Zhang Lei realized he had a problem: the vision could show him a car's physical condition, but he had no idea what he was looking at was worth.
Take that Mazda 6 from before — he'd seen the top-trim powertrain stuffed inside a base-model shell. But if he didn't know what a top-trim 2.5L Mazda 6 was worth versus a base 1.5L, then seeing through it was useless.
The vision was his eyes. Knowledge was his brain. One without the other was worthless.
So he started learning.
He had no mentor — Lao Yang would've been ideal. Yang was the veteran mechanic at Defa Used Cars, fifties, twenty years in the trade. Back when Zhang Lei worked at the dealership, they'd gotten along well — Zhang Lei had hauled heavy stuff for him, run errands, and Lao Yang had dropped bits of wisdom in return.
But going back to Lao Yang meant going back to Wang Defa's territory. Not an option.
Zhang Lei chose another path — self-study online plus hands-on practice.
He spent three days grinding through the fundamentals of used car appraisal. Residual value rates for every major brand across model years. The top ten models for holding value. Which colors sold fast and which meant a discount. The price gap between manual and automatic. The mileage differences between city cars and rural ones — all of it was out there, scattered across forums and short video clips.
He filled a notebook, line by line.
Then came field testing.
On Wednesday at the trading market, he didn't rush to buy. He walked the lot, activating his vision on each car while comparing the listed prices — guessing what each one was actually worth. Back home, he looked up recent sale prices for matching models to check his accuracy.
Day one: ten cars. Seven guesses landed in the right range. Two he'd overestimated — didn't know those models had poor resale value. One he'd underestimated — didn't know that year's Camry had a limited edition that added over ten thousand yuan.
By day three he could do this: activate the vision for three seconds to assess the car's condition, then within ten seconds produce a "fair purchase price" and a "fair selling price" in his head. The gap between them was profit.
That speed was on a completely different level from anyone else at the market.
Other dealers spent half an hour crawling under the chassis, ten minutes on a test drive, then had to come back and pull maintenance records. Zhang Lei was done in three seconds.
And his accuracy beat any diagnostic equipment — because he saw physical reality itself, not instrument readings. Instruments could be fooled — odometer rollbacks, cleared fault codes, reflashed ECUs. His eyes couldn't be tricked.
After a week, he codified his process into four steps:
Step one: visual scan from a distance. Exterior condition, model year identification, rough value range. No vision.
Step two: close-range vision for three seconds. Chassis, engine, transmission, body weld points — four locations in sequence. Anything problematic, eliminate immediately.
Step three: overall assessment. Condition plus market value plus seller's asking price equals profit margin. Under five thousand in profit — pass. Five to ten thousand — standard play. Over ten thousand — a score.
Step four: negotiate. No shortcuts here — it took smooth talk and experience. But Zhang Lei had one edge: he knew every flaw the car had. He wouldn't call them out directly — that would mean exposing the vision — but he could point to the "visible" problems to push the price down. Scratches, touch-up paint, worn tires. The kind of things a seller expected you to notice.
Once this system was running smoothly, his efficiency tripled at minimum.
Before, buying a single car meant agonizing for half a day. Now — enter the lot, scan, lock on target, negotiate, close the deal. The whole thing took just over an hour.
On Saturday he picked up his fifth car. A silver Honda Civic. 2021 model, bought for eighteen thousand yuan. Perfect condition. The only "issue" was a scuffed wheel rim — purely cosmetic. A new rim for a hundred fifty, then list it at twenty-six thousand.
Profit: six thousand eight hundred.
Counting the gray Corolla still waiting to sell, he was now sitting on two cars at once. Available cash was down to about ten thousand — getting tight.
Saturday afternoon Su Qing came to help with photos. This time they drove to the Binjiang Park lot — the backdrop was a row of cherry blossom trees, in full bloom at the end of March. Pink petals drifted down onto the silver roof. Within half an hour of posting the photos, three people messaged asking about the price.
"Look at this." Su Qing scrolled through her phone, showing him the group chat reactions. "Someone said 'these are the best car dealer photos I've ever seen.'"
Zhang Lei smiled. "That's your photography."
"Obviously." She pocketed her phone. "Come on. You owe me a meal."
They walked to a noodle shop near the park — nothing fancy, just a place where a bowl of beef noodles ran fifteen yuan. Zhang Lei ordered two large bowls, added braised eggs and greens.
Over noodles, Su Qing asked: "Don't you think it's weird — how every car you buy turns out to be good? Other dealers are lucky to pick two winners out of ten. You seem to nail it every single time."
Zhang Lei kept chewing, eyes on his bowl.
"Lucky, I guess."
Su Qing studied him for two seconds. "Fine. Don't tell me." She lowered her head back to her noodles. "As long as I know you're not a bad person, that's enough."
Steam rose from the broth, making her bangs damp. She wiped her forehead with the back of her hand.
Zhang Lei glanced at her. Then looked down.
The noodles were pretty good.