Dream Delivery System: My Delivery Jobs Keep Changing History – CH149

Chapter 149

Jiang Jitang was a man of action—what he thought of, he acted on immediately. He contacted Zhao Jianming and the real estate developer without delay.

Zhao Jianming’s father, Zhao Guobing, was surprisingly polite; Jiang Jitang was about to call him “Uncle Zhao” to build rapport, but the other party addressed him as “President Jiang” repeatedly.

In the Eastern District, President Jiang was a major figure in the C-Nation player circle—someone whose mere stomp could shake things up.

“…Unusual,” Jiang Jitang thought.

“I prefer you call me Jiang Jitang. I’m on the same level as Jianming,” he said humbly and warmly, neither high-handed nor distant.

Zhao Guobing eagerly went along with it, calling him “nephew Jiang” and “Uncle Zhao,” as if they were family over the phone.

Yet outside the call, both were calculating how to maximize their own interests. Win-win was ideal, but if not possible, neither would take a loss.

Coincidentally, Zhao Guobing was also looking to leverage his connection with “President Jiang” to promote his “player community.”

He had spent a fortune buying that land because it was designated by Jin City’s government for players, with complete facilities—like school district housing.

The problem was that three plots had been sold nearby, all similar. To make his “Jin City Jinyuan” stand out, he needed an edge.

He thought it over and recalled his son’s network, which included a big fish.

The visiting Jiang Jitang, already sensing Zhao Guobing’s enthusiasm, realized that acting a few days later might have yielded more favorable terms. Fortunately, he still held the initiative.

“Uncle Zhao, I won’t be formal. Actually, I called to ask your thoughts on the land you bought in the suburbs.”

Zhao Guobing paused, cycling through various thoughts, but remained outwardly composed, asking, “Is there a problem with the paperwork? Or did I overlook something?”

“Don’t worry, Uncle Zhao. Just casually asking.”

Jiang Jitang’s vague reply piqued Zhao Guobing’s curiosity—after investing so much money, mostly borrowed, he couldn’t afford a mistake.

Under repeated questioning, Jiang Jitang “revealed” some insider information: “Uncle Zhao, this is only a proposal, no conclusions yet. Please don’t disclose it.”

“I understand. Don’t worry, President Jiang.” Zhao Guobing immediately assumed a business posture—no longer uncle and nephew, but businessman and official.

“You know about low-rent housing, right?”

“Yes.”

“Some young people pursuing dreams in Jin City have limited financial means and high living pressures. Over time, this could cause problems. So we’re discussing easing part of their financial burden. Low-rent housing, fully functional and affordable, is a good choice—preferably in the suburban plot you bought.”

Zhao Guobing hesitated for a few seconds. “My plot…”

“Don’t misunderstand me; that’s not what I mean.”

Zhao Guobing’s expression grew serious. What did “don’t misunderstand” mean?

“Our company is small; we can’t influence the government. It’s just a question of whether to invest personally and cooperate, or buy land ourselves.”

Jiang Jitang could say this with a smile, but Zhao Guobing could not.

The three usable plots in the suburbs were sold out; no suitable plots remained except reserved parks and training grounds, with the rest agricultural land—off-limits.

The meaning was clear: the government wanted low-rent housing, but now two paths were in front of him: cooperate with a developer on the original suburban plots, or let someone else develop a player community elsewhere.

If the government moved the project elsewhere, what was all that money spent on his plot for? Despite decent scenery, the land wasn’t prime—it had no subway access.

Zhao Guobing felt a chill, his voice softening: “So… any decisions yet?”

“I called to ask your opinion. My thought is to invest personally, find a capable and trustworthy developer, and cooperate. We’d designate two or three buildings for low-rent housing.”

Compared with moving the player community, this plan was easier to accept. But Zhao Guobing, as a businessman, instinctively wondered if he could still gain some advantage. Before he could speak, Jiang Jitang continued:

“If confirmed, I’d also like to relocate the Food-Fulfillment Food House there for convenience. I haven’t decided which developer yet; you’re the first contact…”

Zhao Guobing’s eyes lit up. “You picked me right. My plot is the largest, best-located, central.”

If this famous store moved there, it wouldn’t just be a “golden opportunity”—it would be a golden treasure. Could he give it to another developer? Impossible!

“President Jiang, if you’re interested, three—or no, four—buildings, I’ll offer at cost. The ground and first floors face the street; perfect for any business. The villa area has single-family houses, and I’ll reserve two good positions for you.”

Zhao Guobing was investing heavily; if successful, his “Jin City Jinyuan” would be unique, and he’d have smooth dealings with the player government.

Of course, benefits weren’t the only concern.

Legendary President Jiang demanded perfection. If involved, the buildings would be top-tier, no cutting corners. Fire safety, landscaping—all had to comply. Shared areas couldn’t be changed, but balconies could be provided—no situation where 150 m² houses yielded less than 130 m² usable space.

Successful businessmen are cunning, but Zhao Guobing was conscientious; in his career he never built dangerous or unfinished projects. Cooperation with Jiang Jitang was a net benefit.

Even building to the highest standard, reserving nine green zones and four buildings for Jiang Jitang, twelve buildings remained—not counting the villas. He’d still profit.

Some players, especially the “heirs,” spent freely.

With a preliminary cooperation agreement, they scheduled another meeting to discuss details.

Things went smoothly, exceeding Jiang Jitang’s expectations. He silently praised himself, his mood soaring, like sun and sky in tandem. When Parsons arrived, he found his friend grinning at the freshly served pot.

“Here! Want to try turtle jelly? Their ratio is perfect—not too bitter, not too mild.”

“What’s turtle jelly?” Parsons sat down.

“A summer dessert made from turtle shell plates and various herbs.”

At the word “herbs,” Parsons’ mouth puckered in bitterness. Even years later, he remembered Jiang Jitang’s special herbal salad—extremely bitter, with sour and astringent notes.

Seeing his expression, Jiang Jitang scooped a piece with a sigh: “Ah.”

“Ah.”

A cube of turtle jelly with milk entered Parsons’ mouth. The cool, gelatinous dessert, sweet milk, and herbal undertones made him exclaim softly: “Hmm?” Surprisingly delicious.

“Tasty, right?”

He nodded.

“Then who doubted me earlier?”

Parsons swallowed: “I did.”

“…Why so cooperative?”

He only smiled, saying nothing.

Jiang Jitang scraped his cheek, forgetting what to say next. The server arrived, adding the broth ingredients: half a free-range chicken and a quarter turtle.

All this cost 218 yuan. He also ordered quail eggs, fried tofu, bean curd sheets, meatballs, shrimp dumplings, baby bok choy, beef balls, mushrooms, and instant noodles—total exactly 300 yuan.

In his student days, he never dared order this much—half a chicken and three or four dishes were satisfying enough.

Shortly after adding the chicken and turtle, blood foam rose. The server skimmed it three times until clear, then covered the pot, placing a sand timer: “If you like it chewier, no need to wait half an hour. Call me if needed.”

“Thank you,” Jiang Jitang replied, ready with chopsticks.

Before starting, he taught Parsons to make the dipping sauce: soy sauce, a touch of vinegar, garlic, sesame oil; chili if desired.

Parsons fumbled, unfamiliar with the C-Nation approach of “a little, appropriate, just right”—like a researcher lacking data. Jiang Jitang helped, muttering, “Next time, you do it yourself.” Likely, he’d still help next time, repeating the same words.

They waited thirty minutes. The chicken and turtle softened and infused the broth. Jiang Jitang reduced the heat, scooped a piece of turtle skirt meat and chicken leg, then a bowl of broth topped with golden chicken fat.

The golden, translucent fat was more beautiful than top-quality beeswax or jade.

“Smells amazing.” He sipped small amounts; aroma and flavor fused into unmatched deliciousness.

Parsons, watching, felt his own appetite intensify—eating with someone who appreciates food makes food better.

He scooped soup with herbal notes (mainly angelica) that masked the meat’s odor while enhancing flavor. For the first time, Parsons found herbs fragrant.

They followed the “optimal consumption order”: soup first, then meat, then add side ingredients. After finishing, they shared tender turtle skirt meat and most of the chicken.

“Add noodles last, first the tofu, then quail eggs, meatballs, shrimp dumplings. Shrimp dumplings break easily; once translucent, scoop them out,” Jiang Jitang instructed.

Despite precautions, a few dumplings broke, revealing pink shrimp, slipping into the broth. Jiang Jitang lamented the empty skins.

Parsons gave his last shrimp dumpling to Jiang Jitang, who returned a quail egg in exchange.

Shrimp dumplings are delicate but delicious. Other ingredients remained intact; they thoroughly enjoyed a visually and gastronomically satisfying meal.

As they ate, more customers arrived, occupying other seats. By 11:30, “Xiao Liang Ji Bao” was full. A new couple glanced at Jiang Jitang and Parsons, already finished and digesting.

A few minutes later, Parsons opened the passenger door for Jiang Jitang: “I’ll give you a ride.”

Jiang Jitang immediately climbed in: “Let’s go!”