Eyes That See All

Chapter 10: A Temporary Calm

The next few days were quiet.

Wang Defa didn't stir up trouble. No calls from unknown numbers. Nobody showed up at Lao Zhou's asking questions. Those nine hundred yuan in vehicle damage fees landed like a period at the end of a sentence—at least for now.

Zhang Lei pulled his life back onto its tracks.

Tuesday, he went to the hospital. Binjiang City Second People's Hospital, internal medicine. Registered for fifteen yuan, brought his father's old medical records to the doctor.

"Hypertension plus coronary heart disease." The doctor flipped through the crumpled booklet. "Can't stop the medication. The blood pressure one is imported—domestic alternative is half the price but less effective. You've been on the imported one this whole time?"

"Yeah. Four hundred a month."

"Keep taking it." The doctor said. "With chronic conditions like this, you can't cut corners switching drugs. The adjustment period costs more in the long run."

Zhang Lei nodded. Four hundred it was.

From the hospital he went to the pharmacy for the prescription, then to the supermarket for a bag of rice and a jug of cooking oil. At the snack aisle he stopped—picked up a bag of sachima and checked the price. His mother loved these but never bought them. Too expensive, she'd say.

Nine yuan eighty.

Zhang Lei dropped it in the basket.

Two steps further, he spotted a gray scarf. The thick, long winter kind. His mother's scarf from last year had unraveled at the seam—she'd wound it with two strips of tape and kept wearing it.

Thirty-nine yuan.

Into the basket.

When he got home, Liu Guifen was crouched by the sink at the front door washing clothes. Zhang Lei set the bags on the table—rice and oil on the bottom, the sachima and scarf on top.

"What's all this?" Liu Guifen came in with a few wet strands of hair stuck to her face, drying her hands on her apron.

"Got them for you."

"Why are you spending money on this! Winter's already over and you're buying a scarf..." Her mouth said one thing, but her hand was already reaching out to touch it. Gray, and soft.

"For next winter."

"This kid." Liu Guifen muttered as she folded the scarf and put it away. The sachima she tore open right there, holding one out to Zhang Lei. "Want some?"

"You have it."

Zhang Lei went to his room. Door closed, he sat on the edge of the bed and pulled out his phone to do the math.

Bank account: eighteen hundred.

Cash in the dictionary: three thousand nine hundred (three thousand from the card game plus nine hundred from Wang Defa).

Minus today's spending: four hundred for medicine, one-twenty for rice and oil, fifty in miscellaneous groceries.

About five thousand two hundred left.

He owed Lao Zhou five hundred—should pay that back in the next couple days. Over two months overdue. After that, four thousand seven hundred.

Interest on the twenty-thousand debt: three hundred due next month.

If he didn't find income—just sat here burning through savings—four thousand seven hundred would last three months at most. But he wasn't planning to sit idle.

The card games were still an option. But not the old place—Zhao Si was there. He needed somewhere new.

And besides, the ceiling on card games was painfully obvious. Fifty-hundred stakes at small tables meant one or two thousand a night was the max. Any more and he'd draw attention. In these neighborhood card rooms everyone knew each other. Win too much and people either got suspicious or stopped playing with you.

He needed another path.

Zhang Lei opened his phone and browsed. "Binjiang used car market." "Used car inspector." "Used car business startup." He searched a mess of things.

Three years at Wang Defa's dealership had taught him the business. Which cars sold well, what condition warranted what price, what buyers feared most and cared about most—he knew the basics. What he lacked was connections and capital.

But if he could use the vision to see a car's true condition—problems that cost others three thousand yuan in third-party inspections, he'd spot in a single glance.

What did that mean?

It meant he could cherry-pick bargains in the used car market. Good cars that others mistook for damaged ones and priced low—he'd see the truth. Accident cars that others thought were clean and priced high—he'd never get fooled.

Buy low, sell high. Built on information asymmetry.

Same logic as the card table—seeing what others couldn't was the advantage. Only instead of paper cards on a gambling table, it was tens of thousands of yuan in steel and rubber.

Zhang Lei killed the screen and stared at the ceiling for a while.

Two paths. Card games for short-term cash flow. Used cars for the medium-to-long game.

But used cars needed capital. At least twenty or thirty thousand to buy the first car with real profit potential. He didn't have that yet.

Still had to win more first.

Tomorrow—find a new card room. Farther away, outside Zhao Si's territory. Win steady, win past twenty thousand, then move into the used car market for real.

Zhang Lei plugged in his phone and closed his eyes.

From the next room came his father's cough. One, two, then the sound of pouring water. Then his mother's voice—"Can't you smoke less?"—and his father's noncommittal grunt.

Same thing every day. Ten years running.

Zhang Lei rolled over. The bruise on the back of his head from the lightning strike didn't hurt anymore. The cut on his left knee had scabbed over hard; his walk was back to normal.

Only his temples still pulsed now and then. The mark the vision left behind. A reminder that the power was there.

Sleep. Tomorrow, keep going.