t leave behind any obvious valuables, but they weren’t professionals—lacking expertise and culture, with limited time, their first sweep was rough.

Apart from collecting rent, Sun and Zhao Zejun had agreed that, regardless of the daily sales, 5% would be handed over to the dump for Sun to personally manage.

Sun’s duties included ensuring Zejian’s debris was smoothly transported, stored, and removed; he also helped watch the site, tally and record valuable finds, and Zhao Zejun asked him to keep things quiet for now, keeping others away from Zejian’s section lest rumors cause unnecessary trouble.

Of course, secrets never last. No matter how tight-lipped Sun was, news would eventually leak. But the demolition would only last two months, and a third had already passed. By the end, it wouldn’t matter if word got out.

With connections and cash paving the way, everything at the dump went smoothly.

Shen Lian worked under the blazing sun, not a puff of smoke rising from him. The last bit of “fear” Zhao Zejun felt for him was dispelled. Old Shen, alone, carried a massive basket and dumped everything out onto a patch of empty ground.

“What’s all this? Old Shen, didn’t know you had a thing for underwear.”

Zhao Zejun poked a dirty red cloth with his stick—embroidered with three foolish birds, certainly not mandarin ducks, since those always come in pairs and never a third.

“You know nothing. This is a fertility bellyband, worn during intercourse in the old days. There are collectors for this!” Shen replied through his mask in a muffled voice.

Zhao Zejun was speechless—he’d only ever heard of contraception, never that a bellyband could help conceive. Well, as long as someone was willing to pay.

Within half a day, the shopkeepers dumped everything they found and deemed valuable onto the empty ground, while Sun took notes beside them.

The finds were openly displayed—not whoever found it owned it, but all laid out for bidding.

“Don’t fight me for it, I’m taking this inkstone for fifty!”

“Nonsense, you think we’re blind? Even a modern She inkstone costs more than fifty. This is a Huangshi inkstone—I’ll pay three hundred!”

“Fine, take it! I don’t want it!”

“Old Zhu, do you want these moldy stamps? If not, I’ll take them.”

“No, no, too much work! I’d pay thirty for them…”

“Come off it, I’ll pay fifty.”

“Alright, you take them… Hey, these are good stuff, poplar walnut. Boss Zhao, I’ll take these two for five hundred, honest price, not cheating you…”

“Boss He, you never say a true word. A matched walnut pair for five hundred? I’ll pay five thousand—bring me ten pairs!”

“Damn, whose thread-bound ‘Shuowen Jiezi’ is this?! Pity, half of it got crushed…”

A young apprentice, excited as if he’d struck gold, exclaimed, “Wow, a rare Little Tigers cassette! Boss Zhao, I’m buying this for myself!”

…

This bidding system fostered mutual oversight, maximizing the chance that Zhao Zejun wouldn’t be cheated.

Of course, given the rushed schedule, there was no way to guarantee the antique dealers offered absolutely fair prices. Once these items passed through their hands, the resale value would far exceed what they paid Zhao Zejun.

But Zhao Zejun didn’t mind—everyone had their own calculations, everyone earned their own money. Without enough profit, these wealthy shopkeepers wouldn’t be sweating in the dump scavenging for treasures.

By the end of the day, the miscellaneous haul from the garbage heap sold for just over ten thousand! After picking through, a heap remained that none of the shopkeepers wanted. Shen Lian bought it all for a thousand—he had plenty of channels, never worried about selling.

Zhao Zejun was thoroughly satisfied. This was pure profit—without this process, everything would have gone straight to the recycling plant and been smashed.

Squatting atop the heap, smoking and guzzling mineral water, he mused that “garbage” was once an insult, but now he loved it dearly.

Yes—he ought to hang a grand sign in his office: King of Garbage!