Looking at Yang Xi’s young and earnest face, Wen Ying’s memories couldn’t help but drift back to the summer of 2005 in her previous life.
That summer was swelteringly unbearable, requiring the electric fan to run all night just to fall asleep.
Wen Ying and her parents were having dinner, the fan whirring loudly. Sweat dripped from her forehead onto the table as she held her rice bowl.
The news reported a fire in a Rongcheng neighbourhood, with casualties unclear.
At that age, Wen Ying didn’t pay much attention to such news. Floods here, fires there—these seemed distant to her teenage self.
She didn’t expect that over the next week, the fire’s aftermath would dominate the news.
A wave of charity swept through Rongcheng, tugging at the city’s heartstrings.
The cause of the fire was determined: ageing wiring sparked, igniting a large pile of cardboard in a resident’s home. The blaze spiralled out of control, causing severe losses to the entire building.
Some were injured, but no one died.
The charity drive was to raise treatment funds for a “fire hero” who rushed into the flames. A girl named Yang Xi carried her immobile elderly family member to safety, then repeatedly re-entered the fire to help others.
She saved others but couldn’t protect herself.
A top-floor resident’s door collapsed under the fire’s heat, trapping Yang under debris.
By the time firefighters rescued her, she was alive but severely burned over much of her body.
The news article, likely aiming to boost donations, detailed Yang Xi’s background. She was an abandoned infant raised by a scavenging elderly couple. The Yang family had lived in the neighbourhood for years, and the residents looked out for them. Yang Xi, grateful, not only saved her family’s elder but also went door-to-door, alerting the entire building to flee. The newspaper included two photos: one of Yang Xi in her school uniform before the incident, and another of her wrapped in bandages, lying in a hospital bed.
Back then, teenage Wen Ying felt sympathy for the “fire hero” and was relieved she survived. But she didn’t realise that a young girl, her beauty destroyed and body so extensively burned, would face more than medical bills. Society could donate for treatment, but no one could provide skin for reconstructive surgeries or share the pain of repeated operations. Nor could they help her live a normal life thereafter.
In 2005, Wen Ying donated her pocket money through the channel listed in the newspaper.
At first, she and others followed the story’s developments, but Yang Xi’s treatment dragged on, and the news lost traction.
That summer, reality TV shows exploded in popularity, diverting public attention. Wen Ying only remembered that Yang Xi survived after intensive care, but what happened afterward went unreported.
There should be no “fire hero” next year.
The newspaper only highlighted Yang Xi’s heroism, omitting her “flaws.” Collecting protection money couldn’t possibly be the act of a “fire hero.” So when Wen Ying first saw “Sister Xi,” she found her familiar but couldn’t confirm her identity.
The newspaper didn’t mention Yang Xi’s other side, but Wen Ying experienced it firsthand.
Yang Xi was indeed a delinquent.
People are multifaceted. This delinquent was loyal, knew her limits, and repaid kindness. Without the fire from her past life, Yang Xi might have climbed out of her circumstances.
An unburned Yang Xi, with a brash attitude and bold actions, now stood vividly before Wen Ying.
Wen Ying couldn’t help but marvel again—reincarnation was truly a blessing.
Yang Xi was still chattering about Shu’s Seafood Stall’s “low-price promotions.” Wen Ying stifled a laugh: Sister Xi was getting into her role fast!
Yang Xi was speechless.
Did she miss the way Little Round Face’s eyes crinkled with amusement?
What kind of heart laughed at a time like this?
Shu’s crayfish were awful but dirt cheap. Yang Xi worried Shrimp King might go under, and she’d never find another boss as generous—or foolish—as Wen Ying.
Seeing Yang Xi’s glare, Wen Ying finally laughed, “No big deal. Let them promote all they want. Crayfish season is over, and the quality’s dropping. We were already planning to cut back on crayfish and push other dishes. Shu’s not hurting us—they’re ruining their own reputation.”
Crayfish prices had risen. Live shrimp used to cost three yuan per jin, now at least five.
Shrimp King’s high demand and Deng Shangwei’s supply chain kept live shrimp prices down, but others couldn’t buy below five yuan per jin.
Deng Shangwei, spotting this market, not only sourced wild crayfish from nearby villages but also found farmed crayfish from elsewhere.
Farmed crayfish were cleaner, better quality, and less fishy than wild ones.
Since Deng Shangwei secured this channel, Shrimp King used only farmed crayfish.
Even with Deng Shangwei’s lower prices, the cost of cooked crayfish exceeded six yuan per jin, factoring in Shrimp King’s labour costs. Once they moved to a physical store, rent and utilities would push costs higher.
Wen Ying had no plans to raise crayfish prices—fifteen yuan per jin ensured profit.
Shrimp King’s edge wasn’t low prices.
Shu Guobing couldn’t source live shrimp from Deng Shangwei. Shu’s Seafood Stall used wild crayfish from nearby villages.
Wild crayfish were trickier to process than farmed ones. Like Wen Ying’s stall days, you had to use generous seasonings and fresh oil to mask the fishy taste.
Back then, washing shrimp was gruelling—Wang Shuang scrubbed each one clean.
But Shu Guobing focused on low prices, neglecting quality. He didn’t bother picking out dead shrimp. Anyone who’d eaten both Shrimp King’s and Shu’s crayfish could tell the difference.
“If they could match Shrimp King’s quality at low prices, that’d be a real threat. But the way they’re doing it, customers might try them once or twice, then come back to us.”
Wen Ying broke it down for Yang Xi, “As it gets colder, fewer people eat crayfish. Shu’s advantages aren’t unique—we can also offer budget seafood dishes. Until next summer’s crayfish season, our real competition with Shu isn’t about who sells better crayfish. That’s not the core issue affecting our business.”
Yang Xi thought for a while, uncertain.
“The location?”
Wen Ying nodded, “Sort of. Wrong place, wrong season.”
Shu’s stall had been renovated to seat more customers. Though a stall, it was decent enough for casual gatherings.
Shrimp King, however, lost its shop to Shu Guobing’s sabotage, putting them a step behind.
Wen Ying aimed to turn this night market shop into a franchise model, requiring careful renovation planning. Unlike Shu Guobing’s stall, which opened after a quick spruce-up, Shrimp King lagged two steps in timing.
Without a proper shop, selling crayfish and braised dishes wasn’t a big issue—people came for the street-side night market vibe.
Shrimp King’s stall added autumn-winter dishes. Cheap options like spicy clams were popular and well-received.
But pricier dishes like spicy crab had few takers.
For a night market snack, people wanted cheap and convenient. For big dishes, wouldn’t they go to a fancier restaurant?
Like Shu’s Seafood Stall.
A group of friends or a family birthday at Shu’s offered a passable setting at reasonable prices.
Expensive dishes only sold well in places that looked upscale.
Wen Ying could source cheap seafood, but at a street stall, high-end seafood dishes didn’t sell.
If summer belonged to cheap crayfish, winter increasingly favoured pricier seafood dishes.
Especially near year-end, with more people hosting gatherings… Yang Xi suddenly understood.
“No wonder someone’s sabotaging us, delaying Shrimp King’s shop renovation!”
Shrimp King’s renovation was far superior to Shu’s.
At the same price, with comparable dishes and better decor, Shrimp King’s shop would suit both casual dining and hosting guests, inevitably impacting Shu’s business.
Most people would just grumble about lost business.
Shu Guobing was different. He had a grudge against the Wen family, with Zhao Dong pulling strings behind the scenes to trouble Wen Ying.
Selling crayfish at six yuan per jin was clearly meant to ruin the crayfish market, ensuring Shrimp King’s business didn’t thrive or expand.
Though Yang Xi didn’t know the full details of their feud, aware only of the bad blood between Wen Ying and Shu Guobing, she confidently predicted, “They slipped away last time, but they’ll try again. I bet they’ll act within the next couple of days.”
Wen Ying, curious, asked, “How’d you pin down the timing?”
Yang Xi smirked, tapping her head, “This brain isn’t just for show. I may not beat you at studying, but this stuff? You’re no match for me.”
Yang Xi took pride in her delinquent experience, not shame.
She put herself in Shu’s Seafood Stall’s shoes, thinking how she’d target Shrimp King next if she were them.
Yang Xi clenched her fist, as if grabbing Shu Guobing by the throat.
“Just wait. If I don’t catch him red-handed, I’ll write my name backwards!”
With a two-thousand-yuan salary, she’d deliver two thousand yuan’s worth of work.
She hadn’t yet figured out how to boost Sulawesi King’s business, but dealing with rogue sabotage? That was her expertise, and she was brimming with confidence.
“Alright, I’ll be watching!”
Catching Shu Guobing would be ideal.
Wen Ying also needed to nudge the police station to dig for evidence that Shu Lu instructed Yue Shanni to cause trouble. Though Wen Ying knew Zhao Dong was the mastermind, until they caught him, taking down the Shu family would at least vent some frustration.
