There was a stir among the people in the hall. Seven out of ten who came today were here for this event, and the other three were just here for the spectacle. In the distance, a luxurious motorcade approached—tall horses pulling carriages, servants in fine robes attending. Mr. Goldwin’s entourage was mostly male, and at a glance, every man was dressed as well as a young master from a wealthy family.
The key thing? Every last one of them was decked out in gold.
“Feels like I’m watching some tacky Journey to the West movie with all these heavenly soldiers,” Jack Young couldn’t help but quip. Not everyone can pull off gold clothing, and these guys were just a bit short of the mark.
He quietly whispered to the young man next to him, “You’ve been in the martial world for ages—do you know the head of Tienjin Pavilion or King Gamble Charles Sterling?”
The young man nodded. “Not close, but I’ve met them. The head of Tienjin Pavilion—people call him Mr. Goldwin. No one knows his real name, but these days he goes by Jin Xinxin.”
“Jin Xinxin?” Jack Young instantly got the joke—it was the character made by stacking three 'gold' radicals. He was honestly stunned. “He really is a ‘Gold’ master. If he loves gold so much, why not call himself ‘Xin Xin Xin’? That’s way more over the top.”
“Because I don’t have enough money yet.” The answer didn’t come from the young man, but from another voice.
Jack Young looked up. Surrounded by a crowd, an outrageously luxurious carriage pulled up to the entrance of the Golden Hook Casino. This thing was basically the Rolls Royce of carriages—just its appearance put every other rich guy’s ride to shame. The voice that had answered Jack Young came from inside the carriage, carrying right through the crowd to Jack Young and his companion’s ears.
Jack Young and the young man exchanged a glance, both growing serious.
Servants in brocade moved out a red carpet, unfurling it from the entrance all the way inside. Every meter of that carpet cost enough to make an average family’s jaw drop. And now, it was just for people to walk on.
Creak—under the expectant gaze of the crowd, the carriage door swung open. A servant in brocade dropped to his knees at the threshold, and from inside, a large foot stepped out, planting itself squarely on the servant’s back. Step by step, the figure descended, each stride deliberate and powerful. The crowd instinctively parted, making way, and as the path cleared, Jack Young’s jaw dropped in disbelief.
“Money—money—the God of Wealth?” Jack Young couldn’t help but blurt out. Sure enough, the figure walking over was a portly man, his appearance nearly identical to the God of Wealth from traditional New Year paintings. But unlike the jolly innkeeper type, this guy radiated an oppressive, high-and-mighty aura.
If you had to describe it, he was the type who saw lives as numbers, and the masses as playthings—like everything could be collected as a trophy. The big-shot tycoons in movies who hold back humanity’s progress? He made all of them look tame. The aura this guy gave off was on another level.
“God of Wealth?” Mr. Goldwin spoke up: “I like that. A thousand gold as a reward!”
“Yes, sir!” The golden-fan young master announced loudly, “Mr. Goldwin rewards a thousand gold!” Instantly, a servant lugged over a massive chest, popped it open, and a dazzling golden light spilled out—inside were stacks of solid gold bricks. The crowd gasped, their eyes burning with envy and awe at the bearded man. A thousand gold was ten thousand silver taels—most folks would never see that much money in their lives.
People always say ‘throwing around a thousand gold’ means you’re loaded, but Mr. Goldwin? He didn’t even need to throw it—just saying the word was enough to hand out a thousand gold!
The young man’s jaw nearly hit the floor. Suddenly, he grabbed Jack Young’s shoulders and shook him wildly: “You mean you can scam a thousand gold just by saying something?! Teach me, hurry up and teach me, you bastard!”
“I was just making a wisecrack!” Jack Young was speechless. “If he didn’t have a beard, I’d have made a different joke!”
Like, someone with 'gold,' 'three,' and 'fat' in their name. But for the sake of the water meter, I’ll keep that one to myself. So, one wisecrack can reach the heavens, another can hit rock bottom—you’ve got to be careful which joke you make.
The golden-fan young master walked up to Jack Young, expression cool: “Brother, Mr. Goldwin has bestowed this upon you. Kneel and accept it.”