Beijing.
Haidian District.
Inside a certain rental house.
On the table.
"Brother Ma, I toast to you! Bottoms up to show my respect!" After saying this, a young man drained the wine in his glass in one gulp, causing everyone around to wince. Drinking like that—what, you think it’s beer?
The middle-aged man called Brother Ma also felt his heart ache watching this.
He pressed his hand downward slightly.
"Hey, take it easy! Sip it slowly! This isn’t just any spirit; you savor it slowly to enjoy the real taste. Who knows when we’ll get to drink this again next ti?" With it being Chinese New Year, his elder brother had begrudgingly taken out a few bottles of his treasured fruit wine.
Each person was only allotted two small glasses at most.
"Tsk tsk, the flavor is amazing."
The young man wiped his mouth and praised.
It was his first ti drinking fruit wine. He had long heard of its legendary reputation, but with a price tag of thousands per bottle, he could only admire it from afar. After finally managing to get a glass, he decided to down it in one go.
Ice-cold fruit wine.
One word:
Refreshing.
"It’s just too expensive, and it’s under purchase restrictions. Honestly, are the dostic wineries all fools? With such a great product, how co none of them are copying it? A bunch of idiots." Brother Ma sighed, staring at the wine in his hand.
There was a bit of that "hate iron for not becoming steel" frustration in his tone.
At those words—
A man sitting in the host’s seat chuckled.
"You’re being unfair to those wineries. It’s not that they don’t want to copy it; they simply can’t. Plenty of winemaking experts in the wineries have been scratching their heads bald, but no one’s cracked the formula."
"Can it really be that hard? Isn’t it just made from fruit?"
"Why don’t you try following the ingredient list?"
"Uh... better not."
"If it wasn’t for the fact that Myanmar also has purchase restrictions, I’d say scalping this could be even more profitable. I heard the factory price is only 2,000 Asia Dollars per bottle, but the price varies across countries. In the U.S., one bottle can fetch over ten thousand RMB."
"The distributors must be raking it in."
"That’s for sure."
"..."
About twenty mid-young adults sat around the table. The food was abundant, but the mood was not particularly lively. Compared to the year before last—or even earlier—they could safely call the past year their most dismal in business.
Especially the second half of the year.
It beca increasingly harder to operate.
As for their profession—
They all had a common nickna: scalpers.
Taking other people’s money.
Trading equivalent value.
None of them considered it shaful. They used to enjoy the work well enough, but the ergence of Transcription Fluid had eradicated blood diseases like cancer and leukemia. Patients now flocked to Myanmar, leaving far fewer coming to Beijing.
Naturally—
Their lives had beco much tougher too.
But, after all, this was a gacity with tens of millions of residents. Even when their days weren’t as lucrative, they still earned several tis more than your average corporate employee. Where one person could build a large house back ho in a year, now it was only half of one.
Once, there was prosperity.
And so—
Ever since the appearance of Transcription Fluid, they cursed this company incessantly.
"This bullshit company! How do they keep churning out so many miracles?"
"Seriously, is there anyone who can put a leash on them?"
"Probably only themselves."
"..."
At this mont, one of them turned on the TV to check out so programs, only to find a replay of the News Broadcast. The host happened to be announcing so news. After listening, most people at the table imdiately wore dejected expressions—no opportunities here.
Real-na registration.
Appointnts required.
Verified diagnosis.
These three insurance asures left them virtually no room to maneuver. They’d heard rumors about it before, but the exact rules had been unclear. Thus, they had held onto so hope, wondering if they could still find a way around.
Now, after taking a look—
Forget it.
Might as well stick to their old business. However, the leading man’s eyes suddenly lit up. Under the confused stares of everyone else, he dashed back to his room, returning with a notebook and fumbling with his mobile phone.
"Big Bro, what are you doing?"
The man ignored him.
The others didn’t think much of it either.
"Real-na system? Damn, they even require a verified diagnosis."
"We can’t just bypass the hospitals and register. Sigh."
"..."
"It’s a sha we can’t profit from this anymore."
Everyone felt at a loss.
Then—
"Who said there’s no opportunity?" The leading man raised his head, his lips curling into a smug grin that kept growing, leaving everyone bewildered. The guy sitting to his left asked curiously: "Big Bro, what kind of opportunity?"
"Yeah, with the real-na system, it’s easy to fake identity info. But how would you fake a confird diagnosis?"
"Exactly."
"..."
The underlings’ lack of ingenuity gave the man a sense of superiority. But of course—if these people were too smart, how could he maintain control over them? He savored their admiring gazes for a while, then said:
"Their process prioritizes severe cases. They don’t accept non-critical early or mid-stage cancer patients from walk-ins. As a result, such patients can only book appointnts online and wait for a long ti."
At this point—
He paused.
Seeing the puzzled looks on his subordinates, he continued: "However, nowhere in their rules does it say that if soone initially qualified as a late-stage patient but later regressed to an early stage, they would revoke their treatnt priority."
With this statent—
Everyone still looked perplexed.
Unless they fabricated diagnostic records, but those records had now been synchronized nationwide. The cost of faking one would be unimaginably high, not to ntion the risks. Their previous networks probably wouldn’t dare touch this kind of job.
The man’s face grew smug, and he explained:
"You’re forgetting—we have a lot of patient records on hand. The Transcription Fluid has only been around for less than six months. Half a year ago, many late-stage patients might have passed away, but plenty of them still haven’t had their accounts closed."
Upon hearing this—
The group collectively had a realization.
So that’s how it was. According to regulations, when soone passes away, their family mbers are supposed to close the account. But plenty of families, especially in rural areas, simply don’t bother. After soone dies, many don’t go through the trouble of filing for account closure.
Wait a second... just now...
They turned their gaze toward the leader.
He nodded.
"Exactly. I just checked and found a confird late-stage patient who’s already deceased but whose account hasn’t been closed. Their registered info and appointnt qualifications are still active, which ans..."
No need to finish the sentence.
Everyone understood.
This ant—
They might have new business opportunities again. Operating in Myanmar wasn’t feasible due to the strict personal verification needed to cross borders; non-matching identity docunts would never pass customs.
But dostically—
There was no need to clear customs.
Hospitals likely weren’t that ticulous either.
"Big Bro, you’re brilliant."
"Big Bro, how co I’m not as smart as you?"
"Maybe if you’re reborn, you could try again."
"Haha..."
Soon enough—
The table returned to its lively New Year atmosphere. Even though they were now making money off deceased people’s nas, they reasoned that they were already profiting off the sick before, so what difference did it make? A new year ant new goals.
...
As soon as Huaxia’s news aired—
It quickly made its way to the other side of the globe, though it didn’t cause much of a stir. The topic had been previously reported—it was just another gripe about having to fly to Asia to get treated.
However—
In neighboring South Korea, the situation was different. While Huaxia had dical loans, Aricans had wealth, but Koreans faced exorbitant dical costs without bank loan options.
With major corporate scandals erupting last year—
For a ti—
Things beca "chaotic and bustling."
Tang Qing found himself mildly surprised. He had initially planned for those corporate giants to enjoy one last peaceful year, but Korea’s citizens didn’t get the mo. Fine, they could make noise now, while his people would swoop in at the end to clean up.
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