Chapter 69: Truly at a Loss

Su Mu had absolutely no idea who Li Zhekai was.

Currently, only a handful of people in Hong Kong knew his identity—the youngest son of Li Jiacheng, the Plastics King. In fact, calling Li Jiacheng the Plastics King was no longer accurate; his business empire now spanned real estate, plastics, electricity, and more. He had acquired Hutchison Whampoa and established Cheung Kong Holdings, amassing a fortune of several hundred million dollars. He had sent Li Zhekai to the United States for his education early on—first to Menlo Park High School, then to Stanford University.

Li Zhekai was neither handsome nor tall, but the Ferrari key at his waist was sufficient to signal his wealth. Su Mu felt a blow to his ego. He had thought that having over a hundred thousand dollars was a great deal, but now he realized that the world was full of rich people.

He could only admit he had never paid attention to such things before. Lately, as he started to observe more closely, he discovered that California was absolutely teeming with the wealthy.

The Chinese boy in the Bentley probably knew Li Zhekai, and perhaps they had some kind of grudge—the tone of their conversation was laced with gunpowder.

The affairs of the wealthy had nothing to do with Su Mu. He was admiring the brand-new Bentley—truly a handsome car, but not exactly appropriate for people their age. It seemed to be a deliberate display of maturity and wealth. Then again, perhaps it was only he who saw it as showing off. To them, the price of a car might be irrelevant; it was merely a means of transportation, chosen simply because they liked it.

He hadn’t gone to report in yet, and at that moment, he heard the young man named Li Zhekai remark, “Your family’s typewriter business still hasn’t gone bankrupt? Now that personal computers are on the market, who’s going to buy those things? I’d like to see how much longer you can hold out. What’s so impressive about living off your father? Pathetic.”

The boy in the Bentley was not the least bit upset. Arrogance was written all over his face as he laughed and replied, “My family is in the top ten of the rich list. And you? Aren’t you just spending your family’s money, too? Competing over whose father is richer is a skill in itself!”

From this exchange, Su Mu immediately caught on. Rich list, typewriters—he instantly thought of the Wang family of Wang Computers, now the wealthiest Chinese family, with a fortune of over two billion dollars. The daily bank interest alone was enough to leave him in awe.

He had unexpectedly met Wang An’s grandson, and they were even attending the same school. For the first time, Su Mu witnessed these second- and third-generation heirs within the circles of the ultra-rich. He found Li Zhekai somewhat likable, but Wang An’s grandson’s attitude was deeply off-putting—far too arrogant and overbearing.

However, the phrase “competing over whose father is richer is a skill in itself” truly was something. The Wang family was now the wealthiest among the Chinese, their money enough to crush anyone. In this era, there were only a few people in the world richer than old Wang An. The Rothschilds had indeed been legendary, but after the two World Wars, they had declined. The old-money families like the Rockefellers had also seen their fortunes dwindle, divided among countless descendants.

The Plaza Accord had yet to be signed, and the dollar remained strong. A fortune of two billion dollars now was worth more than fifteen billion thirty years later!

With such backing, Su Mu couldn’t help but feel inferior. He forgot all about leaving and stayed to quietly watch the drama unfold. Li Zhekai, for his part, was utterly unbothered.

The Li family, too, was fabulously wealthy, their assets counted in the hundreds of millions. A little more or less made no difference. In America, he was the son of a dragon crossing the river.

He looked at Wang An’s grandson as if he were an idiot, didn’t bother to retort, simply muttered “lunatic,” and walked to where his Ferrari 512BBi was parked. As he drove off, the engine’s roar drew many eyes.

Su Mu now understood just what kind of school he had entered, and he sighed deeply.

The likes of Uncle Qiao’s fortune had once inspired his ambition, but two billion was simply unimaginable. He couldn’t fathom how anyone could amass so much, and the gulf between people made him feel utterly hopeless.

But the matter was not yet finished.

Perhaps not wanting to get out of the car, or perhaps noticing Su Mu with Li Zhekai and wanting to humiliate him—Wang’s grandson, still seated in the Bentley, pulled out a wad of fresh hundred-dollar bills, counted off three, and tossed them out the window, pointing at Su Mu: “Pick them up and get me two bottles of water.”

The rise of Wang Computers had been rapid, just in the past few years since the late seventies. They say it takes three generations to raise a true aristocrat, but he had lived through his family’s ascent with no one to discipline him; his character had already become insufferably arrogant, swollen with pride.

Su Mu’s family was indeed poor, but he had backbone, much like his grandfather. Suddenly and inexplicably humiliated, his anger flared.

He had saved over a thousand from his summer job, that morning his grandfather had given him eight hundred, and his mother had secretly slipped him another five hundred, fearing he’d be mistreated away from home.

Now, he reached into his pocket, pulled out the five hundred his mother had given him, slapped it against the Bentley’s window, and snapped, “You think you’re the only one with money? Go buy me a bottle of water, and keep the change as a tip!”

The other boy was stunned, not expecting this at all.

One couldn’t expect Wang’s grandson to care about Su Mu’s feelings. He only felt that Su Mu had humiliated him, never considering that he had started it. In his mind, paying someone to fetch water was perfectly normal, and he had even given a tip.

Hearing his black female companion laugh beside him, he instantly lost his temper, flung the entire wad of cash out the window, and shouted, “Shit! I’m rich—what are you? Go dig in the slums where you belong!”

Without another glance at Su Mu, he started the car and sped off, his face burning with anger.

To Wang’s grandson, that amount of money was like a penny to an ordinary person—utterly insignificant. Only his pride mattered; he would never stoop to picking it back up.

Some people, hearing the commotion, thought there had been an accident. Out of a sense of public duty, they approached to mediate, only to find it was already over.

A white student helped to gather up the scattered bills, placed them in front of Su Mu, and asked, “What happened? Do you want to call the police?”

“Louis Wang is a jerk—we all hate that guy. Don’t let it get to you, man.”

Su Mu stared at the money in his hand, clenched his fist, and replied, “No need for the police. My son was just giving his father some spending money—how could I blame him?”

The white student burst into laughter, clapped Su Mu on the shoulder, and said, “I like you! I’ve rarely met such interesting Chinese students! Hahaha! Call me Daniel. You’re new here, right? I saw him throw the money at you—just take it as emotional compensation. It’s several thousand dollars, not bad at all!”

With that, he stuffed the thick wad of crisp Benjamins into Su Mu’s hand.

“Thanks,” Su Mu forced a smile, not in the mood for conversation.

Was it really not bad? Perhaps not, but it certainly didn’t feel like a gain.

Coming from a small town, he still carried a trace of mud on his shoes—something many people never quite manage to wash off, no matter how long they live. In Chinatown, everyone was more or less on the same level; insults and fights would happen, but this was different. Su Mu acutely felt the contempt, the gaze that looked down on him from head to toe, making him feel utterly insignificant.

His grip on the money tightened, and silently, he swore to himself that he would never again suffer such humiliation; the slap across his face would be returned in kind.

He would repay the insult, but not the money. Even if he had to burn it, he would never give it back. Then he smiled bitterly to himself: “If only I could run into a few more fools like that, I’d be rich in no time.”

Daniel nodded in agreement, shaking his head. “But there aren’t many idiots like that. Otherwise, I’d start a business—way more profitable than being a doctor!”

Both of them sighed, though for different reasons.