The days that followed Lin Yuan's confrontation with Director Zhou and his pivotal conversation with Grandma Wei were a whirlwind of focused activity. Fenyang FreshGo continued its steady ascent, its gears now meshing with almost effortless precision. The new drivers, Xiao Bing and Mr. Guo, cemented their roles as reliable pillars of the operation. Xiao Bing's earnestness proved infectious, and his customer reviews often highlighted his polite demeanor. Mr. Guo, initially skeptical, had fully embraced the new system, his family's newfound financial stability evident in his slightly less weary eyes and the subtle spring in his step. The weekly net profit continued its upward trajectory, now consistently hitting around 3,800 yuan, meaning Lin Yuan's share was a steady 1,140 yuan flowing into his carefully managed fund for the Old Silk Mill.
But while FreshGo thrived, Lin Yuan's mind was increasingly occupied with the mill. Grandma Wei's words about Gao Qiang's weakness and Boss Wei's long-standing predatory interest echoed constantly. The bureaucratic stonewalling by Director Zhou was a clear sign that Boss Wei had already put his pieces on the board, attempting to choke off any other potential interest in the property.
Lin Yuan's strategy was multifaceted. He didn't just submit the formal request for the property abstract; he also began a deeper, more subtle investigation into Gao Qiang's current situation. Gossip was a powerful tool in Fenyang, and while Lao Hu's ramblings were often unreliable, the collective murmurs of the market held threads of truth. Lin Yuan visited several teahouses, not to listen to specific conversations, but to observe patterns, to catch fragments of complaints about unpaid debts or local dealings. He learned that Gao Qiang, despite inheriting a once-revered family name, had a penchant for gambling, particularly in the clandestine poker games that occasionally sprang up on the outskirts of Fenyang, far from the watchful eyes of the local police chief, Officer Lee.
One afternoon, while delivering a special order of Madam Guo's famous sesame cakes to the Fenyang Grand Hotel, a relatively new and luxurious establishment trying to attract outside investors, Lin Yuan overheard a hushed conversation between two well-dressed men in the lobby. They spoke of "Gao's latest folly" and a "big debt to Wei Zhen." It was confirmation. Gao Qiang was likely entangled with Boss Wei's unofficial lending network, a debt that would eventually lead to the foreclosure of the mill.
Lin Yuan knew he had to act before Boss Wei could finalize his grip. He decided to approach Gao Qiang directly, but not through traditional channels. He needed to understand Gao Qiang's desperation, his vulnerabilities, and, crucially, the exact terms of his debt to Boss Wei.
He found Gao Qiang on a sweltering afternoon, not at his dilapidated home, but at a shabby, unlicensed mahjong parlor tucked away down a narrow alley known as "Whispering Lane." The air inside was thick with cigarette smoke, the clatter of mahjong tiles, and the low grumble of frustrated gamblers. Gao Qiang sat hunched over a table, his face pale and slick with sweat, his eyes sunken, clearly losing heavily. He was a man drowning, clinging to the false hope of a lucky streak.
Lin Yuan observed from a shadowed corner, unseen. He watched as Gao Qiang, after another devastating loss, slammed his hand on the table, muttering curses. The man next to him, a scruffy individual known as "Four Fingers" Wang (a local enforcer with a missing digit, rumored to be connected to Boss Wei's less savory operations), leaned over and spoke to Gao Qiang in a low, menacing tone. Lin Yuan strained to listen, catching fragments: "Wei Zhen's patience... the mill... due by month's end... or the papers get signed."
This was it. Boss Wei was pushing for the foreclosure, using Gao Qiang's gambling debts as leverage. The deadline was "month's end"—just five days away.
Lin Yuan knew this was his window. If he waited for the Land Bureau, Director Zhou would stall him past this critical deadline, leaving the mill to Boss Wei. He needed to bypass the official channels, at least temporarily, and present Gao Qiang with an immediate, compelling alternative.
He approached Gao Qiang as he stumbled out of the parlor, defeated, into the humid afternoon air. "Mr. Gao," Lin Yuan said, his voice quiet, startling the man.
Gao Qiang spun around, his eyes wide with a mixture of suspicion and fear. "Who are you? What do you want?" He looked ready to bolt.
"My name is Lin Yuan," he replied calmly. "I know about your situation with the mill. And with Boss Wei."
Gao Qiang flinched, his face paling further. "You... you don't know anything! Get away from me!"
"I know the mill is due to be signed over to Boss Wei's associates within the next five days," Lin Yuan continued, unwavering. "I know your father left you with a significant debt. And I know you owe Boss Wei specifically 1.5 million yuan." Lin Yuan had gleaned this number from various whispers and cross-referenced it with the mill's last unofficial valuation. He knew Boss Wei was aiming for a colossal profit.
Gao Qiang stared, his mouth agape. "How... how do you know that?" His bravado crumbling, replaced by a desperate, trapped look.
"That's not important," Lin Yuan stated, his voice flat. "What's important is that I'm offering you an alternative. I will pay off your 1.5 million yuan debt to Boss Wei. In full. You will sign the mill over to me, free and clear, without any further obligation."
Gao Qiang laughed, a hollow, mirthless sound. "You? A kid like you? Where would you get 1.5 million yuan? Boss Wei won't take less! He owns me! He owns the mill!" He was shaking, a broken man.
"I have a portion of the funds ready, and the means to acquire the rest quickly," Lin Yuan lied smoothly, confident in his ability to leverage his growing network. "And Boss Wei will take it. He's a businessman. He wants his money, not a headache. If you sign the mill over to him through foreclosure, it will be a messy process, dragging out for months with legal fees, property re-registrations, and potentially public scrutiny. If you sell it to me directly, he gets his 1.5 million yuan immediately, discreetly, and without further complications. It's a clean transaction for him." He spoke with the quiet authority of someone who had dissected every angle of the situation. "You get to walk away clean. No more debt. No more threats from 'Four Fingers' Wang. Your family name, what's left of it, will be spared the final public humiliation of foreclosure."
Gao Qiang's eyes, previously filled with despair, now flickered with a desperate, fragile hope. "No more debt? No more Wang? It's... it's a trap! Why would you do this?"
"Because I see potential where Boss Wei only sees a carcass," Lin Yuan explained, a subtle shift in his tone, revealing a glimpse of his larger vision. "I will revitalize that mill. It will bring new life to Fenyang, new jobs. And I will profit from it. It's a clean deal for both of us. A chance for you to escape this cycle. What do you say?"
Gao Qiang wavered, torn between suspicion and the overwhelming lure of freedom from debt. "But... but the director at the Land Bureau... he said no one else could buy it. He said Boss Wei..."
"Director Zhou works for Boss Wei," Lin Yuan cut him off, "just as he works for anyone who pays him. This is about bypassing his influence. This is about a direct, discreet transaction that gives Boss Wei what he truly wants: his money. Not a public struggle."
Gao Qiang bit his lip, his mind racing. 1.5 million yuan. It was an impossible sum for him. The idea of being free from Boss Wei's shadow, free from Wang's threats, was intoxicating. "How... how quickly?"
"Tomorrow morning," Lin Yuan stated. "Meet me at the "Quiet Stream" Tea House on the outskirts of town, 8 AM. Bring all the relevant documents for the mill, especially any loan agreements with Boss Wei. I will bring the funds, and a reputable, independent notary to finalize the transfer. If you don't show, the offer is off, and Boss Wei gets his mill, and you get whatever grim future awaits you."
Gao Qiang, stunned, nodded slowly, almost imperceptibly. The desperation was palatable. "Okay... Okay. Tomorrow. Quiet Stream."
As Lin Yuan walked away, leaving Gao Qiang alone in the grimy alley, he felt the familiar rush of satisfaction that came from executing a precise strategy. He had found Boss Wei's weakness: his desire for clean, unambiguous profit and his arrogance in believing he controlled every avenue. Lin Yuan's approach was a silent, unexpected bypass, a move Boss Wei wouldn't anticipate.
The true challenge, however, lay ahead. He had promised 1.5 million yuan in five days. His current accumulated capital from FreshGo was just 3,150 yuan. The gap was immense. He had gambled heavily on his ability to acquire the funds, a network he was only just beginning to build, and a trust he had yet to fully establish. But Lin Yuan knew that true power was not just about accumulating wealth; it was about the audacity to pursue it, and the unwavering resolve to find the means, no matter the apparent impossibility. The web around the Old Silk Mill was starting to unravel, but the threads were intricate, and some were still held by unseen hands.