"Why is the price so low?" Before Jiang Hai could speak, Edward Anderson stepped off the boat and questioned Michelson Green. He was clearly dissatisfied with the offer. He had expected this haul of fish to sell for at least $500,000.
But at the current price, they were short by at least $50,000—something he was extremely reluctant to accept.
"I don't have a choice..." Michelson shrugged helplessly at Edward's frustration.
"You've been in the fishing industry a long time—you know this price isn't up to us. I follow the New York market. These prices are dictated by those Wall Street bastards. You think it's low? So do I!" Michelson lit a cigarette and sighed.
In the U.S., prices weren't fixed. The same was true in China, but at least there the government maintained oversight. In China, prices for essentials—like rice—could only fluctuate within a regulated range. Most speculation affected non-essentials like garlic, scallions, or cilantro. Years of regulation had ensured that China's market remained relatively stable. That was one of its strengths.
But in the U.S., there was no such regulation. Prices here were determined purely by capitalists—by the whims of Wall Street. They controlled the prices of vegetables, grains, meat, even pasture land.
If those people decided that premium 5A beef was no longer worth anything, they could declare its price to be a dollar a kilo, and it would be so—at least on paper.
Of course, good luck actually buying it at that price. Even if it dropped that low, ranchers like Jiang Hai would never sell to China or Europe just because Americans didn't want it anymore.
That said, they wouldn't slash the price that dramatically. A drop or rise of a dollar was possible, but reducing it to a single dollar was unrealistic.
Fortunately, Jiang Hai's manor didn't rely on them. He didn't sell ordinary beef. His wine was self-brewed, and his pasture home-grown. Their pricing strategies didn't affect him much.
He targeted the high-end market, outside their control. But the current price of fish? That was frustrating.
"Damn bloodsuckers… Boss, are we selling or not?" Edward Anderson asked Jiang Hai after hearing Michelson's explanation. He understood that if the price had already been set by the market, Michelson couldn't raise it no matter how unfair it seemed.
So the question now was simple: sell or not?
Jiang Hai hesitated and sighed.
The price was low, yes, but he didn't have a warehouse to store all the fish. More importantly, he hadn't found any other buyers. Waiting too long meant the fish would spoil.
"Sell it," Jiang Hai finally said.
As soon as he spoke, Michelson and his crew boarded the boat and began offloading crates of fish in front of the crowd. People watching gasped at the sheer volume. They knew Jiang Hai ran a fish farm—but not that it was this massive.
Michelson picked up a red American snapper and sliced it open with a knife. Blood flowed from the cut as he inspected the fish's stomach—checking for parasites and evidence of feed. When he found it was full of wild grass seeds and plants, with no signs of artificial feed, he nodded in approval.
He continued examining several other fish, even slicing pieces of salmon and grouper to eat raw. Jiang Hai winced at the sight—he never ate sashimi—but Michelson clearly enjoyed it. He smacked his lips with satisfaction.
"I'll be honest," Michelson said, giving a thumbs-up. "This fish is top-notch. The flavor is clean, sweet, and fresh. Honestly, your red snapper is comparable to yellowfin tuna. But I'm just a buyer. Around here, you're not going to get a premium price for it…"
He sighed again. In truth, he was lucky Jiang Hai lacked broader market connections. Otherwise, someone else would be taking these fish.
"I get it. Weigh them," Jiang Hai replied, rolling his eyes at the man's feigned humility. He still felt reluctant to let the fish go for so little.
"Got it." Michelson immediately ordered his crew to start weighing the catch. Each crate was weighed and recorded before being taken to the warehouse. Edward Anderson and others documented every number. Jiang Hai sat glumly by the dock, staring at the ocean.
If all his fish had to sell this cheaply, he wouldn't be satisfied. But how could he increase their value? Maybe raise them for another year? It was a troublesome thought.
Just as he was lost in thought, his phone rang. Glancing at the screen, he saw the caller: Pra Walton. They hadn't seen each other since New York, but they'd stayed in touch regularly, especially after their last encounter brought them closer.
Since that bold move she pulled in New York, Pra Walton's position within Walmart had become rock-solid. Previously seen as her father's heir apparent, she now stood on her own, not aligned with any faction. Her neutrality made her untouchable—neither her father nor her uncle could move against her.
Like a small neutral country in a continent at war, she remained safe no matter the chaos. With that position, she gradually removed rival influences from Sam's Club, taking control of it completely.
Seeing her name on the screen, Jiang Hai smiled and answered.
"Why are you calling at this hour? Don't you usually call at night? Off work already?" he asked playfully.
"Who decides when I get off work?" she chuckled. "But you're right, I'm still at work. I'm calling for business."
"Business?" Jiang Hai raised an eyebrow. "What kind?"
"You're planning to attend the New York Beef Show in April, right?" she asked.
"Yeah." That wasn't a secret. His beef was already in high demand, but he still needed to build his brand. If Walmart ever stopped buying from him, he couldn't be left hanging. So, promotion was essential.
"Don't go to New York—go to Texas instead."
"Texas?" Jiang Hai frowned. "That's... not ideal."
"Why not? Texas is the heart of the U.S.—no, the world's—ranching industry. They're hosting the National Beef Competition in April. If your cattle win a gold medal there, your brand will skyrocket."
Jiang Hai remained hesitant. Pra knew his success would also benefit her. As head of Sam's Club, an exclusive seller of his beef, boosting Jiang Hai's brand meant she could raise prices and profits. But Jiang Hai didn't seem enthusiastic.
"To be honest, I don't have a great impression of Texas…" he said. He'd visited before and found Texans unwelcoming. The state had a high percentage of white residents, and racial tension ran deep. Cowboys were often loud, crude, and xenophobic. If you dared talk back, you risked a beating.
Most cowboys were white. Minorities were confined to specific ranches run by their own communities. Jiang Hai wasn't eager to go back.
Also, transporting cattle was a headache. By truck? Unsafe. By plane? Complicated.
"That's not an issue," Pra replied with a confident laugh. "The competition's in San Antonio—the NBA Spurs' hometown. It's not a major market, but it's a big city with a large, diverse population. Cities like Houston and San Antonio are more inclusive. Houston is a space city, full of outsiders. San Antonio folks are famously good-natured."
"As for transporting the cattle—we'll handle it. Walmart has plenty of planes. I'll send a team of professionals. Your cattle will be just fine."
"…Alright." Jiang Hai was still hesitant, but he trusted Pra. If she said it was safe, he believed her. He also wanted to build his name. In the end, he agreed—he'd go to Texas in April.
"By the way, where are you now? It's so noisy," Pra asked curiously.
"Me? I'm in Boston. Selling fish," Jiang Hai replied with a chuckle.
"Selling fish? Your farm already harvested?" she exclaimed in surprise.
"Yep. And the yield's pretty good," he said, unable to hide his pride.
"Oh my God—you didn't tell me?! That fish belongs to me! I'm flying over tomorrow!"
She practically screamed into the phone. Pra Walton knew just how valuable Jiang Hai's fish were—absolute treasures.