Chapter Seventeen: A Modest Goal—Earning One Hundred Million First

Yang Xiaofan smiled.

“Mr. Ma, you flatter me. I’m only trying to make a living.”

Old Master Ma shook his head, his expression earnest. “I’m not joking with you. I mean every word. Mr. Yang, I’ll buy this painting of yours. In addition, I’d like to purchase another hundred. The price will be the same as what you offered President Mu. How about it?”

Yang Xiaofan was utterly shocked.

The paintings he’d sold to Mu Shuyu had each fetched a million, and Old Master Ma wanted a hundred of them at once—wasn’t that a hundred million?

Are all collectors this extravagant?

Before he could respond, Mr. Yu immediately interjected with a laugh, “Old Ma, you can’t just monopolize all of Mr. Yang’s paintings for yourself. You ought to leave some for the rest of us, don’t you think?”

Liu Hu hurried to add, “That’s right, I’d like to buy a few myself.”

Mu Shuyu could only shake her head in amused exasperation. “There’s no rush; Mr. Yang can paint for us at any time in the future. Why are we so anxious?”

“That’s true. I just got overexcited at the sight of such wonderful art,” Old Master Ma said, patting his head with a sheepish grin. “Alright then, Mr. Yang, I’ll put down a quarter as a deposit. Take your time with the paintings—when they’re finished, I’ll come collect them.”

“I’ll put down twenty-five million as my deposit as well.”

“And so will I.”

Seeing the others all place their deposits, Mu Shuyu spread her hands. “Looks like I’ll have to put down a deposit too, or I might not even get in line next time.”

Their words left Yang Xiaofan dizzy with astonishment.

Are rich people always so generous? A casual transaction involved tens of millions, and combined, their deposits amounted to a hundred million!

He had never seen so much money in his life.

The last time, when Mu Shuyu bought his paintings, she’d only spent ten million.

Lost in a daze, he suddenly heard four notification chimes from his phone.

Ding, ding, ding, ding...

Yang Xiaofan knew the money had arrived.

He swallowed hard.

“You’re all being a bit forceful, aren’t you? I haven’t even agreed to paint yet.”

Mu Shuyu grinned mischievously. “We’re not going to wait for your agreement! As a painter of your caliber, your clientele is only going to grow. If we don’t buy in advance now, how will we get anything in the future?”

Yang Xiaofan couldn’t help but laugh. “Alright, I get it—four hundred paintings, was it? I’ll paint them for you when I get home. But I probably can’t finish today; I still have classes this afternoon.”

“No problem. I have to head back myself this afternoon. Just hand the paintings to President Mu when you’re done; she’ll send them on to us.”

Yang Xiaofan nodded. “That’s settled then.”

“Then we won’t keep you any longer. We’ll be on our way.”

“Alright!”

After seeing his guests off, Yang Xiaofan finally turned to Mu Shuyu and thanked her. “President Mu, thank you for everything today.”

She smiled softly. “What are you thanking me for? They’re all friends of mine who love collecting famous paintings, so I introduced you to them. Besides, they’ve already paid me an introduction fee.”

“Even so, if not for you, I’d never have sold so many paintings at once. I’ll transfer you ten million as a token of my gratitude.”

“That’s not necessary. Ten million means little to me. If you really feel you owe me, just paint me a few more pieces.”

“Well... alright then!” Yang Xiaofan agreed.

“If there’s nothing else, I’ll take my leave. After classes tonight, I’ll start painting, and once they’re all finished, I’ll hand them to you in one batch.”

“Very well. Should I drive you?”

“No need. I’ll just take a cab.”

With that, Yang Xiaofan dashed out.

He hadn’t refused Mu Shuyu’s offer for any other reason than that he simply couldn’t contain his excitement.

To go from a nobody to a billionaire overnight—such a dramatic change was overwhelming for Yang Xiaofan.

Outside the company building, he found an empty spot, glanced around to make sure no one was watching, then hurriedly took out his phone. Staring at the four new messages and that long string of zeros, he couldn’t help but cry out in excitement.

“YESIR!”

A hundred million!

How many people could earn a hundred million in their entire lives?

Last time, earning ten million had already left him speechless with excitement. Now, this sum was ten times that.

Ten times!

And this was only the deposit—once he finished the paintings, there’d be several hundred million more to come!

The sensation of such immense wealth made Yang Xiaofan feel as if his very blood was rushing and his body was about to float away.

With so much money, he couldn’t just let it sit idle in the bank—that would be a waste!

Spend!

He had to spend it!

But how should he spend so much?

Even if he dined at the finest restaurants in all of Northern Jiangsu, it would cost at most a few hundred thousand—a mere trifle for a billionaire.

That didn’t befit his new status at all.

Just then, Yang Xiaofan caught sight of Mu Shuyu’s Ferrari.

Ferrari!

With only ten million before, he’d never dared dream of a Ferrari sports car and had settled for a BMW M5. Now that he’d given that car to Fatty and was without a ride, why not buy a Ferrari?

No sooner thought than done, Yang Xiaofan hailed a taxi.

“Driver, take me to the Northern Jiangsu Ferrari dealership.”

“Alright.”

The driver, well-acquainted with the route, quickly delivered Yang Xiaofan to the dealership.

Yang Xiaofan handed over a hundred-yuan bill. “Here, keep the change.”

The driver’s face darkened as he took the note. “Damn it, the fare was a hundred and one, and you’re telling me to keep the change? If you can’t afford it, don’t act like a big shot.”

Still, he couldn’t be bothered to chase after Yang Xiaofan for a single yuan.

At the Ferrari dealership, the service was leagues above that of the BMW dealership.

The sales staff were exceptionally well-trained, showing none of the condescension one might encounter elsewhere.

Of course, that was to be expected—at a BMW dealership, there were often buyers for entry-level models whose manners left much to be desired, and plenty of internet celebrities besides.

But at a Ferrari dealership, ordinary people didn’t dare to visit lightly. A scratch on the paint could cost years of hard work to repair.

“Good afternoon, sir. Are you here to look at cars, or...?”

“I’m here to buy.”

With a hundred million in his account, Yang Xiaofan spoke with far more confidence than when he’d bought his BMW.

The saleswoman’s eyes lit up at his words, her smile growing even brighter.

“May I ask if you have a particular model in mind?”

“As long as it’s a Ferrari, I like it.”