Chapter Forty: Earth-Shattering Secrets!

Li Qingcheng looked at Qin Luo with a smile, her eyes lingering until he awkwardly averted his gaze. Then, she parted her cherry lips and said, “You really are shameless.”

“Right back at you,” Qin Luo replied with a blank expression.

He didn’t know much about business management, but that didn’t mean he was a fool. He understood that if this medicinal powder ever made it to the market, the profits would be staggering.

Yunnan Baiyao’s market value alone had reached tens of billions, and this special medicine of his, capable of relieving pain, reducing inflammation, and rapidly restoring the skin’s surface to its original state, would be even more beloved by the public.

God gave everyone the desire for beauty, but not a beautiful face. Just by calculating how many people worldwide suffer from acne scars, one could make a rough prediction of how vast this market would be.

Who would want scars on their face or body?

Even giving Li Qingcheng thirty percent of the profits would result in a terrifying sum. Of course, Li Qingcheng was well aware of this. Otherwise, with her shrewdness, she would never have agreed to such a partnership.

“So, does this mean we’re heroes who admire each other?” Li Qingcheng said with a charming smile.

“No, it means a hero can’t resist a beauty,” Qin Luo replied. He tried hard to move his gaze away from the tempting neckline of her dress, but—unconsciously, his eyes drifted back. Perhaps every lecher is helpless before temptation after all.

“That’s the answer I like.” Li Qingcheng raised the teacup before her, clinked it toward Qin Luo, and said, “To a pleasant partnership.”

“To a pleasant partnership,” Qin Luo echoed, raising his cup to meet hers.

“When I discovered my leg injury was completely healed without a trace, I wanted to work with you. Do you know how big the beauty industry is right now? In China alone, it’s reached three hundred billion yuan.”

“If our Qingcheng Rejuvenating Powder makes it to the market, I’m confident we can quickly capture at least three to five percent of the market share.”

“Qingcheng Rejuvenating Powder?”

“That’s the name I chose. Do you like it?”

“Well, its name is Golden Chrysalis Skin-Nourishing Powder.”

“Oh. That’s even better. At least I don’t know what it means. What is a golden chrysalis?”

“It’s a kind of native insect, found only in the wild forests of Yunnan and Guizhou, extremely rare,” Qin Luo said with a wry smile. “That’s our first hurdle. There’s no way to mass produce it.”

Li Qingcheng’s slender, dark brows knit together, but quickly relaxed. “Is there an alternative ingredient?” she asked.

“There is, but it won’t be as effective as the golden chrysalis powder,” Qin Luo replied.

“Do you think there are enough turtles to support the sales of hundreds of millions of boxes of Chinese softshell turtle essence each year?” Li Qingcheng shot back.

“…”

Seeing Qin Luo lower his head and sip his tea in silence, Li Qingcheng laughed softly, then tapped his leg lightly with her toe. “Handsome, just wait to get rich. When you’re rich, what’s the thing you want to do most?”

“Get married,” Qin Luo answered without thinking.

“Pathetic. With that much money, why would you worry about that? By then, you’ll have more women than you can possibly handle,” Li Qingcheng said with disdain. “What else?”

“Build the Qin Luo Hope Primary School.”

Now it was Li Qingcheng’s turn to be speechless. She felt she’d met a real oddball.

This man—or rather, this boy—wasn’t as innocent as he appeared.

He turned down Li Qingcheng’s invitation to lunch; he dared not mingle with that gang of female ruffians any longer. If this went on, he feared his virtue would be at risk.

Qin Luo hailed a cab to the Medical University—by now, Lin Huanxi was probably still waiting at the gate.

He’d considered calling Lin Huanxi to tell her not to wait, to go home first. But he hesitated, worried she’d ask for a reason.

For some reason, Qin Luo subconsciously didn’t want Lin Huanxi to know he’d been with Li Qingcheng.

Perhaps it was Lin Huanxi’s expression that night which told him that the “Ice and Fire Duo” could never truly mix.

When the taxi stopped at the university gate, Qin Luo didn’t spot Lin Huanxi’s champagne BMW, but he did see Wang Hao and Chen Xiaoxue arguing at the entrance.

Chen Xiaoxue’s eyes were brimming with tears as she tried to hold Wang Hao back. Wang Hao looked thoroughly disgusted, flung off her hand, and slipped into his silver Mercedes, speeding away.

“Driver, follow that Mercedes,” Qin Luo said urgently.

“Kid, are you sure this is a good idea?” The driver gave him an awkward smile.

Qin Luo said nothing, simply pulled out a couple of large bills and handed them over.

“Heh, don’t worry. You won’t lose sight of him,” the driver grinned, slammed his foot on the accelerator, and took off after the Mercedes.

Qin Luo was unfamiliar with Beijing, and he couldn’t even tell how many streets they’d crossed, how many overpasses they’d circled, how many traffic lights they’d passed—until the silver Mercedes finally turned into a factory on the outskirts. The taxi stopped a short distance away.

“How much?” Qin Luo asked.

“One hundred and ninety-five.”

“I already gave you two hundred. Keep the change.”

“Wasn’t that a tip?”

“That was the fare in advance.”

The driver gritted his teeth, turned the car around, and sped away in tears.

“American Ojia Medical Equipment Sales Co., Ltd.,” Qin Luo read the golden sign on the factory with a cold laugh. The national obsession with all things foreign was truly severe—everything had to have a foreign name, as if it somehow made it classier.

Once Wang Hao’s car entered, the factory gates closed tightly again, making Qin Luo all the more suspicious.

They say business should welcome all customers—why close the gates in broad daylight?

Qin Luo guessed the entrance would be heavily guarded. Fortunately, the place was remote, and whatever their purpose, they’d chosen a rather out-of-the-way location.

Qin Luo skirted the factory wall, making his way to the back.

After confirming no one was watching, Qin Luo gathered up his robe, tied it around his waist, took a few steps back, then sprinted forward and kicked off the wall, vaulting over the two-meter-high barrier.

He lay atop the wall, listening intently. Not far away, voices drifted over.

“Second Brother, did the boss get another shipment recently?” A young voice asked.

“Yeah, still the same source,” came the reply—a hoarse voice, accompanied by a coughing fit. Qin Luo could tell the man was a heavy smoker, his lungs already in bad shape.

“Sigh, it’s a real shame. The boss isn’t short on money—why can’t he just bring in genuine, legal goods?”

“Li Lingxi, are you looking to die? You dare say that aloud? We’re just workers—why care about such things? Whoever pays us is the boss. No need to meddle.”

“I just felt bad, that’s all. Wanted to talk to you.”

“Just make sure you only say that to me. Say it to anyone else and you’ll be beaten to death. All the supervisors here are related to the boss.”

“I get it. Second Brother, let’s go eat. It’s time.”

“Let’s go.”

With the voices fading away, Qin Luo listened to every word, his suspicions about the factory solidifying.

He surveyed the grounds—apart from some distant figures, the back yard was nearly deserted.

Qin Luo landed softly inside, then moved like a fox toward the factory.

The factory was gloomy and damp.

To Qin Luo’s professional eye, the hygiene alone was far below the standard for a medical supplies manufacturer.

Of course, in domestic enterprises, this sort of thing was hardly unusual. No one actually enforced those standards.

With the right connections, you could manufacture health supplements in a public restroom. Hadn’t the evening news reported that some unscrupulous stinky tofu workshops used sewage to speed up fermentation?

In this remarkable country, anything was possible.

Medical supplies—IV sets, syringes, dental tools, catheters, surgical instruments—lay scattered across the floor, along with disposable leather pouches bearing the logo of a famous international brand.

At the sight, Qin Luo immediately understood Wang Hao’s business.

Thank goodness he’d recently learned how to use his phone’s camera. He snapped photos of the scene, stuffed a few samples into his pocket, and slipped out.

He had just climbed back onto the wall when his phone suddenly rang, nearly making him fall.

He landed quickly, pulled out the phone, and answered irritably, “Who is it?”

“It’s me.” Lin Huanxi’s calm voice sounded through the receiver.

“Ah—Sister Lin, where are you?” Qin Luo asked, realizing his tone had been a bit harsh.

“I had a reception at noon and only just got free. I won’t be able to come home for lunch today,” Lin Huanxi explained.

“Haha, that’s fine. I’ll head home myself,” Qin Luo said.

“All right, then,” Lin Huanxi replied.

“Goodbye.”

After hanging up, Qin Luo hurried to the main road. He waited over ten minutes before catching a cab back to Beijing.

When Qin Luo arrived home, Lin Qingyuan was sitting under the balcony reading the paper. The old man’s early retirement notice had already come, along with Ma Youcai’s appointment as hospital director.

Ma Youcai had long resented Lin Qingyuan’s grip on the hospital, and now, in his new position, he was determined to purge dissenters and promote those loyal to him.

Unable to change the situation, Lin Qingyuan simply decided to stay away from the hospital altogether.

Seeing Qin Luo return, Lin Qingyuan set his paper aside and asked, “Qin Luo, why are you back alone? Where’s Huanxi? Didn’t you come home together?”

“Sister Lin had a reception and won’t be back for lunch,” Qin Luo replied with a smile.

“I see. Well, let’s eat,” Lin Qingyuan said.

“Grandpa Lin, let me show you something first,” Qin Luo said, grinning.

“What is it?” Lin Qingyuan asked.

Qin Luo pulled the medical supplies he’d collected from his pocket and placed them before Lin Qingyuan.

“What are these?” Lin Qingyuan asked in confusion.

“These are my treasures. With them, you might just get your old job back as hospital director,” Qin Luo teased.