Franklin Turner was just imagining the wonderful life of standing at the top of the food chain, holding two five-nut mooncakes, eating one and tossing the other, when he was startled awake by Jack Warren's shout, only to realize he was still on Earth. Just now, Jack Warren addressed him according to their dorm ranking—Franklin Turner was the youngest in the dorm, and for all four years of college, everyone called him Old Eight. As for Jack Warren, well, he was Old Seven.

"Old Seven, let me ask you, what do you plan to do if you make money?"

Franklin Turner wiped the drool from the corner of his mouth, walked down from the podium, and asked Jack Warren.

"Eat!"

Jack Warren's answer was simple and direct.

"What if you have so much money you can't finish eating?"

"Get a wife, have a bunch of kids, and eat together."

"What if you still can't finish even with your wife and kids?"

"Take a few concubines, have even more kids to eat with."

"…"

Franklin Turner admitted defeat. Jack Warren really wasn't just arguing for the sake of it—he genuinely had this obsession in his heart.

Jack Warren also came from a rural background; his hometown was in a southeastern coastal region, where people have always believed in having many children—the more you have, the more face you gain. Back in college, Jack Warren had started discussions in the dorm more than a hundred times, asking everyone for ideas on how to circumvent national policies and have more kids.

"Old Seven, have you never thought about building a big company and becoming the richest man in the world?"

"What's the benefit of being the richest man in the world? Can I have more kids?"

"Of course. If you become the richest man in the world, you can immigrate to Bermuda, so you won't be under Chinese law anymore, and you can take as many concubines as you want. You could even marry wives from all over the world and have a bunch of kids with different skin colors—red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, violet—a dozen of each color, wouldn't that be wonderful?"

"Really? Then let's start a big company!" Jack Warren's eyes sparkled with longing.

Of course, this kind of conversation was just the usual nonsense between roommates. Franklin Turner had once, under the guise of making predictions, talked to Jack Warren about future market opportunities and drafted a multi-step development strategy for the company.

As for this strategy, Jack Warren's attitude was to take it one step at a time—if the future market turned out as Franklin Turner predicted, they'd follow the plan; if not, they'd adjust in time. As for the ultimate goal, the two had some differences: Franklin Turner wanted to become the richest man in the world, while Jack Warren felt it was enough to have a house and a car in Beijing.

The two of them left the teaching building, chatting about company business as they walked toward the east gate. Franklin Turner said to Jack Warren:

"Old Seven, we need to hurry up with the book compilation. This model is easy for others to copy—if too many people start doing it, we won't make any money."

Jack Warren agreed deeply: "Yeah, I think those grad students helping us with the books are already thinking about doing the same thing themselves, they just don't have the guts yet."

"Sooner or later, someone will copy us," said Franklin Turner.

"I think maybe we should also work on some higher-level books, so others can't imitate us," Jack Warren suggested.

Franklin Turner said, "That's a great idea. So, the glorious and difficult task of finding topics falls on your shoulders."

"Why me?"

"Because you're the top student—out of the whole class, you're the only one who stayed on as a teacher."

"But…"

"No buts, young man. Doing more work is never a bad thing—you'll understand in the future." Franklin Turner, imitating the tone of a workplace leader, patted Jack Warren on the shoulder as he spoke.

Just then, a beeping sound came from Franklin Turner's waist. Franklin Turner took his Chinese-character pager off his belt, pressed the button, and saw only five words on the screen:

The director is looking for you, return quickly.

"See, I'm swamped with work—our department can't do without me for even a minute. How could I have time to look for topics?"

Franklin Turner waved the pager in front of Jack Warren, then strode off.

This guy, he's really changed! Is it because he made money that he's become so cocky, or was he always cocky, which is why he could make money? ...Bah, why am I thinking about him? I've made money too, shouldn't I be doing something with it?

Jack Warren stood there, watching Franklin Turner dash out the east gate and get into a minivan, and his mind began to wander as well.

Chapter Four: Ruthless and Few Words

From the east gate of Renmin University to the Ministry of Machinery, it's a 9-kilometer ride—just within the 10-yuan starting fare for a minivan. Franklin Turner got out at the entrance of the Ministry of Machinery, tossed the driver a 10-yuan bill, and then, under the driver's resentful gaze, strode into the ministry building.

"Little Franklin, out on business?"

"Wow, you look really sharp today!"

"Hey, did Little Franklin change his hairstyle? I feel like you didn't have this style yesterday..."

Walking down the hallway of the Second Bureau, he was greeted by a chorus of cheerful voices. Franklin Turner already had a bit of natural good looks, and as a transmigrator, he possessed a flair that people of that era simply didn't have—every move he made seemed extraordinary.