Chapter 167: Billionaire God Qiao

On December 12th, the great Master Qiao rang the opening bell of the stock exchange. For him, today was a truly special day; although only five million common shares were being listed, the significance was undeniably extraordinary.

The stock opened at twenty-four yuan and then skyrocketed all the way up. Old Qiao's mouth was split in a wide grin—from this moment on, he could officially consider himself a member of the upper echelons of the privileged class.

Quite magical, isn't it? How could one possibly measure everything purely by money?

Heh, I can only tell you that if you were to measure it by political power instead, things would undoubtedly turn out much worse.

Nearly all of Apple's founders became billionaires, and this impact was by no means smaller than that of William White, the richest man in the world. Do not forget, these were just a few poor kids who assembled computers in a garage.

William White?

Well, that is a different story altogether. The man was born a billionaire. Is it harder to make five billion starting with one hundred million, or is it easier to make one hundred million when you do not even have a single dime? Which task is more difficult is entirely self-evident.

Watching a large group of juniors overtake them on a sharp curve, Larry Ellison began to examine his own gains and losses.

Try to compete head-to-head with William White?

In William's eyes, a character like Ellison simply did not register. This was no longer a matter of him bullying newcomers; the two sides were no longer even on the same playing field. You had better surpass Apple first before even talking about anything else.

Bill Gates was also drooling with envy, though fortunately his company was running reasonably well. Although the operating system he had purchased was quite unreliable, his employees were dependable; after tinkering with a massive pile of patches, they actually managed to make it function normally.

Billionaires are eye-catching anywhere, and even more so in this era. Gold was currently hovering around four hundred dollars per ounce, and the threat of inflation seemed to be fading away.

Fine, you might argue that these are merely paper fortunes and that they do not actually possess that much liquid cash. In truth, this largely depends on the perspective from which you view things. If you only calculate cash value, then there are hardly any wealthy people left in this world.

Do not be fooled by the formidable aura of the top financial consortia; these fellows do not hold much cash either, and things have been even worse for them in recent years. Otherwise, they would not have set their sights so eagerly on a little guy.

And now it was even better: the company's board of directors was practically dazzling, featuring not only American financial groups, but also European and Japanese factions, alongside tycoons from the desert sands.

America's economic transition this time around was an extraordinarily cruel process. The unemployment rate among steelworkers and autoworkers was approaching twenty percent, meaning that one out of every five people was out of work.

People from the Middle Kingdom find it very difficult to understand what unemployment means in America, nor can they comprehend the plight of the homeless.

When we speak of the homeless here, we do not mean professional scavengers; many of them belong to the so-called elite strata.

Do not be surprised. Ninety percent of Americans have no savings. Someone earning five thousand a month will absolutely dare to spend seven thousand. If they lose their job, things might remain manageable for three months, but once that deadline passes, you will be left with nothing.

Your house is foreclosed, your car is repossessed, your wife remarries, and your son no longer has anything to do with you. Besides taking to the streets, you seem to have no other choices left.

What about unemployment relief? What about social security?

Heh! America is different from Europe; their tax burden is not as absurdly high as Europe's, so you had better not pin your hopes on relief—the figures are utterly laughable.

This Christmas was a deeply painful time for many people. They could only helplessly pray to God, hoping to escape their current plight as quickly as possible.

While the majority of people were suffering intensely in the crucible, a few individuals here were making fortunes. Envy and jealousy are entirely meaningless; you might as well see if you can switch careers instead.

The modern Federal Reserve was essentially playing a game of shock therapy—a method fraught with extreme danger, where a single misstep could plunge the economy into permanent shock.

Later on, the Russians tried copying this approach as well. To their great misfortune, those fools were thoroughly scammed and the patient flat out failed to be revived.

Thud.

"Good shot."

"Thank you, Meizi. Am I doing much better now?"

"Yes, you are making rapid progress. Your physical fitness is great, so there is no reason you wouldn't be able to learn."

"Really? I feel like things have been a bit poor lately. Shall we give it a try?"

"Don't, Boss. You have to attend a cocktail party soon; you can do whatever you want later tonight."

"Haha, let's go. With Master Qiao hosting, we must first feed ourselves."

"Boss, did you say he learned Zen from the Japanese?"

"Indeed! He learned some botched, mongrel version of it, and the guy even threw in some Indian elements on top of that. I simply don't understand—is this kind of stuff really that easy to modify at will?"

William White genuinely had no idea which grand master this fellow had learned from. The Buddhism practiced in India was completely unwatchable; the whole thing was sheer, reckless chaos.

Well, in all likelihood, the thing might have been that way to begin with, only to be heavily reconstructed by the Middle Kingdom.

"William, your entourage keeps getting bigger and bigger. Isn't that terribly boring?"

"Old Qiao, I simply have too much money, and that's not exactly safe. Look, I'm not even married yet; if I were to kick the bucket without spending my money, I would take a massive loss."

"Haha, do you need me to introduce anyone to you? There are plenty of young ladies here!"

"Tsk, everyone here eats a vegetarian diet. I'm afraid I'd break myself trying to keep up with that, and you know my physical stamina is exceptionally good."

"Yes, I know. But William, could you please stop using a ten-thousand-dollar golf club? That thing is utterly wasteful."

"Give me three years, Old Qiao. Give me three years, and I'll play you with ten-thousand-dollar stakes per swing."

"Deal. It's a promise."

William White's golf skills were basically a joke. To be fair, however, at his level of status, minor flaws truly did not matter much. If you happened to have absolutely zero shortcomings, you probably would not have any friends left around you either.

"Old Qiao, why do all the young ladies here look so sallow and pale? Are they suffering from malnutrition?"

As Master Qiao bantered with William White, the latter naturally did not hold back either.

"You don't understand. This is a great faith."

"Fine, fine. I have no right to critique your faith, but there is one thing: the human body requires various nutrients. Eating a vegetarian diet is not impossible, but you need to supplement your protein. Monks don't have to work, nor do they engage in intense mental labor—their bodies might be fine, but you certainly can't manage that."

Well, William White was acting a bit like a self-righteous savior, but Old Qiao's physique had clearly been ruined by his own reckless habits.

This was no idle exaggeration. Everyone possesses genetic fragments of cancer cells within their body; if you remain healthy and stable, those cancer cell fragments simply stay dormant. But if you relentlessly abuse and exhaust yourself, trouble will inevitably arise where previously there was none.

Old Qiao's party could only be described as dry and dull. His friends were also rather strange; how was it that this great master turned out completely different from the legends, happily trading witty banter with Master Qiao with endless relish?

Even Master Qiao had to concede defeat—the talent of this guy was genuinely no exaggeration. The various trends he imported wholesale were simply not enough to keep up with this man's games.

"Old Qiao, remember one saying: 'Wine and meat pass through the intestines, while the Buddha remains in the heart.' This was said by a famous high monk a thousand years ago, and that very temple still stands today."

"Are you certain you aren't pulling my leg?"

"Tsk, just ask any person from the Middle Kingdom. The temple is called Lingyin Temple, and that monk was known as Jijiandao."

"Linda, is there such a place?"

"There is indeed, and it is very famous, right on the shores of West Lake."

"See, Old Qiao, what you eat doesn't really matter. You can completely hypnotize yourself. I'm just like that—people say eating lobster is cruel, so I deliberately hypnotized myself into thinking that what I was eating at the time was merely a hot dog, only it happened to look a bit like a lobster."

The group of fellows was swiftly defeated by this man's utter shamelessness. Since the man claimed he was eating hot dogs, what more could they possibly complain about?