Chapter 8: Just How Rich Is He?

When Lin Xiaqing returned to the hospital ward, Jin Yang had already had his wounds treated and changed into hospital pajamas.

A large crowd had just exited the room—a veritable parade including the hospital’s president, vice president, department heads, and even orthopedic specialists who’d rushed in from the city. What had once been a cold and quiet ward now felt anything but deserted.

Jin Yang, with his long limbs, wore the largest size of hospital clothes available, but it still hung loosely on him, leaving his wrists and ankles exposed—adding an odd touch of comicalness to his otherwise noble bearing.

Lin Xiaqing noticed that the half-peeled apple she’d left earlier was now halfway in Jin Yang’s mouth.

Feeling guilty, she explained in the most awkwardly obvious way, “Are you okay? I just went to get help, but… I don’t think it really made a difference.”

She hadn’t even had time to tell the nurses what was going on before the hospital’s security department, ordered by Deputy County Chief Lu, had swooped in like a whirlwind.

Jin Yang glanced at her and pointed at the netted bag of apples on the small table between the two beds. Holding the half-eaten apple, he said, “There’s a big bill under the apples—that’s the smallest denomination I had on me. I bought one of your apples without asking.”

Lin Xiaqing’s eyes nearly lit up. A ten-yuan note! Heaven above—she was desperate for money right now. Ten yuan! That could buy a whole tricycle full of apples!

Overwhelmed, she thought: This rich guy has no idea how much this means to me. In her mind, half her reason was shouting: No! You can’t take it! You just saw how scary his background is—even the highest-ranking officials were scared stiff of him. If he finds out you swindled ten yuan for one apple, your little life won’t be worth a dime.

The other half said: Take it! It’s free money from the sky! Better than not being able to pay hospital bills halfway through your mom’s treatment and being kicked out like trash. You stop a treatment halfway, and those drug-resistant bacteria come back for vengeance. Then Qiao Chunjin’s pleurisy would really be hopeless.

Swallowing her hesitation, Lin Xiaqing, despite herself, suddenly spoke in an overly sweet tone that made her cringe, “That’s too much. I’m heading to the market to buy mosquito coils and some other stuff—I’ll get you change.”

Her mouth and her brain had totally disconnected. She raged inside—What the hell are you saying?! You’re trying to be noble now?!

But Jin Yang had already done the math.

As a stranger in a foreign place, suddenly hospitalized, he had nothing on hand. Plus, with his injuries, even going to the bathroom would be difficult. Dean Cao had offered him a private room, but he’d declined. Nurses wouldn’t be attending to him 24/7, so having someone else in the room could be convenient. He might need an extra hand now and then.

And those mother and daughter in the next bed were easy on the eyes. The older and younger both looked like flowers in bloom—having them around brightened up the place.

Hearing that she was heading out, Jin Yang politely said, “I need quite a few things. Do you mind finding some paper so I can write a list? Don’t worry about the change—I won’t be needing it. The doctor says I won’t be moving around much for the next couple weeks. There’ll be a lot I’ll need your help with—fetching meals, hot water, that kind of thing. My car’s also been towed for repairs. They said it’ll be ready in a couple of days. When the time comes, I’d like you to help check it over. There are a few books inside I want to read while I recover. I can’t move much, so I’ll have to trouble you. I’ll pay you extra for your help.”

Jin Yang, who seemed like the most polite and harmless young man, was actually making careful calculations behind those refined manners—strategically securing the help of this pretty and capable “little nurse.”

Not because he couldn’t move around—but because he didn’t want to.

What neither of them realized was that Lin Xiaqing was thrilled. She felt a kind of unspoken mutual understanding between them, a pure, unofficial employment relationship: he was her wealthy benefactor, and she was his hired helper.

So she finally took the ten yuan with a clear conscience.

Of course, raised under the red flag and shaped by socialist ideals, Jin Yang didn’t feel particularly proud of himself. He’d always been taught about equality and collective unity. Instead, he felt a little ashamed for privately exploiting a young girl’s labor—such behavior didn’t befit a “man of character.”

He was keenly aware of the political climate. Debates over whether private employment was a remnant of capitalism were still raging in People’s Daily. Even if he knew deep down which side would ultimately prevail, the traumas he’d witnessed during the upheaval of the last decade had made him cautious. He would never risk putting such arrangements on paper.

Still, whatever each of them thought privately, the arrangement worked: one was willing to help, the other to be helped.

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After a shopping spree—mosquito coils, towels, toothbrushes, toothpaste, enamel cup, basin, lunch box, utensils, undergarments, soap, toilet paper, and more—Lin Xiaqing returned to the hospital just as the setting sun cast a golden glow over the row of camphor trees outside.

Evening sunlight was auspicious. It meant tomorrow would be a clear day—perfect for ripening the tomatoes in her village. In a few days, when she returned home, she could make tomato paste and enjoy tomato-and-mantou sandwiches for breakfast.

Looking up, she saw Jin Yang at the third-floor window, half-hidden by the trees, waving at her with his one good hand. The golden sunlight seemed to gild his entire figure.

Then she noticed—Oh? He still hasn’t cleaned off the motor oil from trying to fix the car earlier?

Well, fine. That motor oil didn’t hide his ridiculously good looks.

Smiling, Lin Xiaqing waved back but suddenly felt self-conscious—like an honest old ox, trudging along with a netted bag of goods for her “landlord boss,” ready to report back with tail wagging.

The sages said: wealth must not corrupt, power must not oppress, she reminded herself. She shouldn’t be dazzled by Jin Yang’s looks or background, nor should she sell herself short.

With a serious face, she washed his face.

The new soap turned black quickly, but Jin Yang’s face became squeaky clean—cleaner than she’d expected. His “black eggshell” now revealed a chiseled and charming face that was frankly irresistible.

Lin Xiaqing’s heart skipped a beat. Even though in her past life she’d encountered countless handsome men with elaborate charm traps, this one still got to her.

Having never taken care of anyone before—she hadn’t even taken care of herself properly in her last life—she now had two patients on her hands. So she went to ask around the other wards for tips on taking care of men.

Taking care of Qiao Chunjin, another woman, was relatively easy. But for Jin Yang? She wanted to be prepared.

She visited several wards and targeted young male patients around Jin Yang’s age, consulting their female relatives on how best to care for them.

They were more than happy to share:

“Men have to shave daily—their chins are like weeds. Shave in the morning, and by night, it’s grown back.”

“Don’t be fooled by how tall and strong they look—they’re way more fragile than women. A bit of pain and they cry for their moms. Never their dads.”

Lin Xiaqing took diligent notes.

Men’s hair gets oily faster, especially in summer. Ideally, wash it every day, or every two days at the latest. The back of the neck and head must be cleaned regularly too, or the pillowcase stains yellow.

Their collars and sleeves also get dirty easily—pre-soak with soap before scrubbing.

While washing Jin Yang’s clothes, she found a lot of cash in his pockets.

Turns out, he wasn’t lying—that ten-yuan bill really was the smallest denomination he had.

She counted it—over 500 RMB in cash, and a wad of 800 USD.

Her heart pounded. She wasn’t unfamiliar with U.S. dollars—she’d used them often in her past life in the free trade zones. But this was the closed-off 1980s. Even in the provincial capital, you hardly saw foreigners, let alone this kind of hard currency. Carrying that much USD made Jin Yang… very suspicious.

What was he doing with all that money?

Wasn’t he afraid someone would report him as an American spy?

But even more shocking was the 5,000 yuan fine receipt from the Hainan Bureau of Industry and Commerce.

FIVE THOUSAND.

That was more than the annual output of the most productive team in her village.

The fine was for “import car island exit fee” and bore an official red stamp—not a fake.

It was 1984. Lin Xiaqing’s past-life memories stirred—she finally understood what Jin Yang and his car were all about.

That year, Hainan became the epicenter of a nationwide gray-market car trade boom. Leaders in Hainan exploited policy loopholes and turned the island into a hotbed for speculative profiteering.

With tacit support from central leadership and bold moves by local officials, the island buzzed with talk of imported cars. Everyone—from the rich to the poor—scrambled to get a piece of the pie.

Flipping just one car could bring profits in the tens of thousands.

In the early 1980s, a private individual making ten thousand yuan a year was already considered a top-tier tycoon. But in 1984 Hainan, people went crazy.

And Jin Yang?

It was only June. That meant he was among the first wave of those who struck gold.

He had to have high political awareness and access to privileged information. Otherwise, why else would someone from Beijing travel all the way to the south with surgical precision?

He must’ve seen or heard something ordinary people couldn’t.

Which only made Lin Xiaqing even more curious—

Just how rich is Jin Yang?