Befriend that country bumpkin?
Zhao Qian felt a deep, visceral disgust.
She’d been smitten with Xie Qian from the moment they met. The Zhao family had lived abroad until last year, when they returned to China. After learning about Xie Qian’s background, Zhao Dong even encouraged her to get close to him.
The Zhaos found doing business in China tricky, their domestic ties too weak. Zhao Dong figured that while his sister was young, feelings were best nurtured early—especially with a catch like Xie Qian. If they didn’t stake a claim while he was still a kid, by the time he was old enough to marry, Zhao Qian might not stand a chance.
Zhao Dong planned ahead, scheming tirelessly for the family, even using his teenage sister without hesitation. No wonder Lin Lin called him ruthlessly pragmatic!
He was dead-set on Xie Qian—or rather, the connections his family offered. Zhao Dong had already prepped to send Zhao Qian to study in the capital, just waiting to confirm Xie Qian’s high school so she could follow.
Get close, win him over—Zhao Dong didn’t believe his sister couldn’t snag Xie Qian.
But despite his careful plotting, a bombshell dropped when his friend Jiang Youjia spilled the latest on Xie Qian. Zhao Dong couldn’t sit still.
He urged Zhao Qian to lower herself, though deep down, he wasn’t thrilled either.
If it were Qin Xianming’s daughter, Qin Jiao, he’d get it. But some plain girl from a nobody family pulling off what Zhao Qian couldn’t? Zhao Dong wondered if Xie Qian, never exposed to girls of that “level,” had been drawn in by the novelty.
Just then, Wen Ying’s stall sent over a plate of glistening braised shrimp to Big Liu’s BBQ shop, landing right on the Zhao siblings’ table.
Zhao Qian recoiled in disgust.
—How could Xie Qian stoop to running a stall?!
Zhao Dong didn’t touch the food either. When they called for the bill, Big Liu was baffled.
Leftovers were normal—some folks had eyes bigger than their stomachs—but leaving everything untouched? Rare.
Even picky eaters usually tried a bite before judging.
Not even a nibble.
Big Liu grinned, asking if they wanted it packed up. Zhao Dong waved it off. “Just the bill.”
Big Liu swallowed his confusion and tallied it up. Zhao Dong slapped down a hundred-yuan note, saying to keep the change.
Running a stall for years, Big Liu had gotten tips before—foreigners especially, chowing down on BBQ, guzzling ice water to douse the spice, and still throwing thumbs-ups for the flavor. But this? Not a bite taken, and he felt insulted despite the tip.
After the Zhao siblings left, one of Big Liu’s apprentices sidled up:
“Master, what’s up? Trouble?”
Big Liu shook his head. “Doesn’t seem like it.”
Eyeing the untouched skewers, he hadn’t lost money, but the wasted ingredients stung.
To hype the food festival and boost Rongcheng’s night food rep per Director Lü’s call, Big Liu had been extra picky with ingredients lately—every cut of meat hand-selected.
Such good stuff, wasted. Why didn’t the heavens strike down food-wasters?
His apprentice, from a modest family like most who worked there, felt the loss too. He grabbed a skewer to eat, only for Big Liu to smack it out of his hand.
“You little fool! Some folks dress fancy but could be sick. No matter how slick they look, don’t eat their leftovers.”
The kid nodded, sulking.
As Big Liu lectured, Xie Qian came over—sent by Wen Ying to grab plates. Seeing the untouched shrimp, he was speechless.
Sure, shrimp weren’t pricey, but Wang Shuang scrubbed each one herself.
Wen Ying fried and braised them, turning muddy critters into a delicacy.
He got not liking it, but wasting it on purpose? That he didn’t vibe with.
He’d clocked the Zhao siblings earlier.
Honestly, a night market street wasn’t their scene.
He’d met them last winter through his cousin-in-law, Jiang Youjia, who’d studied abroad with Zhao Dong. When the Zhaos moved back to Rongcheng, Zhao Dong and Jiang Youjia got tight.
The Zhaos fancied themselves a scholarly lineage—great-granddad a Qing dynasty scholar, now investing in cultural tourism back home. Xie Qian had dealt with them; they flaunted their “refined” heritage but chased money hard. The hypocrisy rubbed him wrong.
He’d never wanted much to do with them, and Zhao Qian’s clinginess only made him dodge harder.
So why were these out-of-place Zhaos here? Something was up.
Xie Qian glanced at Wen Ying, Qin Jiao, and Wang Shuang hustling at the stall.
The Zhaos had a smug streak, forcing their values on others, hiding behind “we grew up abroad, don’t get local ways” excuses—zero boundaries. If he didn’t step in, they might tank this budding gig.
Decision made, Xie Qian kept it cool, grabbed the plates, and went back to help—nothing off to Wen Ying or the others.
He was quiet anyway; Wen Ying didn’t pick up any vibe shift.
Come closing time, she crowed that they’d cracked 1,500 yuan. “See that? The food festival’s magic—just the start!”
With profits visibly climbing, Wen Ying was chipper all the way home.
Dropping her off, Xie Qian turned to Lin Lin, who was driving:
“Is Cousin-in-Law home tonight?”
Lin Lin tensed. “Yeah. You need him?”
Xie Qian was sharp.
The Zhao siblings’ night market cameo wasn’t random—something was brewing. Lin Lin knew, and he didn’t.
He said he needed to ask Jiang Youjia something but kept it vague.
Xie Qian’s mind was set—pry as you might, he wouldn’t spill.
Lin Lin fretted.
—Did he overhear her fight with Jiang Youjia last night?
Even Jiang Youjia himself would sweat hearing Xie Qian wanted him.
Man, what a wimp—he was a grown adult, scared of a teen like Xie Qian.
But Jiang Youjia reasoned he was doing it for Xie Qian’s good—what’s to feel guilty about?
Psyching himself up, he pushed open Xie Qian’s door. Xie Qian cut straight to it:
“Cousin-in-Law, I saw your friend Zhao Dong and his sister Zhao Qian at the night market tonight. He’s your buddy—I respect your circle. But they’re not mine. If they were just passing through, I’m overthinking it. If not… I don’t play nice with people I don’t like.”
