Chapter 3: Chapter Three: Selling Medicine

The next day, Wang Yan woke up to bright daylight.

Liu Sihui had already prepared breakfast and came in to wake him up.

“Get up and eat—I bought you toiletries.”

Looking at Liu Sihui before him, Wang Yan recalled last night’s passion, and with the morning heat, his heart stirred wildly.

“Where’s Tiantian?” Wang Yan asked.

“After breakfast, my mom took her out for a walk.”

Hearing this, Wang Yan said nothing—he immediately pulled Liu Sihui into bed with a startled “Ah!” He’d been drunk yesterday and hadn’t fully experienced it; he needed to review.

Over twenty minutes later, Wang Yan finished washing up, leaned against his waist, and sat at the table eating breakfast.

Watching Liu Sihui’s flushed face, Wang Yan sighed: “Only the ox wears out—this is already worn out. My body needs attention. I’ll start exercising, improve my physique, ensure quality and quantity, extend the duration.”

After thinking, Wang Yan said to Liu Sihui: “I understand your thoughts.”

Seeing Liu Sihui open her mouth to speak, Wang Yan added: “Don’t overthink—I mean nothing else.”

“Since it’s like this now, let’s not be fleeting lovers—we’ll live together.”

“I’m a bachelor, and I really like Tiantian.”

“Quit your job—you know I’ve got plenty of money, I don’t need yours. What do you say?”

Wang Yan asked bluntly.

Liu Sihui stared at Wang Yan for a while, her eyes complex, lips parting but saying nothing.

Seeing she didn’t speak, Wang Yan continued: “Then it’s settled.”

“Sell the medicine as discreetly as possible—sell less if needed, but safety comes first.”

“Also, collect cash only,” Wang Yan instructed.

Liu Sihui nodded, showing she understood.

Seeing her expression lighten, Wang Yan guessed she’d figured it out: “Alright, eat your breakfast.”

The two ate slowly, chatting intermittently.

After breakfast, Wang Yan tidied up and prepared to study English.

Just then, Liu Sihui’s mother opened the door with Tiantian.

Seeing Wang Yan, Liu Sihui’s mother said nothing—she knew her daughter’s situation and only sighed at her bitter fate.

Wang Yan greeted her, played with Tiantian for a while, told Liu Sihui he was leaving, and departed.

As for the private talk between Liu Sihui and her mother, that was none of Wang Yan’s business.

Wang Yan’s learning speed wasn’t superhuman, but it was very fast. The system’s binding had already boosted his mental capacity, and he’d added three more points—his mental strength was thirty percent above average.

This meant Wang Yan learned at 1.3 times the normal rate; for English, a subject requiring rote memorization, he could already stumble through basic conversations in about four months, with the rest being accumulation and practice.

As for other skills requiring personal insight, that was different—but once knowledge reached a critical mass, understanding would surge dramatically. So enhanced mental strength was practically like cheating.

While Wang Yan studied English, Liu Sihui began contacting people.

Liu Sihui screened those she deemed trustworthy, privately messaging or calling them individually, selling over twenty bottles in a single day.

When Wang Yan returned that night and saw the stacks of cash, he was stunned—he’d never owned so much money in real life.

After careful calculation, selling all 150 bottles would net him 675,000 yuan.

Compared to Cheng Yong, Wang Yan’s costs were far lower—he had a storage space, no middlemen, no markup.

He hadn’t realized it before, but now the numbers shocked him: “This damn criminal code is truly a wealth manual.”

To reward Liu Sihui for her outstanding performance, Wang Yan gave her a heavy reward that night—his waist nearly broke.

Inspired, the next day Wang Yan found a place teaching Sanda and mixed martial arts—both to improve combat skills and physical fitness.

Time flew—before long, half a month passed, and Liu Sihui had steadily sold all 150 bottles.

Looking at the over 600,000 yuan in cash, Liu Sihui said: “If I hadn’t screened patients’ character, I’d have sold faster. Even so, many still wanted to buy but couldn’t.”

Liu Sihui was truly talented—she instituted a mutual guarantee system: five people had to vouch for each buyer. Thanks to this, not a whisper had leaked. Patients, crushed by domestic drug prices, had given up treatment and waited to die. Now came a medicine with identical efficacy but a fraction of the cost—like rain after a long drought. They guarded it tightly; if word got out, everyone would just wait to die.

Wang Yan knew this method worked short-term, but long-term it was unsustainable. People are people—no system is foolproof.

But short-term was enough—he’d hand it off to others in one or two months.

“Take this money—find a good school and get Tiantian enrolled. This can’t go on; she’s too isolated.” Wang Yan handed Liu Sihui ten stacks of cash.

Seeing Wang Yan think of his daughter even while making money, Liu Sihui was deeply moved—she prepared special treats that night to reward Old Wang.

He’d planned to rise early the next day—he’d maintained his routine well for half a month, and the fatigue phase was mostly over. But the enemy’s firepower was too intense—he was leaning on his waist again.

“Go look at schools for Tiantian today—consider everything carefully. Her situation is special,” Wang Yan instructed.

“I’m going to India again—get more medicine.”

Leaving Liu Sihui’s home, Wang Yan first visited Wang Jia and Lv Shengyi’s place, watched the child for a while, exchanged small talk, left ten thousand yuan for Wang Jia to buy supplements, gave instructions, then headed to the airport to buy a direct flight to India.

After some time, he landed in India, called the same driver-translator from before, and headed straight to the pharmaceutical company.

He chatted with the boss, catching up on old times—though his English had improved slightly in the past half-month, he still couldn’t understand half of what the man said. After enough small talk, Wang Yan stated his purpose.

The boss was delighted to hear Wang Yan had sold out all the medicine in half a month—market meant profit.

He happily signed the contract and promised to keep it secret. Of course, where there’s money, there’s secrecy.

Wang Yan then bought several hundred more bottles and requested they be stripped of packaging. It was no trouble—the quantity was small—and the Indian immediately agreed.

With the Indian boss’s warm laughter, Wang Yan bid farewell, took a taxi as usual to the airport hotel.

The next day, he stored the medicine in his space and boarded the flight back to Shanghai.

Back in Shanghai, Liu Sihui had already contacted nearly everyone—Wang Yan handed her the medicine, and she immediately distributed part of it.

That night, the three of them ate dinner together—it was Tiantian’s first day of school, and she’d clearly played herself out, beaming with joy. They laughed and chatted over dinner; she was noticeably more outgoing, putting Wang Yan and Liu Sihui at ease.

In the following two months, Wang Yan made several more trips to India.

Liu Sihui kept the patient network tightly controlled, with extremely high secrecy. Beyond that, Wang Yan’s storage space couldn’t hold more—and he didn’t want to grow too large.

Now, looking at the millions in cash at home, Wang Yan felt nothing.

During this time, Wang Yan opened a stock account and deposited only 100,000 yuan—he dared not deposit more. All his money was black cash; he had to move slowly.

Based on his memory, he’d now earned 50,000 yuan. He was content—he knew nothing about stocks, but spent this time learning while operating, and with his foresight, success was imminent.

Wang Yan opened a clothing factory called Hu Shi Tian Hui—“Tian Hui” was a homophone of Tiantian’s “Tian” and Liu Sihui’s “Hui,” managed by Liu Sihui. He also set up a logistics company named Cao Cao, bringing his brother-in-law Lv Shengyi to run it.

Both companies hired mostly family members of patients—men in logistics, women in the clothing factory. Motivated by goodwill, wages were high.

As startups, both were small-scale, and with the drug money backing them, there were no major issues. It also conveniently allowed Wang Yan to launder his illicit funds—multiple benefits in one.

Of course, Wang Yan didn’t neglect learning or physical training. Over these months, he’d been in this world nearly four months—his progress was clear. He pulled up the system panel.

Wang Yan

Attributes: Strength 7

Agility 7

Constitution 8

Spirit 13

Unallocated points: 0

Storage space: 1m³

Skills: English LV1

Combat LV0

... dozens of zero-level skills omitted.

Through training, Wang Yan had gone from 183 cm tall and 70 kg to 72.5 kg. Constitution and strength each increased slightly—he’d been in poor shape before, but he was still nothing special.

In truth, Wang Yan hadn’t devoted much time to training—if he’d trained obsessively, his constitution could have risen further.

Another thing: when Wang Yan reached basic English proficiency, the system panel displayed a skill list filled with countless skills. Currently, Wang Yan knew the only way to improve skills was to learn and practice. Like English—he’d studied for over three months and now could stumble through conversations. Its appearance felt like an affirmation of his past twenty-odd years of uselessness, telling him: “You’re nothing, but at least you’ve got some skill.”

What Wang Yan couldn’t accept was that the system rated his livelihood skill—sales—as LV0, meaning he hadn’t even entered the door. It was a complete rejection. Many of his company’s colleagues earned no salary for months. Wang Yan barely scraped by, and he thought the system was telling him: “You’re lucky as hell—did you step in dog shit?”

“Damn system—just say it outright instead of sneering at me,” Wang Yan muttered helplessly.

Overall, these months had been incredibly fulfilling—besides studying life science with Liu Sihui and channeling his ever-growing energy.

The rest of his time went to physical training, learning combat, acquiring other knowledge, brutalizing his body, civilizing his mind, and occasionally handling company affairs.

Wang Yan knew his own limits. The countless zeros in the skill list constantly reminded him: never stop learning, only keep advancing.

Wang Yan arrived in this world at the end of July; now it was nearly mid-November.

One day, while training at the martial arts school, Wang Yan received a call from his boss in India: a Chinese man named Cheng Yong had come asking to buy Glivec.

After hanging up, Wang Yan thought: “This Indian guy’s got some standards.”

Indeed—the inevitable always comes, and what must leave cannot be held back.

Because of Wang Yan’s arrival, Lv Shengyi never sought out Cheng Yong.

But if there’s no butcher named Zhang, there’s still butcher Li. Without Lv Shengyi, there’s still Zhang Shengyi.

After thinking, Wang Yan decided to grant Cheng Yong the agency rights.

He’d sold so much over this time—the Swiss Novartis company must have noticed; recent sales declines weren’t something a fool would miss.

Only because Liu Sihui was competent had the operation remained hidden this long—but it couldn’t stay hidden forever.

Originally, Wang Yan hadn’t planned to push Cheng Yong into the spotlight—but now that Cheng Yong had appeared on his own, he might as well follow the script.