Chapter 17: What Do You Want to Do When You Have Money?

At the entrance of the shrimp farm, Chen Feng placed four sea cucumbers into the car and turned to ask, “Mr. Chu, the payment should have arrived, right?”

“It’s in,” Chu Lin nodded.

“I’ve already instructed the finance department to handle the taxes; you’ll be notified soon. Mr. Chu, let me know next time you have quality goods.” After speaking with Chu Lin, Chen Feng didn’t forget to address Huang Bin: “Huang Bin, what I promised you has been transferred as well—it should arrive shortly.”

“Thank you, Young Master Chen,” Huang Bin replied promptly.

Without lingering, Chen Feng bid his farewells and left with his team.

Not long after, Huang Bin received the transfer notification in his account.

A total of 160,000.

It was truly a feast from a single deal.

This was why those broker big shots could afford luxury cars, villas, and beautiful women.

But such big transactions were rare and unpredictable.

Grateful, Huang Bin looked at Chu Lin. “Chu Lin, I really owe this one to you.”

Without Chu Lin, he wouldn’t have been able to close such a substantial deal.

Crucially, this kind of private business was entirely outside the company’s purview.

“So I’m back from Mr. Chu to just Chu Lin now?” Chu Lin joked deliberately.

“They’re gone—no need for any more acting,” Huang Bin replied with a chuckle.

Chu Lin smiled. “I’ll transfer the three percent I promised you now!”

Huang Bin hurriedly said, “Chu Lin, no need. Young Master Chen’s side already gave me a handsome profit.”

In their world, it was standard to collect commissions from both sides if it was agreed upon in advance—sometimes even from three or four parties. That was normal.

But he genuinely hadn’t intended to profit from Chu Lin as well.

One mustn’t be too greedy.

Chu Lin simply smiled and transferred 108,000—the three percent—to Huang Bin anyway.

He was not the kind to take advantage of his friends, and he never went back on his word lightly.

No matter what, selling the Neptune grouper so quickly was thanks to Huang Bin’s efforts—respect for brothers mattered to him.

Brothers shouldn’t be idle when there’s nothing to do, but burdened when there is.

Receiving the transfer, Huang Bin looked at Chu Lin. “Chu Lin, you…”

Chu Lin smiled. “Say no more—next time at the bar, I get first pick of the prettiest girls.”

“Alright, alright, you pick first!” Huang Bin readily agreed.

When brothers go out together, who gets to choose first doesn’t matter; what matters is not wasting opportunities.

Seeing his account balance—over 3,890,000—Chu Lin called out to Huang Bin, “Take me to the city, I want to buy a car.”

Many people, upon coming into money, can’t wait to do something with it.

Buying a car is a dream for most young people.

Chu Lin was no exception.

It wasn’t about being conventional or not.

Especially in your twenties—if you don’t have such thoughts, you’re either hiding your true feelings or simply can’t afford it.

Of course, there are a few who rise above material concerns, but those are rare.

He certainly wasn’t one of them.

Chu Lin had long wanted a car. Back when he still believed in love, the harshest words he ever heard were: “No house, fine, but not even a car? How can you talk about dating?”

Before, he was one of those unable to do anything about it, even though he wanted to.

Now, things were different.

Once in the car, Huang Bin asked, “What kind of car do you want? I’ll take you straight to the dealership.”

“If I’m buying, I’ll get something decent,” Chu Lin said without hesitation.

At their age, wild and ambitious, no one settles when it comes to cars if they have the means.

There’s a saying online: “It’s not that the girl isn’t sweet enough—it’s because you drive a shabby Honda! Loving you is hard, because you drive a Chevrolet! The goddess won’t go out with you because you drive a tiny Chery! He mercilessly deleted you because you drive a dilapidated Chang’an…”

Though not absolute, when you’re chasing women out of your league, most of the time, that’s the reality.

Your competition is driving better cars, one after another.

Unless you have some extraordinary talent, why would a beautiful woman choose you?

Because you’re sincere?

In this society, sincerity is cheap.

“Let’s head to Huizhong Street first,” Chu Lin said.

Huizhong Street was a famed area in Min City, home to all kinds of luxury car dealerships.

Mercedes, BMW, Bentley, Porsche—even Bugatti and Aston Martin supercar showrooms were found along that street.

Dealerships for anything below the BBA tier didn’t dare open there.

With over 3,890,000 in his account, Chu Lin naturally planned to pick up a premium car.

Huang Bin quickly drove to the street. “Which one first?”

“Porsche. Let’s see if there’s a Panamera Executive available,” Chu Lin replied decisively.

This was one of the most popular cars among young people—something ninety-nine percent of them could only dream of owning.

Online, people scoff at the Panamera, saying a million-yuan car is nothing, that it’s just another common ride.

But Chu Lin knew: without a stroke of luck, ordinary people could never afford such a car in their lives.

He himself was living proof.

It puzzled him how society had adopted such strange values.

He recalled a large shop owner making about sixty thousand a month, who only dared drive a Mercedes E-Class and constantly complained about mortgage payments, social obligations, children’s education, car loans… how overwhelming it all was.

Sixty thousand a month, seven hundred twenty thousand a year—what level was that?

According to the National Bureau of Statistics, the average annual wage for young people in non-private companies was less than ninety thousand; in private companies, it was less than sixty thousand.

Another figure: the tax bureau reported that only about twenty million people filed last year.

That’s for those earning over 120,000 a year.

Those earning 720,000 made up less than twenty percent of the filers—not even four million people.

That’s already the ceiling for ordinary folk, yet even they feel buying a Panamera is a heavy burden, while so many online dismiss it as nothing, as if everyone could own one.

Wasn’t that odd? Wasn’t it insane?

With his current balance, Chu Lin could pay off the old five-hundred-mu shrimp pond’s lease, renovate the ancestral house in the village luxuriously, and still get a Panamera 4S Executive.

It was the top performer among entry-level “black fungus harvesters.”

At twenty-three, aside from the car, what else was left for a hot-blooded youth but the pursuit of “black fungus”?

He didn’t believe in love anymore, but that wasn’t to say he didn’t like “black fungus.”

No matter how many disparaged the car online, “black fungus” never lied.

Hearing Chu Lin’s words, Huang Bin drove straight into the Porsche dealership parking lot.

They got out and headed for the showroom.

Passing a floor-to-ceiling window, Chu Lin’s gaze was immediately drawn to a Panamera 4S Executive.

The entire car gleamed in the fine platinum metallic paint favored by young people, sparkling under the exhibition lights.

With its sleek lines, dazzling headlights, seductive waist—his first impression of the car was pure allure.

Crucially, that allure was tinged with an indescribable elegance.

“There’s an available car, but I’m not sure if it’s already reserved,” Chu Lin said, unable to tear his eyes away from its exterior, though he couldn’t tell how it was configured.

Huang Bin was equally captivated, and joked, “Chu Lin, if you get the Panamera, before it’s ‘contaminated’ by black fungus, take me for a spin.”

Clearly, he too harbored a touch of longing.

There’s a rhyme: Young and accomplished, full of spirit, the ride must be a Panamera; as the exhaust roars, long legs in silk stockings, the girls are truly beautiful.

It’s corny, but its existence proves a point.

He knew someone in his neighborhood who drove a Panamera—the passenger seat always changed girls.