Jealousy is a natural human instinct.
If everyone had a laid-back mindset, society’s progress would slow down.
“Shrimp King” was booming, even featured on TV, who knew how many eyes were watching.
Small lobsters were everywhere in the fields, usually not worth the effort to catch and cook—costly in oil, salt, time, and labor. Country folk ate them, but most just chopped them up to feed chickens and ducks.
Deng Shangwei initially helped Wen Ying’s stall source lobsters, a hundred pounds lasted two days. Now they sold hundreds a day, demand spiking fast. In just two days, nearby lobsters were wiped out, forcing Deng Shangwei’s rural buyers to switch towns.
He hadn’t expected Wen Ying’s stall to need so much.
If they kept needing hundreds daily, rural sourcing might not hold steady.
Deng Shangwei had already scoped out out-of-town suppliers for Wen Ying.
Rongcheng folks weren’t big on lobsters, but elsewhere, farming them was an industry. To play along with Boss Qin, Deng Shangwei couldn’t touch seafood this quarter, stuck with basic aquatic goods.
Wen Ying wasn’t the only sharp one. As “Shrimp King” took off, others spotted the lobster goldmine. Some even tried “Shrimp King’s” fare—braised shrimp, nothing fancy, just a decent brine.
Even if they couldn’t nail “Shrimp King’s” taste, a good brine wouldn’t be bad!
Some itched to jump in, but scouring Rongcheng’s markets, not one had stock.
No supply, no sales!
Undeterred, they staked out for two days, tracking Deng Shangwei’s shrimp runners for Wen Ying, hoping to buy.
Deng Shangwei sourced rural lobsters, selling to Wen Ying at 3 yuan per pound, covering transport, pure help, no profit off her.
Others wanting that price? No chance.
After checking with Wen Ying, who had no intent to monopolize, Deng Shangwei bumped the price to 5 yuan per pound—nearly pork prices. Normally, who’d buy shell-heavy, meat-light lobsters? But now, people did, hooked by “Shrimp King’s” hype. At 15 yuan per pound cooked, 5 yuan raw still left a fat margin!
One buyer showed up, then others got crafty.
Even snack street vendors sneaked in orders, chasing the trend, adding a new dish.
In two days, Deng Shangwei fielded over a thousand pounds in orders.
If he hauled lobsters back at 3 yuan and sold at 5, that’s 2,000 yuan profit on a thousand pounds.
This gig might work!
Idle anyway, Deng Shangwei kept busy, sending folks to rural areas while lining up long-term deals with out-of-town farms.
His penny-pinching ways drew laughs again.
“Boss Qin won’t give you seafood quotas, and you’re stooping to this?”
“Little Deng, don’t be stubborn. Every trade has its champ, switch lanes, why cling to aquatics?”
“Yeah, exactly…”
Deng Shangwei ignored the jabs.
Profit was profit—he’d take it.
Daily thousand-pound orders meant 2,000 yuan a day, 60,000 a month, 100–200 grand a summer—enough for payroll. Money lying on the ground, he’d be dumb not to grab it.
Face?
What face did he have left? Real gains mattered!
Yu Wenhao saw Deng Shangwei getting ambitious and stayed wary. Yu Wei, riding high, didn’t care.
“Dad, why worry? Even Boss Qin said let him be. While he grabs chump change, you know Qin’s daughter’s still tight with Deng’s niece.”
Qin Jiao’s stall hit TV.
Honestly, Yu Wei envied her. With a dad like Boss Qin, she could mess around freely.
Tagging along with Qin, Yu Wei met the family.
They said Qins raised kids well, but up close, Yu Wei wasn’t impressed.
Qin Jiao ran a stall, Qin Yi slacked off, singing with his girlfriend for some talent show—neither kid was serious. Yu Wei wished he could swap in for Qin Yi and Qin Jiao, call Boss Qin “Dad.”
Deng Shangwei’s niece, huh.
Yu Wenhao recalled Pan Li mentioning her.
He’d brushed it off then, but now saw Pan Li wasn’t all talk. Deng’s niece had some smarts, still clinging to Qin Jiao despite Boss Qin’s disdain for Deng Shangwei.
It didn’t shift the big picture, so Yu Wenhao didn’t mind.
Pan Li was out of the hospital post-miscarriage. Yu Wenhao gave her 50,000 more, soothing her.
He’d spent 100,000 on her total—no more, that’s her worth.
No one took Deng Shangwei’s lobster gig seriously—the market was still small.
Later, as Rongcheng’s lobster scene boomed, others jumped in, but Deng Shangwei was king, half the city’s lobsters passing through him. Even at 1 yuan profit per pound, when the market exploded, his earnings turned heads. That’s later—for now, a thousand pounds daily was the cap, including “Shrimp King’s” no-profit hundreds.
The food festival ran seven days. “Shrimp King” moved 3,600+ pounds at 15 yuan per pound, raking in over 50,000 yuan.
With drinks and other braised goods, total revenue hit 77,821 yuan.
Over 70,000, with half as profit, that’s about 39,000 yuan.
Without the donation pledge, 40% of 39,000 meant Wen Ying could pocket 15,000 from one festival.
That’d win her bet with her parents.
Even Xie Qian asked, “Still donating?”
Wen Ying’s heart bled, but she nodded, “Words spoken are water spilled—said we’d donate, no takebacks. I’ll give up my share, you guys?”
No-brainer.
“Shrimp King” had five partners, Wen Ying the poorest.
If she’d ditch her biggest cut, Xie Qian, Qin Jiao, Wang Shuang, and Li Mengjiao had no excuse not to.
