Chapter 677: Psycho Profiteer

Da Wang equipped the caravan with cold‑proof tents and also brought some white sugar and dried fish. Meng Meng had to calculate the net profit, so Da Wang could only add low‑cost self‑produced goods. In short, Da Wang decided to bring more food, just in case they could still survive in the desert.

For this he rummaged out a Langya Wang Clan collected painting from the warehouse and had Bai Yang exchange it for edible dry rations to take into the desert.

"The grain money I left here still lacks five hundred thousand; we still have unsettled accounts with the Seafood Restaurant and the fresh‑food brand—why take out another painting?" He said this with a genuine smile. This painting is a multi‑person spring outing scene, lively and enjoyed by both refined and vulgar tastes; Bai Yang likes it a lot and has already been thinking where to hang it—office or home!

Buying all grain would be hard to transport—this time, to save grain, we even sent the Chief Steward to Mount Heng, which really delays the intelligence and commerce departments. This painting is meant to be exchanged for things like compressed biscuits and candy. Making our own compressed biscuits is too troublesome; oil supply can't keep up. Unlike Bai Yang's wholesale goods, which come in many flavors and—who knows what tech—each piece can last a day, people put pork floss inside, while the commerce department's homemade version uses cheap fish meat and skimps on seasoning and oil, so it lacks the aroma of store‑bought ones. Bai Yang's store‑bought version, after the Da Wang soaks it in water, a big piece becomes two bowls; eating one piece keeps one from feeling hungry all day. Da Wang plans to stock some for the cavalry—for example, for temporary emergency missions it's very needed.

The two also exchanged some Phoenix Group intel—for example, Bai Yang found a cheap rice source on the street, had it machine‑tested, and it was virtually identical to the rice they eat, with little difference in appearance. They then went to discuss price, and Da Wang made a big‑spending deal of five hundred thousand taels of silver at once.

Well, my own stall hasn't even opened and I've already spent five hundred thousand.

Bai Yang summoned the company's purchasing manager the next day, "…Let me tell you something serious—I've been unable to sleep lately, and whenever I doze off I dream that the apocalypse is coming; these two days I feel it's real. …Do you believe me?"

The purchasing manager was baffled; although he'd worked at the company for several years, he'd never been a close confidant, and he'd only just taken this post. What do you mean by this?! "Is … you not paying this month's wages?" Or are you planning layoffs?

Bai Yang: "That's not necessarily the case. I'm thinking, better safe than sorry. In that case, I'll make some preparations—you go order a batch of compressed biscuits, the kind advertised as aviation‑grade on the market. How about starting with three million?"

As soon as he finished speaking, Bai Yang saw the purchasing manager's face literally display four big characters: "Boss is crazy!"

"Don't be surprised, just listen. When you order, the packaging must be made of biodegradable eco‑friendly material, then print no characters on it—just mark an obscure code and note the factory batch. That way the compressed biscuits have a three‑year shelf life; if nothing happens, I'll take them out after a year and sell them under a private label. If the premonition hasn't faded, I'll swap in a new batch with fresh dates." Of course, within a year I'll definitely transfer you to a remote post.

The purchasing manager stared, mouth agape: "Boss, you're serious?"

Bai Yang rubbed his nose: "Of course! If it really happens, shouldn't these supplies earn me a spot in a safe house? I won't forget you then."

The purchasing manager updated his view of the boss: rich people really treat money as nothing! And… they're full of childlike wonder.

He was pondering whether to pledge his loyalty when Bai Yang cautioned him: "I'm entrusting you with this… private matter because I trust you. It must stay confidential—payments go through my private account, don't order from a single company, seek multiple suppliers, personally oversee quality, and make sure it's top‑notch! We might even have to rely on these supplies to survive~

"Understood, boss—I'll guarantee to get the job done!"

"Work hard; once this is settled I'll pay you a bonus."

"Thanks, boss!" Mom, rich people are really crazy!

He simply couldn't picture when three million private‑label compressed biscuits would ever sell out—would it take until the Year of the Monkey and the Horse? Who eats this nowadays? Only a tiny fraction of outdoor enthusiasts keep a bit, given how many outdoor rations are available now—various military packs and self‑heating rice, aren't they fragrant? Aside from being portable, I can't think of any advantage.

But once seated in his own office he quickly reasoned: the boss's wealth spent on three million emergency rations is roughly equivalent to him stockpiling two boxes of instant noodles during the pandemic for two hundred.

Thinking this way made sense to him: when anxious, people always stockpile something for peace of mind—it just so happens that this time the anxious person is wealthy.

After the purchasing manager left, Bai Yang called the other officer in charge of grain and oil, telling him to follow the same procedure and procure two million packets of instant noodles.

After hanging up, he clutched his chest: "Da Wang, until today I was just a profiteer; now I guess I'm a crazy‑minded profiteer! …" He carefully produced the Spring Outing Picture and held it against the empty office wall: "A collection bridging two thousand years—worth it!"

The cold snap lasted five or six days; after the Northern Border shed a layer of skin, the temperature finally began to rise, the sun was no longer harsh white, and once he felt the slightly warm sunshine outdoors, Da Wang let out a great sigh of relief.

Exactly three days later he received some samples Bai Yang had sent—fifty catties of compressed biscuits, ten catties per box, the boxes still being military‑green iron cans, which Da Wang found astonishing.

"Iron, eh—do they throw in the tin with the biscuits?"

Bai Yang patted the military‑style iron tin: "You haven't seen a 100‑gram biscuit come in an iron box before. Anyway, this tin is just a single layer of steel; I inspected the workmanship—it's moisture‑ and flame‑resistant and not too heavy—so let's go with this one."

Da Wang picked it up and couldn't put it down; from now on, if the Eagle Riders or Snow Riders have an urgent mission, wouldn't bringing a few cans of this be more cost‑effective than a Bigu Pill? The pill stops hunger but is expensive and boring. If he could even skip meals, being alive would be utterly pointless.

Not hungry, but craving!

How great this is—pork floss, sesame, scallion‑oil flavors, so fragrant~

When the weather cleared, Da Wang immediately dispatched the force heading to Wusun; from Liangzhou's full topographic map he could see the current state of Shanyang Pass, and from its appearance he could roughly infer that the Western Regions weren't suffering a mild freeze either. Da Wang kept one box, and handed the remaining four boxes of compressed biscuits to the detachment leader to take along.

He didn't even eat the remaining box himself—who would stuff themselves with this when there's so much tastier food? Out of a desire to show off, he gave the box to Old Four and Old Seven, also letting Fatty Four see what grade his military rations are.

After Baili Hu had twice slipped away and been caught, these past two days he's behaved much better, hanging out with Old Seven every day—quite a rare ease. Old Seven has a good disposition and is hard to dislike.

Tong Chen delivered the stuff; hearing it was edible, he tasted it, found it not bad, and gave Old Seven two large chunks. The kid then silently chewed through them, skipped lunch, refused dinner, and whenever urged to eat he'd pat his belly. Even the next morning's breakfast went untouched, making Fatty Four a little wary—'Third Fatty, did you poison him?!'