"Brother Yao, vegetables aren't under our jurisdiction. I'll help you coordinate that. As for grain and cooking oil, let's put our heads together."
"Let's meet after work and talk it over! I'll apply for entertainment expenses and treat you to a pot of wine tonight."
"Fine, we'll talk tonight. But I'm telling you, Brother Yao—opportunity knocks but once."
"We'll see, we'll see~"
Section Chief Yao hung up, picked up the enamel mug on his desk, and gulped down a mouthful of tea. Yet his mouth still felt parched, as though a ball of wicked fire were sizzling and burning inside his chest.
He had just called his friend Old Meng in the grain department, asking him to help procure grain, cooking oil, and other food supplies. But after learning of Section Chief Yao's "huge appetite," Old Meng had not only failed to find it troublesome, but had even proposed a "cooperation arrangement."
That arrangement could not be explained too clearly over the phone, but Section Chief Yao was no fool. These days, "of a billion people, eight hundred million were reselling, and another hundred million were looking for goods to resell." He could guess the tricks involved.
Old Meng would obtain grain at the standard price, while Section Chief Yao paid for it at the high price. Simple as that.
The difference between standard-price grain and high-price grain did not seem like much—only a few cents per jin—but six thousand people buying two hundred jin each was no small sum. With a little maneuvering, the gap could easily reach six figures.
What did six figures mean in 1988?
That Bai fellow had risked his neck like it was tied to his waistband, and how much money had he made?
Even if Old Meng had to grease palms and share part