Deng Shangwei said he wouldn’t go to nightclubs anymore.
Whether he could keep that promise remained to be seen.
For now, Wen Ying was willing to believe him, as for the future… Sometimes whether a man strayed depended heavily on his environment. Even if Deng Shangwei wanted to stay clean, his shady friends wouldn’t let him.
Wen Ying didn’t have much information yet, just bits and pieces from her past life, picked up through chats between her parents and Chen Li. When Deng Shangwei begged Chen Li for forgiveness, he claimed he’d been set up, but Chen Li didn’t buy it.
The sixteen-year-old Wen Ying didn’t either.
He’d betrayed her aunt and still claimed it was a setup—real life wasn’t some martial arts drama where a man dosed with aphrodisiacs had to sleep with someone or explode.
But the current Wen Ying was starting to believe it a little.
After the divorce in her past life, Deng Shangwei didn’t end up with that woman, he lived alone for over a decade, never remarrying.
He gave all the houses, cars, and savings to Chen Li, keeping only the seafood company—not because he was slyly holding onto a money-maker, but because Chen Li couldn’t run it with her skills.
Deng Shangwei kept the business going, paying living expenses for Deng Jie and Deng Hao. For the first few months post-divorce, the payments were prompt, then they stopped for a while. Chen Ru cursed him for breaking his word, and Wen Dongrong sent someone to check on him, only to find the seafood company had tanked and been sold off. Deng Shangwei hadn’t made enough from the sale to clear his debts, leaving him buried in red ink.
Deng Jie and Deng Hao’s support stopped for half a year, then resumed, with Deng Shangwei even making up the backlog.
That half-year probably wasn’t enough to clear his debts, who knows what he did after selling the company to earn money again, but he prioritised fulfilling his promise.
Back then, Wen Ying was swamped with studies at a top high school, too busy to care about Deng Shangwei’s post-divorce life.
Not just Chen Li, even the old Wen Ying didn’t want to hear “Deng Shangwei” anymore.
With her father Wen Dongrong’s bureaucratic air, Wen Ying had found a substitute fatherly love in Deng Shangwei.
His betrayal didn’t just hurt Chen Li, Deng Jie, and Deng Hao—it hit Wen Ying too. She’d trusted and relied on him so much, only to despise him just as fiercely later!
Sigh, a teenage student saw things in black and white, ruled by emotions.
Wen Ying now wanted to knock some sense into her past self—she’d missed the key points in all that gossip. If she’d known who took over Deng Shangwei’s company back then, she wouldn’t be so clueless now.
Luckily, today wasn’t a total loss.
She’d identified two of her uncle’s shady pals and learned they often hit up a nightclub at Jiuyan Bridge, with mentions of a “Brother Wen” thrown in—potential key leads.
“Xiao Ying, Xiao Ying, are you listening to me?”
This kid, always zoning out!
Deng Shangwei felt helpless, like his heartfelt advice was just buzzing mosquitoes to her.
“I’m listening, Uncle, you’re right, if you say it’s not a good place, I won’t go.”
Wen Ying patted her chest in assurance, though Deng Shangwei wasn’t fully convinced.
They got home before 1 AM, Wen Ying’s first day on the “job.” Chen Li was in the living room watching TV, waiting for her.
Deng Yao Mei had made cooling mung bean soup and cut watermelon, painstakingly picking out every seed. Wen Ying felt a rush of being cherished… Glancing at Deng Shangwei munching on watermelon, she silently vowed to stop this family from falling apart.
Unbeknownst to her, while she and Deng Shangwei ate in the living room, over at a Jiuyan Bridge nightclub, Brother Wen was puffing smoke in a private room.
The two seafood bosses, having failed to drag Deng Shangwei along, were losing face in front of Brother Wen, griping about him nonstop.
The gist? Deng Shangwei wasn’t the same anymore—used to come running when called, now he’d show up maybe three times out of ten.
“His business got big, he doesn’t want to hang with us anymore.”
“Boss Qin loves Little Deng, his capital’s small, but Qin gives him a hefty share. Just selling prawns this year, Little Deng’s raking in at least this much!”
The speaker flashed a number with his hand, voice dripping with envy and resentment.
When Brother Wen was on top, they all followed him.
Then Brother Wen lost everything gambling in Macau, while Deng Shangwei caught the eye of Rongcheng’s seafood tycoon, Boss Qin.
Boss Qin’s wealth was a mystery—billions, perhaps—but in the seafood trade alone, he was a rule-maker.
Running a small stall at Qingshiqiao was fine, Boss Qin didn’t care.
Climbing higher? You had to pay respects to him.
Without his nod, no one could scale up.
A decade later, people might scoff at this—cold chains so advanced, did the seafood trade really hinge on one Boss Qin? Would Jack Ma’s Hema Fresh need his permission to open in Rongcheng?
But in 2004, Rongcheng’s seafood market was that cutthroat.
Jack Ma’s “Taobao” had only launched last year, and even if someone tried buying seafood online, with current shipping speeds, it’d arrive stinking…
Brother Wen fell, his crew floundered, then Deng Shangwei linked up with Boss Qin. Qin gave him a leg up, and in three or four years, Deng Shangwei’s worth tripled.
These two grumbling to Brother Wen had only hitched a ride last year through Deng Shangwei’s connection to Qin.
They’d tried cutting Deng Shangwei out to cosy up to Qin directly, but Qin wouldn’t budge. With Deng Shangwei around, Qin spared them a glance, without him, Qin’s eyes were sky-high.
They couldn’t figure out why Qin treated them differently—were their gifts to Qin just paper offerings while Deng Shangwei’s were solid gold?
Complaining to Brother Wen, they were fishing for advice.
Brother Wen might be broke now, but his experience and insight remained.
He stubbed out his cigarette and dropped a bombshell:
“Forget trying to outshine Little Deng with Boss Qin, give up that dream. You can’t win. Even if Little Deng goes broke tomorrow, as long as Qin’s still on top, he’ll lift him back up.”
Brother Wen lifted his shirt, pointing to his chest.
“Right here, Little Deng’s got a scar in the same spot. Took a knife for Qin, inches from his heart. Without Little Deng, Qin’d be dead—how do you compete with that?”
