Chapter 7: The Three Generations of Yu Garden

“Hello, Mr. Jia. My name is Yu Ying, and I am Xiaolong’s master's supervisor,” Dr. Yu introduced herself.

Mr. Jia responded politely. They all sat down by the tea table, where the attendant brewed a pot of the locally renowned Zhanghe green tea, its fresh aroma filling the air.

“Well,” Dr. Yu shifted her chair closer to Mr. Jia and briefly explained, “we’ve developed a drone project, somewhat similar to the U.S. Osprey transport aircraft. Are you familiar with the Osprey?” She fixed her gaze on Mr. Jia’s eyes, a hint of concern evident.

“Yes, I know it, and quite well too,” Mr. Jia replied casually. “I graduated from the Mechanical Department of Yuyuan University, class of ’90. I used to study automobile manufacturing, so I’m fairly familiar with mechanical equipment. Regarding drones, aside from some knowledge of aerodynamics, I’m more versed in materials, manufacturing processes, electronic controls, and communications. I also understand the recent booming low-altitude economic policies, airspace management, flight route approvals, and aircraft certification procedures.”

Facing Dr. Yu’s keen eyes, Mr. Jia spoke confidently. He was no stranger to such looks—many industrial entrepreneurs dread communicating with financiers, often ending up talking past each other with dry, fruitless conversations, like a cacophony of clucking chickens and quacking ducks, each returning to their own world.

“Oh, that’s wonderful! You really are an expert. And we’re even alumni,” Dr. Yu said excitedly. “I was worried discussing this with people from finance—you know, afraid they wouldn’t understand. Haha, this is much better.”

“China has no financiers, only buyers and sellers—just businesspeople,” Mr. Jia said wryly. “Only when China develops its own independent financial theory system, and the yuan begins to reflect its true value on the international market according to that system, will China have financiers.” He glanced at Xiaolong beside him and smiled, “I suppose China’s financiers will emerge from their generation.”

“Our generation?” Long Wuyang asked in surprise, then shook his head vigorously like a rattle. “Forget it, Uncle! Stop teasing us post-2000s; we’re just the chives!”

“Sigh, but scythes are honed from chives!” Mr. Jia sighed deeply. “You get cut first, then learn to cut others. That’s war. Learning war through war—those who grow this way mature faster. But war demands sacrifices; there’s always a price to pay.”

“Exactly, exactly. The stock market has been so hot lately,” Dr. Yu chimed in. “Mr. Jia, could you recommend us a stock? Let us make some money too. We researchers are struggling—our pockets are empty, especially us from the ’80s generation, all buried in debt.”

“Dr. Yu, do you trade stocks yourself?” Mr. Jia asked.

“Of course,” she replied. “I’m totally trapped in my positions, even my funds are down over fifty percent—it's heartbreaking. I’ve given up checking. I probably forgot my account passwords anyway.”

“The market’s risen quite a bit these days. You should take a look—see how much you’ve recovered, if you’re out of the red,” Mr. Jia sincerely advised.

“I haven’t paid attention to that. Alright, I’ll ask my wife tonight if she remembers the passwords,” Dr. Yu said with an embarrassed smile.

“Back to the matter at hand, Mr. Jia. I asked Xiaolong to invite you here because I want to discuss something and ask for your help. I heard you often assist companies with IPOs and serve as a financial advisor to the government, helping with investment promotion. You’re familiar with government affairs, enterprises, and finance. Our project team is made up of researchers—bookish types who don’t understand business or company management. But now, we need to industrialize this project, so we require an expert in these areas to assist us.”

“Certainly, no problem,” Mr. Jia agreed readily. “What kind of project is it exactly?”