"Mr. Jiang Hai, I've been waiting for you!" Li Xihuai approached immediately, his face beaming. Jiang Hai returned the smile, stepped forward, and shook his hand, then glanced at the representative beside him.
"I didn't expect to see you again so soon," the arrogant representative murmured, studying Jiang Hai.
"Yes, but didn't you say you had nothing to do with this? Now it seems otherwise," Jiang Hai replied, prompting a chuckle from the man.
"Those people consider your technology extremely important," the man said frankly, "and since you're acting so hostile, they sent me—someone familiar—to test your abilities."
Jiang Hai only smiled, unbothered by the remark.
"Please, come in," the man said, chuckling and gesturing for Jiang Hai and his companions to enter. But just as Jiang Hai was about to step inside, his phone rang.
Seeing an unfamiliar number, he gestured for everyone to wait and answered the call.
"Hello? Who is this?" Jiang Hai asked.
"Hello… my name is… ahem. I'm not sure if you remember what happened last night… I'm the woman from this morning." Her voice trembled slightly before she covered it and continued. Hearing her, Jiang Hai immediately recalled the events of that morning.
"Oh, of course I remember. What's the matter?" he asked, curious.
"I think we should meet. I have something to tell you," she said hesitantly. Jiang Hai touched his nose thoughtfully.
"Well, okay. I'm at the Blue House right now. If you need to see me, come over," he replied. After all, something had happened last night, and he was curious why she wanted to speak to him.
"I… I want to talk to you privately. It won't take long…" Her voice faltered when she realized he was at the Blue House, but she quickly composed herself.
"I'll see how things go once you arrive. I don't know how long this will take," Jiang Hai said, glancing at Li Xihuai and the other man beside him.
"Alright, I'll call when I get there," she said, then hung up. To be honest, she had been slightly panicked. The Blue House—the seat of South Korean governance—was not a place she, a celebrity, could afford to offend. But for her career and family, she had to speak with Jiang Hai.
Taking a deep breath, Han Jiaren hailed a taxi to the Blue House.
Jiang Hai shrugged, following the greeter inside. Of course, they couldn't roam freely; the president and his staff were still working. They were led to a large conference room, exchanged pleasantries, and then got down to business. As Li Xihuai spoke, Jiang Hai and Tulumen exchanged a glance, faint traces of disdain on their faces.
As expected, South Korea's first request was to buy Jiang Hai's secret grass formula. They offered $50 billion—60 trillion won—for the deal.
South Korea's annual GDP was $1.378 trillion, meaning this sum equaled half the nation's monthly revenue. A substantial offer, but even $50 billion was not enough to sway Jiang Hai.
"That's out of the question. I don't understand why your grass is considered so superior, let alone a buyout. If you raise this again, I think our cooperation ends." Jiang Hai gently tossed his pen onto the table, leaned back, and spoke with measured disdain.
"Well, if Mr. Jiang isn't willing to share the secret, perhaps you could transfer your Winthrop estate? We're willing to pay $20 billion for it," Li Xihuai proposed, hesitating. Jiang Hai regarded him as if he were absurd.
While the estate itself wasn't valuable, the grass and other resources within it were. More importantly, no one dared to touch Jiang Hai now; he could benefit multiple parties simultaneously. If he lost the estate, he could rebuild it—but no one would give him the time.
Twenty billion was tempting, but accepting it would be like a child clutching a gold brick in the street. The ability to hold onto it didn't exist.
"Let's go! It seems South Korea's sincerity is lacking. I regret letting you get so close to them," Jiang Hai said, rising to leave.
The South Koreans also stood, expressions mixed between ingratiating smiles and subtle coldness. Jiang Hai sneered inwardly. But dare they act against him in the Blue House? He laughed silently.
"Mr. Jiang, shouldn't we discuss this carefully?" Li Xihuai said, smiling as he blocked Jiang Hai. Jiang Hai glanced around, then walked back, standing by a chair without sitting. He lightly stroked it and tapped his fingers.
"If I hear you ask me to sell any secrets or estates again, I'll leave. From now on, the supply of fodder to South Korea will be suspended. Be careful." Only Jiang Hai dared challenge a nation like this.
The South Koreans felt uneasy. Pride ran deep, and they expected universal acknowledgment of their authority. But Jiang Hai's words had slapped them in the face. Fortunately, they knew he was not to be trifled with, so they returned to the table, smiling. With neither the secret nor the estate for sale, their only option was fodder and cooperation.
They spoke proudly of raising a batch of what they called "national treasure-level Korean cattle" with Jiang Hai's feed. Jiang Hai quietly listened, chuckling inwardly. Did they think he was inexperienced?
He had been raising cattle for three years and could easily distinguish quality breeds. The world's best cattle were Wagyu, followed by Charolais, Limousin, and for milk production, Simmental. Further down were German Yellow, Angus, and Murra Buffalo. China's elite Luxi Yellow cattle even ranked ahead of South Korea's Hanbok.
Yet South Korea boasted about its Hanbok, claiming it rivaled Wagyu. It was bred in Gangwon Province, a cross between ordinary European cattle and South Korea's native Yellow. Jiang Hai despised it—but if they wanted to worship it, who was he to argue?
They continued, explaining plans for a new beef farm on Jeju Island, aiming to raise one million cattle. Naturally, they expected Jiang Hai to supply the feed. Jiang Hai bluntly interrupted:
"There's no more grass. My estate is only so big, and I only produce so much. If you can get it from Dufaman, Luke Sean, or John Malone, I'll sell it to you."
The South Koreans were left bewildered, as were Li Xihuai and the others. Jiang Hai wasn't playing by any conventional rules—he played by his own.