Lin Fan felt like the heavens were playing a cruel joke on him.
Everyone else who transmigrated became a peerless hero. He got only half a pack of cigarettes.
With no other choice if he wanted to avoid starving, he returned to his old trade: setting up a street stall.
What did he sell? “Treasure mirrors” made from the foil inside cigarette packs, sold to young ladies who loved to look their best.
Before he knew it, he had gone from peddling in Jiangling to peddling in Chang’an, and from a street stall to the imperial palace.
The scions of great families tried to muscle in on his business? Lin Fan hit them with “hunger marketing,” leaving them waiting in line and still unable to buy a thing.
Officials tried to extort protection money? Lin Fan turned around and introduced a “share-based profit-sharing system,” making them become partners instead.
As for all the beautiful women insisting on marrying him...
Lin Fan looked at the ledger in his hands, frowning. “Romance gets in the way of making money! How about... you all get in line?”
