In the City of London, every square inch is like a designer handbag—priceless and fiercely guarded. In a tiny 2.6‑square‑kilometer patch, banks, stock exchanges, and financial institutions bustle about like hyperactive ants, employing nearly a million people, all under the watchful gaze of the iconic Tower Bridge. Decades of development have spilled the financial city's glitter into every nook and cranny.
Yang Cheng, accompanied by the ever-skeptical Lin Zhongqiu, followed Chris Hunter's directions to Elvino Asset Management Ltd—nestled in a retro British street lined with charming apartments that doubled as trendy restaurants and posh hotels. From afar, a dapper British chap in a suit waved them over. "Hello, Chris," Yang Cheng greeted, his youthful energy barely contained.
"Nice to meet you, Mr. Yang. You're awfully young," Chris said with a twinkle in his eye, as they introduced Lin Zhongqiu. The trio ascended to a second‑floor meeting room that, while modest, was bathed in bright, apologetic sunlight. Coffee was promptly served, and like any serious financial discussion, the meeting began with a no‑nonsense question.
"Mr. Yang, you mentioned on the phone that you plan to sell this land?" Chris dove straight into business—because in finance, time is money, and small talk is strictly for water-cooler chatter.
Yang Cheng, ever the observer, noted Chris's brisk style. Lin Zhongqiu, still puzzled about his protégé's secret plan, listened intently. Yang slowly picked up his coffee, took a cautious sip (it was scalding hot, much like the pressure of their situation), and set it down before delivering his news.
"There's been a change of plans, Chris," Yang Cheng began.
"Change?" Chris cocked an eyebrow.
"I spoke to my father last night. You see, he still believes in this club—he's rather attached to it, like a sentimental old football fanatic. So, instead of selling, we're considering a different approach to cooperation."
Chris frowned. "So…?"
Yang continued in a tone that mingled cheeky confidence with a dash of British eccentricity, "We're not in the habit of receiving funds transferred from China these days. Our club's cash flow is about as lively as a deflated football. I'm here to ask if you'd consider lending us some money to tide us over these troubled times."
For a fleeting moment, a spark of hope flickered in Lin Zhongqiu's eyes. Then reality bit back as Chris replied, "Mr. Yang, I handle bankruptcy matters, and frankly, given your current situation, no bank or institution is likely to lend money. The risk is just too monumental."
Yang Cheng leaned forward and fixed Chris with a determined stare. "You know the saying, 'The bigger the wind and waves, the more expensive the fish.'"
At that, a light bulb flickered above Chris's head. Suddenly, it was all clear—Yang hadn't come to sell the land; he came to borrow money.
"Of course, even for a company like ours, risk management is key when lending," Chris cautioned.
"I get it," Yang replied, his voice smooth and confident, "but my plan is designed to minimize your risks. Here's what I propose: I want to borrow £5 million for 4 years. In 4 years, I'll pay you back £10 million in one lump sum. If, heaven forbid, I can't repay after four years, all the assets of the Bayswater Chinese—including this land—will be yours. And if I manage to sell the club or the land before then, you get an extra 20% share. Simple, right?"
For a moment, both Chris and Lin were left slack-jawed. A deal where £5 million turns into £10 million in four years was nothing short of astronomical—it was, to put it mildly, usury by today's standards. Lin's anxious frown deepened, but Yang's outstretched hand and reassuring smile did little to soothe him.
This was a high-stakes gamble—a flashback to a legendary 2024 bet by domestic billionaire Zhang Suning during his time at Inter Milan. But Yang Cheng wasn't one to shy away from risk. He knew that if he didn't offer an enticing enough interest, even Elvino wouldn't bat an eyelid. After all, giants like Blackstone wouldn't even dignify a small sum like this, but for Elvino, this was a very large fish in troubled waters.
Chris's mind raced. In four years, a £5 million investment doubling to £10 million at a 20% interest rate might sound bonkers—but if Yang Cheng couldn't repay, the club and its prized land would be his anyway. Even a third‑tier club in League Two held value. If the right buyer emerged within those four years, the deal would fetch a 20% commission on top of all that interest.
"How about it?" Yang Cheng said with a roguish grin. "Give me some time to work my magic."
Chris hesitated, caught off guard by the young man's audacity. Refusing him was nearly impossible.
After nearly an hour of animated coffee-fueled negotiation, Chris returned with a proposal: while their company was very interested, they needed to tweak the numbers. Instead of £5 million over 4 years, they were willing to lend only £2 million over 2 years—with a repayment of £3 million at the end. All other terms remained similar, subject to the usual legal haggling and financial due diligence.
As the meeting wrapped up, Chris even introduced the owner of Elvino, signaling a strong interest in cooperation. But before any celebratory handshakes, Lin Zhongqiu blurted out, "Acheng, the interest rate is outrageously high!" All his pent-up worries about their precarious position spilled out in one anxious tirade.
Yang Cheng simply patted Lin on the shoulder and grinned, "Uncle Lin, just wait and see. I'm in charge from here on out! In two years, not only will we have cleared the £3 million debt, but I'll also deliver a surprise that'll make the entire world of European football—no, the world football world—tremble at the feet of the Chinese in Bayswater!"
From Lin Zhongqiu's perspective, as he watched the sunrise behind Yang Cheng, the young man's whole being seemed to glow with an audacious promise. Despite the chaos, the risk, and the seemingly insurmountable obstacles, Yang Cheng's fierce determination was as bright as a beacon in the fog—one that even the most skeptical of financial managers couldn't help but admire.