“It’s fine. Just don’t interrupt when the adults are talking. If Boss Qin asks you anything, answer confidently,” Deng Shangwei said.
Boss Qin had a son and daughter. The son got into a top university last year, and the daughter was still in high school. Deng Shangwei had met both—poised and impressive.
He wasn’t jealous of Qin’s wealth but envied his parenting skills.
He’d once asked Qin how he raised his kids.
Qin’s reply: “Lead by example.”
Qin doted on both children equally, never saying he’d marry off his daughter with a dowry and let his son inherit. Whoever proved capable would take over his business. The less capable one would get some property and cash for a comfortable life.
Qin had told his kids this early on. Unsure which had more business talent, he started bringing them to social events in junior high.
They were to observe, learn how to speak and act, and only ask him questions after thinking things through—not rely on him to spoon-feed them.
This approach worked. Deng Shangwei recalled his own teenage years—clueless and aimless. Yet Qin’s kids mingled with adults gracefully, their manners impeccable. He looked at his own two rambunctious boys and wished he could steal Qin’s kids.
Qin’s daughter, Qin Jiao, was a standout—piling up competition awards, active in school arts, and still excelling academically. Yet, she lost the student council president election this year!
When Deng Shangwei noticed Qin Jiao’s disappointment at a dinner, he was puzzled, but Qin remained calm: “Jiao’s exceptional among her peers, but someone outshone her. She needs to learn to cope.”
Qin’s words showed Deng Shangwei how fiercely competitive this generation was.
It’s why he’d worried if Wen Ying could handle the provincial key high school’s intense environment.
Unlike Qin’s vast wealth, Deng Shangwei couldn’t fully adopt his methods. His sons, Deng Jie and Deng Hao, were too young and unruly to tag along to business dinners.
But Wen Ying was the right age.
He didn’t overwhelm her with this reasoning, just briefly mentioned Qin’s family before taking her to the meeting.
Today, Qin was hosting Deng Shangwei and a few friends for fish he’d caught himself. The venue was an upscale suburban villa. One fish wasn’t enough, so Qin, a seafood tycoon, supplied fresh seafood, using the villa’s chefs and space to treat his guests.
Chengdu’s pace was leisurely, and even a big shot like Qin preferred mixing business with pleasure.
Wen Ying, used to efficiency, found the slow rhythm jarring.
But when the big boss liked it this way, what could she, a tag-along kid, say?
Deng Shangwei drove over forty minutes to the villa, arriving last.
Not only late, his battered Santana was the shabbiest car in the lot. Unfazed, he and Wen Ying entered the private room, where a middle-aged man teased, “Little Deng, when will you ditch that junker? You’re never early to our dinners—must be that car slowing you down.”
Deng Shangwei laughed, pleading for mercy.
The other guests roared, urging Qin to give Deng Shangwei more business quotas next year. With more money, he’d upgrade his car.
So, this was Boss Qin.
Wen Ying had pictured a rough, burly mogul from Qin’s reputation. Instead, he was refined, wearing gold-rimmed glasses, exuding warmth.
His warm demeanor clashed slightly when he spoke, but Wen Ying smiled. Qin clearly valued Deng Shangwei. His complaint about the car was a deflection, steering the room to tease Deng Shangwei and gloss over his tardiness.
Qin sighed, “I’d love to give Little Deng more quotas, but he insists on taking only what he can handle.”
The other bosses’ respect for Deng Shangwei ticked up.
Not everyone had his restraint. When a patron offered opportunities, most would grab all they could. Free money—why push it away?
Qin had abruptly pulled Deng Shangwei into his elite circle. The other bosses, though not as wealthy as Qin, far outstripped Deng Shangwei and initially didn’t see why Qin favored him.
Qin’s comment shifted their view.
Deng Shangwei was deeply grateful. Qin’s gaze landed on Wen Ying.
“And this is…?”
“Brother Qin, this is my niece, Wen Ying. She’s working at my company for the summer. I brought her to see the world,” Deng Shangwei said.
With the spotlight on her, Wen Ying couldn’t embarrass him. She greeted each boss as “Uncle,” poised and unfazed.
Qin chuckled. The girl was barely a teen, yet Deng Shangwei brought her to such an event, clearly mimicking his own parenting style.
Deng Shangwei wasn’t cunning, and his earnest adoption of Qin’s methods was more effective than flattery.
Qin had a seat added between himself and Deng Shangwei.
When he told Wen Ying to sit, she thanked him and did so without hesitation. Qin nodded inwardly.
A girl should be confident, even if a bit bold—better than being timid.
“My daughter’s about your age. I’ll introduce you sometime. You young folks should make friends.”
“Thank you, Uncle Qin. I’d love to learn from Sister Qin.”
The Qingshiqiao seafood bosses weren’t present—they didn’t rank high enough for this circle. Over the meal, Wen Ying stayed low-key, tasting the fish Qin supposedly caught himself. Her mind, though, was on how Qin consistently backed Deng Shangwei, their bond stronger than she’d thought.
Which raised a question: with a powerhouse like Qin behind him, how did Deng Shangwei, in her past life, lose his company after the divorce and end up in debt? Qin wouldn’t have just watched him crumble, would he?
