The Intelligent Investor

Fang Chang'an woke up groggily, feeling Fang Changming's foot pressing on his chest. With a look of distaste, he pushed him aside. Seeing daylight streaming through the window and hearing sounds from the kitchen, he dressed and got out of bed.

Fang Lujun, as he always did after drinking, had gotten up early to make breakfast. When he saw Fang Chang'an, he greeted him with the same unusual warmth he always showed in the mornings: "Up already? Wash your face, the rice in the pot is ready."

Fang Chang'an responded, stretched lazily, then went through a few broadcast gymnastics moves to limber up. He went outside for a stroll, exchanging greetings with the elderly uncles and aunts who were also early risers.

Whether by coincidence or fate, as Fang Chang'an returned home, he spotted his grandfather, Fang Fukang, ambling over with his hands clasped behind his back. Fang Chang'an waited at the door and called out from afar, "Grandpa!"

The old man nodded, sauntering over slowly, but before he could speak, the cry of "Fresh fried crullers—get your crullers here—" rang out from behind the house.

The old man glanced at him, and Fang Chang'an immediately understood. He raised his voice and shouted, "Over here!"

The vendor stopped his bicycle and, recognizing the pair, asked, "Two bags again today?"

The old man nodded, watched as the two bags were packed, then handed over four coins. Fang Chang'an carried one bag, his grandfather the other, and together they wandered home at a leisurely pace.

Turning around, Fang Chang'an saw his father standing at the door. Knowing full well what was coming, his father asked, "Your grandpa bought those for you?"

"Yeah."

Fang Chang'an answered and carried the bag inside. Cong Rong was already up and asked the same question. He gave the same answer.

The weather was fine—not sunny, in truth—which meant it was good for working outside. As they ate, Fang Lujun said, "After breakfast, the two of us will go spray the fields."

Cong Rong was a bit surprised; it was rare for Fang Lujun to bring up chores on his own. Still annoyed, she didn't reply, but Fang Lujun didn't mind. He finished eating, then busied himself tying the barrel to the flat cart, propping it with a stool to keep it balanced, and using a water bucket to fill it.

Seeing him so proactive—not just talk, but truly preparing to work—melted the last of Cong Rong's resentment. After breakfast, seeing Fang Chang'an helping, she said, "Chang'an, you don’t need to come. Stay home and do your homework."

This was the usual arrangement. If someone was to be brought along to work in the fields, it was typically Fang Changming, not Fang Chang'an.

"It's fine; I finished my homework at school."

Fang Chang'an tagged along anyway, dragging Fang Changming and Fang Yanran with him too—knowing full well they'd never actually read at home.

With Fang Lujun leading, work efficiency soared; he handled nearly every task himself. Cong Rong could only assist—she was never adept at this sort of thing.

They sprayed the fields in the morning, ate at noon, and then Fang Lujun said he wanted to check in on the Li family. Cong Rong knew he was really off to play cards, but didn’t stop him.

Sure enough, Fang Lujun didn't return until evening, then busied himself with feeding the pigs and making dinner. He always acted this way after playing cards, but Cong Rong sensed something subtly different.

It was hard to describe—a faint, unspoken feeling. In the past, Fang Lujun had seemed like a hopeless mess, caring only for cards and drink, living day by day with no sense of responsibility as either husband or father.

Now, however, there seemed to be a faint change.

After supper, Fang Chang'an went to Fang Dianqiu's house. First, he called Chang Wei, who told him he’d found five people—three from Third Middle School, two from First Middle School.

He then called Shen Chengyan to confirm lunch plans, then called Chang Wei back to set the time and place.

Fang Changfeng’s whole family was in the living room watching TV. Hearing him busy on the phone, when Fang Chang'an was about to leave, Fang Dianqiu asked, "I thought you were calling Shen Mo. Who were you talking to, Chang'an?"

"Don't call him Chang'an—he’s your uncle!" Fang Changfeng scolded. Fang Dianqiu pouted, and her mother, Liu Xiqin, teased, "Who are you calling, so busy?"

Among the Fang clan, Fang Changfeng was one of the few who was close to Ma Zude. Fang Chang'an didn’t believe Ma Zude would ask him for information, so it was likely Fang Changfeng had heard a few things. Since he had referred to "Uncle Shen," Fang Changfeng had probably guessed.

Liu Xiqin was probably asking on her husband's behalf.

Fang Chang'an smiled bashfully. "Just arranging a meal with a few classmates."

He didn't intend to reveal everything, even if they guessed. The family needed someone who commanded a little caution—even if that someone was just a child.

"Brother Feng, Sister Qin, I'll be going now," Fang Chang'an said with a smile, leaving before they could ask more. Fang Changfeng was a bit surprised. "Not staying to watch TV?"

"No, I'm going home to do homework."

He left with a casual excuse. Though he got along well with Fang Dianqiu, and both Fang Changfeng and Liu Xiqin had always treated him kindly, Fang Chang'an was well aware of how pragmatic the world could be.

If ever forced to choose between his family and Ma Zude, Fang Changfeng would not hesitate to side with Ma Zude.

By common sense, Ma Zude likely wouldn’t care about a junior high kid like him. But the world is full of things that defy common sense, or even logic—he was living proof.

And those with too many guilty secrets are always jumpy and sensitive; they’re the least predictable.

The next morning at breakfast, Fang Lujun asked how much money Fang Chang'an had left. Fang Chang'an replied, "I've still got money. No need to give me more."

He’d earned more than thirty yuan on Monday and Tuesday last week. After paying for his uniform, he still had fifteen left—forty yuan in all, enough for half a month.

Fang Lujun pressed another twenty yuan into his hand anyway. Fang Chang'an thought for a moment, kept ten, and said with a smile, "Dad, that’s really enough."

Fang Lujun didn’t insist, instead handing the rest to his wife. Cong Rong frowned. "Why are you giving it to me?"

"Just take it."

Fang Lujun then took out a wad of bills—over two hundred yuan—pulled out half and offered it to Cong Rong. She didn't take it, but didn't ask him to put it away either.

The summer heat was gradually fading, and there weren’t many fresh cucumbers left. Fang Chang'an didn’t take all the produce as his parents had suggested. He brought four cucumbers, two round eggplants, a few green peppers, some peanuts, and two ears of corn. Around ten, he left home.

The agreed meeting time was noon. Fang Chang'an arrived first at Shen Chengyan’s house. Cheng Mengfei wasn’t home; Shen Chengyan was in the living room reading about investment. He greeted Fang Chang'an without ceremony, telling the maid to take the groceries and inviting Fang Chang'an to sit.

"Where’s Teacher Cheng?"

"She went to the county; she won’t be back for lunch."

Fang Chang'an wanted to ask about Shen Mo, but didn't dare. Shen Chengyan seemed to guess his thoughts and smiled, "Mo Mo went with her."

"Oh."

Fang Chang'an didn’t bother to hide his concern for a classmate—given his close friendship with Shen Mo, pretending otherwise would only seem suspicious.

"Did you finish the book from last week?" Shen Chengyan asked.

Fang Chang'an nodded. Shen Chengyan sat up straighter, picked up *The Intelligent Investor*, flipped it open, and said with a smile, "Then I’ll have to quiz you—see what you've learned."

"You’re not going to make me recite it, are you?"

"Reciting is no use," Shen Chengyan replied, only using the book as a prop, skimming the table of contents—he hadn’t read it himself. "Just tell me what you got out of it."

"Uh…" Fang Chang'an hesitated, then asked in return, "Uncle Shen, did you sell your Kweichow Moutai stock?"

"Why do you ask?" Shen Chengyan was surprised.

Fang Chang'an looked a bit unsure. "I think it’s better not to sell. (404 always has a way of surprising people.)"

"You understand stocks?" Shen Chengyan laughed. He’d gradually come to accept Fang Chang'an’s precociousness, but stock investing was a different league from spotting business opportunities in steamed buns—far more complex.

Still, he was easygoing, fond of Fang Chang'an, and even thought this kid might have better instincts than himself. So he didn’t dismiss the idea outright. He adjusted his posture and teased, "Then tell your uncle—why not?"

Fang Chang'an hesitated, a little nervous, but managed a smile. "If I’m wrong, please don’t laugh at me. And don’t tell Teacher Cheng."

"Alright."

When Fang Chang'an fell silent, Shen Chengyan prompted, "Go ahead."

"You agreed too quickly," Fang Chang'an muttered. "I’m not sure I believe you won’t tell her."

"Hey, what’s that supposed to mean? Makes it seem like I’m scared of your teacher! I’m the head of this house, you know?"

He couldn’t stand the idea of being misunderstood. “Besides, Teacher Cheng never asks about this sort of thing. Even if she did, what could she do if I refused? I’d just say, ‘Don’t ask what you shouldn’t,’ and she’d behave herself. Trust me.”

Yeah, right, Fang Chang'an thought to himself. But as long as Shen Chengyan's attention was diverted from "a twelve-year-old interested in stocks," that was enough. So he started to explain, following the reasoning he’d prepared in advance.