Walking out of the alley, Evan Ford was surprised to find his grandfather, whose health had always been poor, waiting at the entrance.

“In the morning I saw your father go to withdraw money. I asked him a couple of questions, but he wouldn’t say anything... Did something happen? Grandpa doesn’t have much money, but take this.”

With a gesture that allowed no refusal, the old man stuffed a handful of small bills, probably a little over a hundred yuan, into Evan Ford’s hand.

Then, without waiting for him to react, he took a drag on his bamboo pipe, turned around, and walked away.

Evan Ford remembered that, years later in his previous life, he had rushed from far away, and his gravely ill grandfather had held on until his last breath, just to see him one more time before closing his eyes.

……

In the early 1990s, Shenghai still retained some of the atmosphere of the Republican era. Compared to the prosperity and modernity that would come later, this ten-mile stretch of foreign concessions had a certain unique flavor.

On January 22, 1992, at four in the morning, an exhausted Evan Ford arrived at Shenghai Railway Station.

At this point, the money he had left totaled 6,242.70 yuan.

This meant that the amount he could actually spend was only 242.70 yuan, which probably also had to cover his return train fare—just in case it took a long time to cash in the subscription certificate.

It was still dark, so Evan Ford simply hugged his backpack and dozed for a while at the station. When dawn broke, he washed up, then had a bowl of soy milk and two steamed buns.

After the meal, he asked the shop owner to fill a big bottle with water, and bought four more steamed buns to stuff into his backpack.

Recalling the blurry memories and those old photos reflecting the stock market frenzy of the early 90s—with their almost brutal scenes of people lining up—Evan Ford steeled himself for a “fight to the bitter end.”

He inquired about taking a taxi, but it was too expensive, so Evan Ford couldn’t bear to spend the money. He carried his bag and walked, looking around and asking for directions as he went.

“Uncle, auntie, sir, big brother, big sister... miss.”

“Oh my, I’m almost forty, and you, a little kid, call me ‘miss’? Are you messing with me?”

“Uh, sorry... this lady... comrade... sister?”

At this time, “beauty” probably wasn’t a common form of address yet, so should he say “miss”? Evan Ford wasn’t sure if “miss” had already started to carry a special meaning at this point.

He continued to ask politely along the way: “Hello, may I ask where I can buy a stock subscription certificate? Is there a sales point nearby?”

The situation was a bit unexpected. The vast majority of people Evan Ford asked shook their heads in confusion and asked back, “What’s that?... Never heard of it.”

Among the few who had heard of it, most would kindly remind him in heavily accented Mandarin: “Oh, that thing is a scam. You’re too young to understand, don’t waste your family’s money, you know?”

“Why?”

“It’s thirty yuan a piece, that’s daylight robbery! And after you buy it, there’s a lottery. Isn’t that just gambling? Only a dozen stocks are issued a year—how many people do you think will win? If you don’t win, then you’ve spent thirty yuan on a worthless piece of paper! Got it?”

“...Got it.”

Evan Ford truly understood now why this 1992 stock subscription certificate would later become the “get-rich certificate of ’92” that so many people would regret missing out on.

The reason was right there in what these people said.

It was precisely this widespread “consensus”—the fear and resistance that covered over ninety percent of the population—that made the subscription certificate soar.

“Very few people will buy it, so the odds of winning the lottery will be unimaginably high.”

Evan Ford came to this conclusion.

But if he didn’t have the memories from his previous life—or even if his past self had also come to Shenghai—Evan Ford thought, he would most likely have backed out. Even if he didn’t, he wouldn’t have dared to bet too much.

This was the microcosm of almost every wealth story in the fourteen years since the start of reform and opening up.

The vast majority of people, because of ingrained ways of thinking and habits of life, always doubted and hesitated in the face of new things, unable to accept them for a long time.

So, at this stage, those among the ordinary class who could truly get rich could generally be divided into two types:

Those who were especially smart, rational, and clear-headed;

And those who were blindly impulsive, with a gambler’s nature.

……

Finally, a man around forty pointed Evan Ford to the lobby of an Industrial and Commercial Bank, saying, “You can buy it there—I just bought... two.”

“Thank you.” After expressing his thanks, Evan Ford quickly walked forward.

“Young man,” the man called after him.

“Hmm?” Evan Ford turned around.

“It’s thirty yuan a piece, you know? Just buy one or two to try your luck, okay? Don’t waste your parents’ money.” The man kindly reminded him.

If I tried to persuade him to buy more, would he believe me?

After only a moment’s hesitation, Evan Ford gave up, nodded, and then walked into the somewhat empty bank lobby.

With plenty of time, he chose to observe from the side for a while.

In nearly half an hour, only seven people came to buy subscription certificates. Some bought one, some two, and the most anyone bought was four.

That was enough. All the signs were clear: the “expensive,” “unreliable” get-rich certificate of ’92 was not selling.

Chapter 9: The Fate of All Lives Before the Wheels of History