The banter of grown men was predictable—laced with crude jokes and suggestive winks, restrained only because Wen Ying was present.
They assumed she wouldn’t catch on.
But even if Wen Ying were truly just sixteen, she’d still vaguely sense the underlying intent in the seafood bosses’ teasing… Ugh, these greasy middle-aged creeps!
Deng Shangwei’s face darkened, “I’m not going, don’t talk nonsense in front of the kid, I’m heading back.”
“Little Deng, you think I’m made of iron and don’t get tired? I’m beat too, and my staff’s a headache, but Brother Wen just called, I can’t dodge it. He’s already waiting at the usual spot, hurry up and wrap up, let’s head over.”
At the mention of “Brother Wen,” Deng Shangwei hesitated for a few seconds, and when he heard “usual spot,” his guard went up.
The so-called “usual spot” was a nightclub their group had been frequenting the past couple of years.
That place had a pianist named Lily, and just two nights ago, Deng Shangwei had sworn off going. Even without Wen Ying here, he’d have said no.
“I need to take Xiao Ying home, you guys go, apologise to Brother Wen for me.”
Deng Shangwei shut it down firmly.
“Little Deng, what’s with you lately? You’ve brushed off Brother Wen a few times now, have you forgotten how good he’s been to us brothers—”
The two seafood bosses started to press, but Wen Ying piped up, all curious, “Uncle, are these uncles inviting you to sing at a KTV? If you’re going, can I come too?”
These days, some middle schoolers picked KTVs for birthday parties, booking private rooms to sing with close friends. A gaggle of kids strutting into a glitzy KTV wasn’t about the songs—it was about mimicking grown-ups!
Wen Ying’s eagerness made Deng Shangwei’s head swell.
“No, they’re asking me to drink, and even if it were singing, you can’t go. Come on, I’m taking you home, aren’t you tired, you little rascal?”
Deng Shangwei had no time to waste on his shady pals, he now found Wen Ying’s ideas downright dangerous.
Wanting a summer job could pass as life experience, but getting so excited about KTV singing? No way!
He knew the KTVs out there—ten out of ten had issues, big or small. If they didn’t have a few “escorts,” they wouldn’t survive in the business.
Where did those KTV “companions” come from?
Some chose the gig willingly, others were naive girls or young punks roped in by boyfriends, taken to nightclubs for “fun,” and bit by bit, their hearts turned wild—half-coaxed, half-pushed into the trade.
Imagining Wen Ying at a nightclub, eyed by some thug who’d trick her into “dating” and slip her spiked drinks, Deng Shangwei’s hands trembled as he started the car.
He was scaring himself, the more he thought, the worse it got, picturing Wen Ying led astray down a dark path.
The car rolled off, and he kept starting to speak but stopped, unsure how to broach the topic with her.
Was it appropriate for him, her uncle, to bring this up?
Maybe Chen Li should talk to her instead.
Overthinking was a curse, and it was killing him.
Seeing sweat bead on Deng Shangwei’s forehead, Wen Ying feigned ignorance, “Uncle, do you go singing a lot? My classmates say KTVs are fun, with great sound systems, free fruit platters, snacks, and drinks—is that true?”
Deng Shangwei denied it flat-out, “No, not often, just once or twice when I couldn’t dodge it. Those places are a mess—smoke-filled rooms that choke you, blaring speakers so loud you have to shout, some guys smoking and drinking without a shred of hygiene, reeking of bad breath!”
Uh…
Wen Ying felt a bit queasy, Deng Shangwei painted too vivid a picture—she could practically see yellowed teeth and rancid breath blasting in her face.
The seafood market stank of discarded fish and shrimp, but that didn’t faze her, this image did.
He was exaggerating on purpose to kill her interest in KTVs, but to Wen Ying, it seemed he genuinely wasn’t keen on those places.
Deng Shangwei rambled on earnestly, Wen Ying nodding along obediently with every point, looking oh-so-compliant.
When he’d talked himself dry, Wen Ying handed him a bottle of water, “Uncle, wet your throat, I believe you now, you don’t like KTVs, it’s those uncles dragging you there… But what’s this ‘usual spot’ they mentioned?”
She’d latched onto “usual spot” and “Brother Wen” as key clues.
Dropping just one now had Deng Shangwei reeling.
He could tell her curiosity about nightclubs hadn’t dimmed one bit.
What now?
Was Xiao Ying hitting her rebellious phase?!
He recalled his own teenage years—the more adults warned him off something, the more he wanted to try it.
Deng Shangwei hadn’t studied child psychology, but from personal experience, he figured blocking might backfire. To keep Wen Ying from sneaking off to a nightclub, maybe he should take her himself, satisfy her curiosity, and let her see the sleaze for herself—then she’d lose interest.
Of course, that was just a fleeting thought.
If he actually did it, forget what Chen Ru and Wen Dongrong would do—Chen Li would kill him.
Educating kids wasn’t just about “guiding, not blocking,” there was also “leading by example.”
If the adults were upright, they could set a good model.
If they were steeped in vice—drinking, gambling, womanising—yet demanded the kid stay pure, that was pure fantasy!
Deng Shangwei mulled it over the whole drive, parking downstairs at the complex and turning to Wen Ying with a serious tone:
“The ‘usual spot’ they mentioned is a nightclub at Jiuyan Bridge, I’ve been there a few times. But I’ve decided I’m done with it, even if I weren’t dropping you off tonight, I’d have said no. Xiao Ying, I won’t lead you astray, no matter how ‘fun’ those nightclubs seem, they’re not for students like you. Even when you’re grown, steer clear—especially as a girl, you’d just get taken advantage of!”
Raising a son, you worry he’ll fall into drugs or crime, harming himself and others.
Raising a daughter, the worries multiply.
Harsh as it sounds, parents see boys in early relationships as unlikely to lose out.
Girls, though, are different.
A slip-up with forbidden fruit could bring serious consequences, physically and emotionally. When early romances led to parent-teacher meetings, boys’ parents often shrugged it off, while girls’ parents raged in the office, ready to throttle the punk who’d lured their darling astray!
Deng Shangwei was only thirty-two, still prime bachelor age a decade later, yet here he was with two sons and now a niece who seemed to be hitting rebellion. With an old uncle’s heart, he dreaded her veering off course.
