chapter 16 Bad feng shui!

After leaving the CEO's office, Titus found a dark corner to make a phone call.
The call had just connected when a voice came through, both surprised and awed, "Brother, do you need something?"
It was the voice of Alan, the Young Marshal of the Northern Savage Army.
"I have something to tell you," Titus said indifferently.
"Brother, please tell me," Alan straightened up, ready to receive orders.
"I just took a look at the pass you guys issued," Titus said casually.
"What's wrong?" Alan asked curiously.
"It's too ugly," Titus said gravely. "Redo it."
"…" Alan was stunned.
It was just a pass for a memorial service, so what if it was a bit ugly? Was it supposed to be designed as beautifully as a wedding invitation?
After a moment of reflection, Alan said somewhat reluctantly, "Brother, the passes have already been issued. Redoing them would make it seem like the Northern Savage Army changes orders overnight, showing a lack of organization and discipline."
"Oh, so you've just become the Young Marshal and you're already talking back to me?" Titus squinted. "Shorty, have you forgotten how you used to fawn over me?"
Height was Alan's only sore point, he wasn't asking for much, just to break through 1.7 meters, believing it would elevate his demeanor by two whole levels.
Had it been anyone else touching his sore point, they would have been targeted no matter the distance!
But Titus... well, who else could boast a height of 1.8 meters even without shoes?
"Brother, please stop scolding, I'll redo it right away. Could you give me some more advice on the design? I don't want to redo it only for you to still be dissatisfied." Alan owed his life to Titus, how could he dare to talk back?
Seeing Alan's good attitude in admitting his mistake, Titus's tone softened a bit, "Make the color more dignified, bright yellow would be good. The font should ideally be in wild cursive to show an unrestrained personality."
"Yes, that makes sense, brother, you really are a design genius," Alan flattered. "Any other requests?"
"Yes, redo the passes for anyone, just not for those with the surname Simpson," Titus said with a sneer.
"Understood," Alan didn't ask further. He had heard that a big shot from the Blackhills military region named Simpson had previously gotten two tickets. Since Titus had spoken, even if it meant burning them at a grave, he wouldn't give them to him!
"I'll mention this as well, it's not that I have any personal grudge against those named Simpson, but a few days ago, I consulted a master who said my fortune was flourishing but clashed with the Simpson's destiny," Titus explained. "I don't want someone named Simpson to ruin the Geomancy at the cemetery."
"You're right, brother," Alan smirked.
"There is one more thing," Titus went on.
"Please tell me," Alan asked cautiously.
"Prepare more of the redone passes this time," Titus said.
"How many do you need?" Alan asked generously.
Could brother not have a few friends?
To earn some prestige in front of friends and satisfy some vanity, how could he, as a younger brother, not understand and support such aspirations?
"About thirty or forty thousand," Titus said offhandedly.
"…" Alan was dumbfounded.
Brother, you've been in the army for ten years, do you even have that many friends outside?
Alan had heard that these passes were extremely valuable in Blackhills, with each ticket worth million dollars but impossible to buy.
Brother, just by saying it, you want thirty or forty thousand tickets, is this to capitalize on the flow? To make a fortune at the funeral?
"Brother, these passes aren't toilet paper, we should still ensure quality, right? With the time we have left, making thirty or forty thousand all at once, I'm afraid it might be too much pressure on the factory," Alan showed difficulty.
"Just print them like toilet paper, right? The passes are just a formality, do you really need to make them collector's edition?" Titus scolded.
But you were the one who complained about the passes being too ugly, which is why I'm redoing them...
"But…"
"There are no buts!" Titus raised his voice. "It's my own memorial service, can't I make some decisions? What's wrong with inviting a few friends over to liven things up? Is it bothering you?"
"…"
Alan found brother's reasoning very sound and hard to argue with.
Even if brother wanted to use the legendary war hero's appeal to make a fortune, as a younger brother, could he really stand in the way of brother making money?
"Let's leave it at that, I'll contact you if I think of anything else," Titus prepared to hang up.
"Brother," Alan's voice came through the phone, restrained yet reluctant. "Are you really leaving like this? Not coming back?"
"A man's word can pierce through walls, if I say I'm retiring, then I'm retiring, is there any doubt?" Titus said, then shifted the topic. "Besides, living a different kind of life isn't a bad choice."
Alan raised an eyebrow.
Indeed, brother used to eat from the same pot and sleep on hard beds every day. If he sells thirty or forty thousand tickets in one go, wouldn't he become rich overnight, enjoying delicacies from the mountains and seas every day?
This life isn't just good, it's fantastic.
"Brother, please reconsider," Alan was still not giving up. "I've already registered the names Jorge East, Jorge West, and Jorge South. If you're willing to come back, in no more than a year, you could return to the peak, and by then…"
Alan suddenly had a wicked thought.
By then, brother could use his appeal again to make a huge fortune, wouldn't that make him the richest man?
Alan suddenly felt he had a knack for business. Why do people go bankrupt every day when doing business seems not that hard?