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August 30th, the registration day for new students at the provincial key high school.
Wen Dongrong had weathered Shu Guobing’s real-name report and arrived in Rongcheng to handle Wen Ying’s school enrollment. His workplace’s senior leadership had specially granted him leave, believing the ordeal had taken a mental toll, requiring a couple of days to recover. As for Shu Guobing, someone else would deal with him.
Seeing Wen Dongrong arrive in Rongcheng with renewed vigor, Wen Ying knew the report issue had been resolved.
She didn’t immediately ask how Shu Guobing was handled or rush to register for school. Instead, she invited Chen Ru and Wen Dongrong to sit down together, pulling out the “bet” they’d signed.
Chen Ru and Wen Dongrong were still at odds, neither speaking to the other, sitting awkwardly side by side. Wen Ying pretended not to notice.
She also invited Chen Li and Deng Shangwei as witnesses.
When Deng Shangwei met Wen Dongrong, he thought his brother-in-law was stubborn, valuing outsiders over his closest family, which nearly cost him his career. Hopefully, this lesson would wake him up.
Wen Dongrong, looking at Deng Shangwei, felt a sense of superiority. He’d only supported relatives who turned out to be ungrateful, but Deng Shangwei was a proven cheating scoundrel. Yet Chen Li hadn’t divorced him. Compared to Deng Shangwei, Wen Dongrong felt he was far better off.
In contrast to Chen Li and Deng Shangwei’s mess, his issues with Chen Ru were mere “minor conflicts.”
The two brothers-in-law silently disdained each other while maintaining a veneer of politeness.
After some pleasantries, Wen Dongrong sat confidently on the sofa, picking up the agreement Wen Ying had placed on the coffee table. “Two months flew by. You’re bringing out this agreement so confidently—feeling certain you’ve won?”
Wen Dongrong knew Wen Ying and her partners, including Qin Jiao, had likely made some money selling spicy crawfish. But tuition, first-year school fees, and living expenses added up to at least 17,000 yuan, by his estimate.
Originally, 14,000 yuan would’ve sufficed, but Xie Qian stopped tutoring in early August. After his departure, Wen Ying received one-on-one tutoring, which meant she had to cover the higher one-on-one fees. To win the bet, she needed to earn an extra three or four thousand yuan beyond the initial plan.
With “Shrimp King’s” current daily revenue, three or four thousand yuan was trivial.
But Wen Dongrong didn’t know that.
Observing Wen Ying’s confident demeanor, he guessed she’d prepared the money, likely with help from her rich second-generation friends.
Wen Dongrong wasn’t fazed. Even if Wen Ying produced the money, he could poke holes in her “accounts.” An adult’s social experience trumped a teenager’s. Students thought they were clever, but their little tricks couldn’t fool parents.
Having relied on Wen Ying’s “prescription” to resolve his career crisis, Wen Dongrong had lost some authority with her. Now, he saw this as a chance to reassert his parental dominance.
Alas, with his career crisis solved, Old Wen’s arrogance was creeping back.
Facing her father’s skepticism, Wen Ying smiled silently and produced a paper bag.
Before Wen Dongrong could react, Chen Ru grabbed it, revealing two neat stacks of hundred-yuan bills. Stunned for a few seconds, she found her voice: “Where did you get this much money?!”
“I earned it,” Wen Ying replied, presenting a full 20,000 yuan in cash.
Chen Ru’s shock was understandable.
Though she’d been in Rongcheng for days, she was busy renting an apartment and adjusting to a new job, leaving early and returning late, rarely syncing with Wen Ying’s schedule.
Navigating new workplace relationships kept Chen Ru too occupied to check on Wen Ying’s crawfish business. She hadn’t even visited the night market street once.
Without seeing it firsthand, she had no idea how thriving “Shrimp King” was.
In the past, Chen Ru would’ve been the first to question Wen Ying’s claim of earning 20,000 yuan.
Now, in a cold war with Wen Dongrong and needing Wen Ying as an ally, she suppressed her shock, counted the money, confirmed it was exactly 20,000 yuan, and placed the bag back on the table.
“Tell us, how did you earn this much?” she asked.
Who was she asking for?
Obviously, Wen Dongrong.
Wen Dongrong was indeed waiting for Wen Ying’s “explanation.”
Chen Li started to speak but stopped when Deng Shangwei gently tugged her sleeve.
No one knew better than Deng Shangwei how Wen Ying earned her money or roughly how much. “Shrimp King’s” daily crawfish supply came through him, and he could estimate its profits.
If it weren’t profitable, how could “Shrimp King” afford tens of thousands in annual rent or plan to open a physical store?
At sixteen, Wen Ying had achieved what most twenty-six-year-olds couldn’t. Tycoons like Boss Qin and President Wang valued her highly, yet her parents, blinded by old perceptions, failed to recognize her brilliance.
Deng Shangwei held Chen Li back, wanting Wen Ying to speak for herself and let Wen Dongrong feel the sting of being proven wrong.
He’d learned the term “face-slap” from Wen Ying.
Wen Ying was surprised her mother didn’t immediately challenge her, and though Chen Ru asked for an explanation, her tone was supportive—exactly what Wen Ying had hoped for.
Suppressing her excitement, Wen Ying outlined “Shrimp King’s” current scale.
When she revealed that “Shrimp King” earned thousands daily, had signed two franchisees, rented a storefront on the night market street, and, since the food festival, had soared to over 110,000 yuan in profit over two months, Chen Ru’s eyes widened.
“How much did you earn?” Chen Ru asked, incredulous.
“Over 110,000 in total. I donated 40,000, leaving just under 80,000. I hold a 40% stake, so I could claim nearly 30,000, but ‘Shrimp King’ needs funds to grow. I can’t take all the dividends. The 20,000 I’ve brought covers the expenses.”
Post-food festival, they sold over 300 pounds of braised crawfish daily, hitting 400 on weekends.
With thousands in daily revenue and at least half as profit, this was why “Shrimp King” earned so much.
Wen Ying didn’t even count the 50,000 yuan franchise fees from Qin Yi and Big Liu.
Even so, the profits she revealed left Chen Ru dumbfounded.
The Wen family had bought two apartments in Rongcheng on a mortgage, securing an 8.5% discount through President Wang’s connections. The down payment for one was about 110,000 yuan.
The 220,000 yuan for both had taken years of savings for Chen Ru and Wen Dongrong.
In their hometown, few jobs paid more than Chen Ru’s, and her salary had only surged in the last three or four years. Now, Wen Ying claimed her little night market stall had, in two months, earned enough for one apartment’s down payment—half their family’s savings. Chen Ru found it surreal.
But Wen Ying’s accounts were crystal clear.
Startup funds, share distribution, daily revenue from the first day to August 29—every figure was transparent.
Even how Wen Ying secured her 1,000-yuan startup investment held up to scrutiny. Wen Dongrong grilled her for flaws but found none. Growing frustrated, he snapped, “Those kids you’re working with are all richer than our family. Why would they let you hold 40% and be the biggest shareholder?”
Was that 40% stake truly earned through ability?
Or was it pity, or their indifference to such a small venture, that let Wen Ying take the lead?
Wen Dongrong all but said Wen Ying had played on her rich friends’ sympathy, faked her way to the top shareholder position with Qin Jiao’s help, and claimed the 20,000 yuan as her own earnings.
