Do You Even Hear What You're Saying Is This Human Language

Old Cao had no idea what fate had in store for him next...

He was too busy picking on Young Master Cao.

Young Master Cao had also come to a realization.

He wasn’t the chosen one—or if he was, it came with an asterisk: a "fake" chosen one.

The Chosen One (Fake).

So far, he hadn’t even encountered a proper antagonist. Did Wang Haodong count?

Hell no.

If that guy were a real villain, how could he have gotten blocked by security while chasing after Third Sister, unable to even step foot inside the Ren Group’s headquarters?

That’s the kind of treatment a real chosen one gets.

On the other hand, Young Master Cao didn’t get mocked wherever he went. Sales assistants treated him politely when he shopped for clothes, and waitstaff bowed and scraped when he dined out.

The only person who ever mocked him to his face was Old Cao!

So Old Cao was the villain, right?

Take right now, for example.

When Ren's Mother said, "You need to take care of yourself, don’t overwork,"

Old Cao shot back, "Overwork? This kid does nothing but eat and sleep all day, like a damn pig."

Ren's Mother argued, "You have no idea how mentally exhausting full-time stock trading is. Plus, my son manages several companies now—it’s a lot to handle."

Cao Cheng nodded eagerly. "Mom’s right."

Old Cao scoffed. "Pfft. The market’s doing great right now—even a dog could turn a profit. What’s so exhausting about that?"

Ren's Mother fired back, "If you don’t understand, don’t talk nonsense. What do you know about business?"

Cao Cheng nodded again. "Mom’s right."

Old Cao snapped at Young Master Cao, "Right my ass."

"Mom, he said you’re talking nonsense," Cao Cheng tattled.

Ren's Mother’s face darkened.

Old Cao’s face paled.

Cao Cheng’s face lit up with glee.

But,

Young Master Cao had finally figured it out.

Old Cao was the villain.

But he didn’t even need to lift a finger—Ren's Mother alone could put Old Cao in his place.

One sharp look from her, and Old Cao instantly backed down.

So even if he was a villain, he was a (fake) one!

Then who was the real deal?

Damn it.

They’re hiding well.

No surprise for a mastermind—still no trace of them.

Cao Cheng was burning with curiosity.

...

Later, when Ren's Mother went to cook,

Father and son had a private chat, and Young Master Cao finally understood why Old Cao had been picking on him again today.

He was jealous.

Because he’d just found out that Ren's Mother had ordered a sports car worth millions—exclusively for Young Master Cao.

It would arrive in a couple of days.

As Ren's Mother put it, boys love cars, so it never hurts to have a few extra.

Money didn’t matter. Whether he drove it or not didn’t matter. It was all about the experience.

Old Cao was seething with envy.

If this weren’t his own son, he’d have played dirty.

Cao Cheng could practically feel the resentment radiating off Old Cao, and it amused him.

Young Master Cao asked, "What kind of sports car did Mom get me?"

"How should I know?" Old Cao glared.

Young Master Cao pressed, "Is it a good-looking one?"

"I said I don’t know," Old Cao grumbled impatiently.

Cao Cheng kept going. "Is it a two-seater? Then I can only take one girl for a ride at a time. Did Mom get me an unlimited gas card? Or do I have to pay for my own fuel?"

"...Stop asking me." Old Cao gritted his teeth.

Cao Cheng continued, "What color is it? You know I don’t like ‘period red,’ but damn, a sports car in that shade would turn heads. Ugh, what a dilemma. Maybe I don’t even want it."

"..." Old Cao clenched his fists.

This little bastard was doing it on purpose.

Trying to kill his old man with rage.

Old Cao grabbed his cane and chased after Young Master Cao, swinging it wildly.

His legs were perfectly fine—he could run like the wind.

Cao Cheng rushed into the room, calling out, "Mom, Mom… look at this."

"..."

"Cao, what are you trying to do?" Ren's Mother exclaimed in alarm.

"Uh… ahem, well, this cane here is pretty straight, huh?" Old Cao held up the cane, inspecting it left and right, even mimicking a pool player's stance as he aimed. The cane was indeed perfectly straight.

"Mom, he's bullying me."

Young Master Cao immediately tattled, "I just asked what color the sports car was, and he hit me. I didn’t even know what was happening. Mom, you’ve got to do something about him!"

Ren's Mother glared at the old man.

Old Cao chuckled awkwardly, "No, no, it’s because this kid was deliberately provoking me."

"You’re just jealous because Mom bought me a car," Young Master Cao shot back, refusing to let it slide.

Ren's Mother narrowed her eyes. "You’re jealous of your own son? That’s pathological."

"No way, I’m not, don’t spout nonsense…" Old Cao hurriedly defended himself.

"Yes, you are!" Young Master Cao shouted.

Old Cao pointed at him. "You shut your mouth."

Ren's Mother pointed at Old Cao. "You shut yours."

"..."

After the commotion died down, Old Cao finally settled.

Young Master Cao, ever the picture of filial piety and sweetness, helped his mom prep ingredients in the kitchen, cracking jokes that had her giggling nonstop.

Old Cao, fuming in the living room, thumped his cane against the floor—thud, thud, thud—until Ren's Mother barked, "Stop that thumping! If you’re bored, go outside and sunbathe."

Only then did Old Cao fully relent, taking his cane out to the yard.

There, he swung the straight cane at the flowerbeds, wrecking the blooms while the gardener could only watch helplessly, already planning to report the vandalism later. Such beautiful flowers, ruined! The gardener’s heart ached.

...

Dinner that evening was warm and full of laughter.

Except for Old Cao, who might as well have been an outsider, Young Master Cao had seamlessly integrated into this new family.

Well, what could you expect?

Young Master Cao simply had better adaptability.

...

A few days passed in the blink of an eye.

As the secondary market continued its upward climb, Cao Cheng’s reputation grew more and more formidable.

Of course,

rest was fleeting—how could anyone stay idle? That’d just be pathetic.

So Young Master Cao got busy.

There were social obligations for the "Ao Tian Fund."

Tang Xin had extensive connections, and local officials, along with banking executives, held high hopes for them.

With favorable policies and market conditions, everyone was looking for places to invest.

But even in a bull market, the secondary market wasn’t something to dive into blindly.

Sector selection mattered.

Amateurs could lose even more during a boom than usual.

Finance, cyclical industries, consumer goods, tech—these sectors were performing well.

Meanwhile, textiles, utilities, and the like lagged behind.

Still, the overall trend was bullish.

But one question lingered:

When would the downturn hit?

That’s why

you left specialized tasks to the professionals.

This was the raison d'être for public funds—hedging strategies to safeguard capital, whether in bull or bear markets.

At least, that was the official line. Behind the scenes, profits and losses depended entirely on skill.

In any case, Ao Tian Fund peaked right out of the gate.

Everyone was optimistic.

Such was the advantage of reputation.

At the dinner banquet, the moment Cao Cheng arrived, officials rose to their feet, greeting him with smiles.

Young Master Cao felt this particular flex was executed flawlessly.

Smooth as polished jade.

And he knew exactly why they were being so courteous.

Leaving aside Young Master Cao helping them manage money, just his own net worth alone is incredibly impressive.

The local officials hope this guy won’t leave.

Ideally, he’d make his money in Zhonghai and spend it all there too.

Not a single cent should make its way back to his hometown in Sanjiang.

If he invests locally, the regional banks will fully support him—money is no object.

The government is also on board, offering land if he needs it, manpower if he requires it.

And let’s not forget,

this guy has the backing of the Ren family behind him.

Over the next couple of days, they had a few meals together and played a round of golf—the kind where a single game costs ten million.

They made quite a few connections.

More than a dozen funds, institutions, and various officials collectively struck deals worth over three billion with Ao Tian—and this was just a trial run, all local.

Once Ao Tian really gets going and expands its reach, managing hundreds of billions won’t be an issue. Even trillions in the future aren’t out of the question.

...

After just two meals, Young Master Cao wrapped up his part.

Time to rest!

Exhausting, really.

Now it was up to Tang Xin.

She still had to recruit talent, fill out every department, allocate funds, and draft strategies...

The departments included the board of shareholders, the board of directors, the supervisory board, the decision-making committee, the executive team, risk management, operations...

The overall direction and investment strategy were currently steered by Young Master Cao but executed by Tang Xin.

For the stock market, blue-chip stocks would serve as the foundation—like Industrial and Commercial Bank or PetroChina. This was Tang Xin’s demand: stability first, especially in the early stages.

Then there was bond allocation, such as government bonds.

These were the basics.

But with Cao Cheng in the picture, a portion of the funds had to be allocated according to his preferences—investing in white-chip stocks, even micro-cap stocks, all for higher returns.

After all, the market conditions were excellent right now.

And it was just the beginning.

They needed to make a name for themselves.

Time was running short.

They had to rake in as much as possible.

Young Master Cao handpicked a few...

One day.

Tang Xin approached Cao Cheng and asked curiously, "What’s your target this time?"

Young Master Cao replied, "Six thousand."

"Just six thousand? That low?" Tang Xin was shocked.

"??"

Cao Cheng was speechless.

Did she even hear herself?

Was she serious?

Low?

This was low?

Six thousand points being low... Don’t joke around, girl. You won’t see this again for the next twenty years.

You’d have to wait until twenty-four—no, twenty-five years later.

...By then, you’d probably be postmenopausal.

Tch!

Enjoy it while you can now.

There’ll be plenty of tears later.

But then it hit him—with the current market boom, some were already shouting slogans like "First to six thousand, then eight, and charge for ten!"

Absolutely reckless.

And the shouting was just starting. By year-end... when the market was already dipping, even more people would be yelling about ten thousand points.