Chapter 35.1

◎ Feng Xueming Brings Roses ◎

On Wednesday morning, Fan Qi ran into Liao Jiqing as she entered the office. He looked particularly radiant today.

She greeted him, “Good morning, Mr. Liao!”

Liao Jiqing paused. “Your first exam is this afternoon, right?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Good. Brother Chao will stop by at three. Come back to the office once your exam’s over,” he said.

“Got it.”

He seemed to be in a good mood—probably because the opening sequence had gotten the green light again?

Soon after, Liao Yazhe came over. “Aren’t you going upstairs to check your results?”

“If I passed, I passed. If not, I didn’t. What’s the rush? I’ll pick it up later when I head in for the exam,” Fan Qi replied.

“No confidence, huh? Want me to grab it for you?” Liao Yazhe teased.

Fan Qi pulled the receipt slip from her bag and placed it in his hand. “That would be great, thanks.”

She really treated him like a personal assistant? Liao Yazhe accepted the slip. Even if she did treat him like an errand boy, he’d still go.

After chatting for a bit more, a colleague called out, “Fan Qi, morning meeting’s starting!”

“Coming.”

“Have you seen Yazhe?”

Just as she mentioned him, Liao Yazhe walked in quickly and handed her an envelope. “Here, take a look.”

Fan Qi placed the transcript in her drawer, intending to open it after the meeting. But Liao Yazhe snatched it away, saying, “Open it now.”

A colleague at the meeting room door waved, “We’re just waiting on you two.”

Fan Qi opened the envelope while walking. Upon unfolding the transcript, she frowned—the results seemed lower than she had anticipated.

Liao Yazhe leaned over to console her and glanced at the grades. “It’s totally normal to fail the first time! Especially when you only reviewed for a few days… Wait— you passed everything?”

“Paper One was all basic stuff, and I only got a seventy-three. I thought I’d get at least eighty,” Fan Qi muttered, trying to figure out where she’d lost points.

It’s not like higher scores get you a better certification—passing is enough. And yet, she was dissatisfied with her score?

Their conversation at the doorway was loud enough for everyone inside the meeting room to hear. Liao Jiqing asked, “You passed all of them?”

“She really did,” Liao Yazhe confirmed, now regretting it—did this mean he’d have to call her “Grandma” now?

Fan Qi handed the transcript to Liao Jiqing. He glanced at it and asked, “You went to handle the contract termination yesterday—was it finalized?”

“Yes, everything’s done.”

“Let’s discuss your new contract after the meeting. We need to apply for your license as soon as possible.”

Passing all three subjects meant she could now apply for a professional license. That required the brokerage firm to submit an application to the Securities and Futures Commission. Fan Qi nodded, “Okay.”

Liao Jiqing returned to the main topic. Regardless of whether Chen Zhiqian gave a public statement, the hype around video game console stocks had already cooled down. Those quick-hit stocks had long since been offloaded. Right now, the real opportunities were still in banking, shipping, and real estate. Especially shipping—after hitting a low in 1983, and with the signing of the Sino-British Joint Declaration, the future direction was clear. Hong Kong’s role as a gateway for trade and finance with the mainland was reaffirmed. Shipping recovery would be a long-term trend.

After the meeting, Fan Qi followed Liao Jiqing into the office, and he called in Ms. Xiang.

Liao Jiqing said to Fan Qi, “At our brokerage, stockbroker income is divided into a few parts. The base salary depends on your qualifications and performance. You don’t have either yet. Even if you made a lot of money in your first week, it doesn’t count as a track record, right?”

“Right, it doesn’t count.” Fan Qi had no objections.

“So, we’ll go with the entry-level trader salary: five thousand HKD per month.” He turned to Ms. Xiang. “That sound about right?”

“After last year’s adjustments, junior staff are paid based on education. High school graduates get three thousand, local university grads get four thousand, and graduates from prestigious UK or US universities get five thousand five hundred,” Ms. Xiang replied.

So Mr. Liao was already being generous. After all, she was just a high school graduate from the mainland.

Liao Jiqing nodded. “In addition, when you trade using your account, the firm earns commissions. For each buy or sell transaction, the trader gets two dollars per trade. How many trades you do in a day is up to you. If clients trust you enough to let you manage their assets, then you can also collect management fees—there are standard formulas for that. Ms. Xiang will give you the details.”

“Got it.” Fan Qi understood clearly—being a stockbroker was far more promising than most jobs out there.

She had read job ads in the newspaper—elementary school teachers and office clerks typically earned around three thousand HKD. Five thousand HKD was just the base; even if you didn’t do asset management, the commission from handling trades all day could add up fast. And if you earned the trust of big clients? The fees would be even more substantial.

Liao Jiqing stood up. “The market’s open. I’m heading downstairs.”

Fan Qi handed the necessary documents to Ms. Xiang, who in turn gave her the firm’s commission policy. “The company reviews each broker’s performance at year-end and adjusts base salaries accordingly. By then, you probably won’t be on base salary anymore.”

“Mm.” For Fan Qi, whether it was base pay or commission didn’t matter as much. What she truly wanted was to trade inside the market.

The morning session had started, and video game console concept stocks were taking a dive. Ailai Electronics had already fallen below 20 cents. Someone asked, “Didn’t people from Changxing say Tianhe was acquiring Ailai? Why’s the price still dropping?”

“Come on, it already ran from 7 cents to 50—how many times over is that? Even if Tianhe is buying them out, they’re not stupid. These stocks have risen too much and needed a correction anyway. If they use shares bought earlier to crash the price and trigger panic selling, they can scoop up bloodied shares at 20 cents. Isn’t that way more cost-effective?” Liao Yazhe said, watching Ailai’s price plummet.

“With this sharp drop, there’s bound to be a rebound. Sell during the bounce,” Fan Qi advised. “Changxing saying Tianhe is acquiring Ailai might be true, but if it’s just to manufacture for Tianyao, then it’s probably just wishful thinking.”

“Alright, I’ll unload it later.”

“Mm.” Fan Qi gave a brief reply and began looking into Yihe Trading Company. As expected, its stock dropped at market open—clearly the divorce rumors were affecting investor confidence. Especially since Mrs. Lin had helped Lin Yi He build the company from the ground up.

Still, it was just a stock to research—not one she’d ever consider trading. After all, children’s toys weren’t exactly a hot sector, and Hong Kong didn’t have a two-child or three-child policy to boost demand.

There wasn’t much to see in the market. Having drunk too much water that morning, Fan Qi headed upstairs to the restroom about twenty minutes before the morning session ended. When she came out, Ms. Xiang spotted her.

“Qi Qi, there’s a new restaurant that just opened. Want to go try it out?”

“Sure!” Fan Qi joined Ms. Xiang and two other colleagues for lunch.

“Why isn’t Baomei coming?” she asked.

Ms. Xiang leaned in and whispered, “Baomei only earns a modest salary. She just graduated from university, and her family’s still waiting to be assigned public housing. This place is a bit pricey, so we didn’t ask her.”

Waiting to “go upstairs” meant waiting for the government to allocate public housing—a long wait for many.

Seeing that a plate of fried rice cost forty to fifty dollars, Fan Qi silently applauded Ms. Xiang for being so considerate.

Fan Qi had arrived in Hong Kong suddenly. She used to be called “Miss Fan,” which she could live with. But now that people knew she was married, they had started calling her “Mrs. Chen.” Fan Qi understood she had to adapt. Whether one was a housewife or a career woman, once married, they were typically referred to by their husband’s surname. The only distinction was between “Mrs. So-and-So” and “Madam So-and-So.”

“Can you all just call me by my name? Being called Mrs. Chen feels really awkward,” Fan Qi said, genuinely unable to get used to it.

“It’s actually just following the Western tradition—pretty normal,” Mrs. Lu explained to her.

“I know, it’s just… I’m not used to it. I’d really be more comfortable if you all called me Fan Qi,” she replied with a nod.

Auntie Xiang chimed in to support her, “Since Qi Qi prefers being called by her name, just go with that.”

The other two women at lunch were both married, so naturally the conversation turned to children. Fan Qi had nothing to contribute to the topic and focused on her black pepper salmon fried rice instead—it was surprisingly good, and she mentally noted to try recreating it at home.

“Fan Qi, when are you planning to have kids?” Mrs. Lu asked suddenly.

That caught her off guard. In her past life, she had been raised with little care, and she herself had never seriously considered marriage or motherhood. Even now, although she bore the title of a married woman, she and Chen Zhiqian would part ways eventually—she fully intended to return to her original life.

Fan Qi shook her head. “Haven’t really thought about it.”

“Well, once you’re married, it’s best to have children sooner rather than later. You’re probably worried about your body changing, right? But actually, having kids earlier makes it easier to get your figure back,” Mrs. Lu said, sharing her own experience. “You’re so pretty, and your husband’s so handsome—your baby would be adorable!”

Fan Qi hadn’t expected to be pressured about having kids even here in Hong Kong. “I used to be filming, and my husband was still in school. Now I’m working here, and he’s just starting his business. I’m still young—there’s no rush, right?”

Thankfully, they dropped the topic of her having kids and moved on to discussing how expensive children were. The conversation naturally drifted toward toys, which led to gossip about Mrs. Lam’s rumored divorce from Lin Yihe.

“Honestly, Yihe Trading wouldn’t be where it is now without Mrs. Lin. Their ‘Children’s World’ store was just a knockoff of Jincheng Group’s ‘Toy World’—no originality at all…”

Fan Qi hadn’t been to either store, so she had no input and simply listened quietly.

“I prefer Toy World,” said Mrs. Lu. “There’s a price difference—Children’s World is cheaper, so housewives might care more about that. But Toy World’s quality is better, so I usually shop there.”

“That’s not the only thing,” said another colleague. “Toy World’s staff always look so sour—who wants to shop under their glares?”

“I don’t like Children’s World. The moment you walk in, the staff follow you around, pushing this and recommending that. You end up going home with a bunch of stuff you didn’t even want.”

…

Listening to them, Fan Qi learned that although Children’s World had cheaper prices and better service, making it more popular than Toy World, the latter still had better product quality due to its backing from a major corporation. The fact that Children’s World was able to beat out Toy World was largely thanks to Mrs. Lin’s efforts.

The women all expressed sympathy for Mrs. Lin—except for Auntie Xiang, who said dryly, “We’re here earning a few thousand dollars a month, feeling sorry for a rich lady worth hundreds of millions.”

These were just things to listen to in passing—none of it had much to do with Fan Qi. After lunch, she returned to the office to grab her documents and head upstairs for her exam. Just then, the phone rang. It was Chen Zhiqian.

“Did the results come out?” he asked.

“They did.” She answered whatever he asked.

“Did you pass?”