Time traveled back to 1972, and I became rich by hoarding supplies.
The first time I met the boss, he was being sent down and his clothes were in rags.
I quietly handed him two white-flour steamed buns.
Ten years later, he became a powerful figure in the business world.
But in front of my dilapidated courtyard, a ten-mile betrothal gift was placed.
"Marry me, or," he took out the handkerchief I used to send steamed buns to, "I'll sue you for speculation."
I turned around and took out ten gold boxes from the house: "Why do you think I dare to save you?"
"Because there are tens of billions of supplies stored in my space."
