After leaving Cao Jianzhu's ginger washing factory,
Ding Kaifang felt rather frustrated.
He had his driver circle around the town.
Whenever he came across a farmer who grew ginger, he would first inspect the quality.
If the quality was good, he would make an offer, but the response was always the same—"We're not selling right now."
"President Ding, I just asked around. The place up ahead is the largest grower in town. Want to give them a try?" the driver suggested.
A middle-aged man was smoking in front of his ginger cellar. Seeing the luxury car stop, he warily narrowed his eyes.
"Friend, how much for your ginger?" Ding Kaifang asked directly.
The man blew a smoke ring. "Not selling right now."
"I'll pay seventy percent above market price."
Old Liu scoffed, "Someone offered me double yesterday and I didn't sell. With the market this year..."
He pointed to the sky. "It's a gift from the heavens. Only a fool would sell now."
Ding Kaifang was speechless.
