Boss Qin largely agreed with Wen Ying’s analysis.
If Yu Wenhao wasn’t planning to kidnap Qin Jiao, things just got more complicated.
Now Yu Wenhao’s son was at Longtan Lake.
What, did Yu Wenhao think he could become family? Boss Qin sneered. Like father, like son—Yu Wenhao was a mess of vices, and his kid was bound to follow suit.
Someone like that wasn’t even fit to carry Qin Jiao’s shoes, let alone pursue her!
Boss Qin had poured effort into raising his children, making Qin Jiao exceptional—not to be fooled by some deadbeat thug.
With a plan forming, the four hashed it out in the study until 9:30, when Wen Ying left with Deng Shangwei.
Boss Qin’s idea was to catch Yu Wenhao red-handed in one go. A same-day trip to Longtan Lake felt rushed, but staying overnight would work better—perfect for Wang Shuang, who’d been dying to camp there.
For Wen Ying, though, with only one rest day, staying overnight meant rescheduling tutoring.
That could be sorted with Teacher Lin.
Wen Ying pulled out her phone and texted Xie Qian.
“8 a.m. tomorrow, a car will pick us up from the complex. Bring some spare clothes—we might stay at Longtan Lake for two days. If that doesn’t work for you, we can head back to Rongcheng early.”
“Got it, I’ll prep,” Xie Qian replied, short and swift, almost instant.
Wen Ying felt a little flattered.
Honestly, getting to know Xie Qian early this life and being around him, she’d spotted more than just his looks—smart, disciplined, warm beneath the cool exterior, no gossiping, polite, respectful. Why so many positives? Don’t ask—a fangirl’s filter at work.
Clutching her phone, Wen Ying grinned like a doting aunt, then couldn’t resist sending a “good night.” Xie Qian wished her the same.
Deng Shangwei kept sneaking glances.
Had Chen Ru been right?
What if Wen Ying was crushing early?
Forcing it to stop wouldn’t work.
Deng Shangwei knew from experience—when you first catch feelings, the more parents push back, the harder kids dig in.
If Wen Ying liked Xie Qian… Deng Shangwei mulled it over. It didn’t seem bad. Xie Qian wasn’t just a pretty face—he was top-notch all around. If Wen Ying liked him, she’d push herself to keep up.
More importantly, Xie Qian wasn’t from Rongcheng. Come summer’s end, he’d leave.
When you’re smitten, you want to see them daily.
Long stretches apart, and the crush fades.
Figuring this out, Deng Shangwei relaxed.
In the Qin study, Wen Ying had given him a warm smile. Now he fished for chit-chat.
“No need to worry at Longtan Lake tomorrow—someone’s watching out for you. But that bet with your parents, looks like you’ve ditched it?”
Wen Ying blinked. “Who said I gave up?”
Deng Shangwei treaded lightly. “Your aunt said you’re writing articles to earn cash. You might not know this, but Teacher Lin’s father-in-law runs Rongcheng Publishing Group. What if…”
Teacher Lin’s father-in-law?
Wen Ying hadn’t known that.
She knew Lin’s mother-in-law was a vice-principal at the provincial key high school and the family was surnamed Jiang. She frequented their villa but rarely saw anyone but Lin. The place was tastefully done, with two studies—one for her and Xie Qian’s lessons, the other private for the Jiangs. So, Mr. Jiang was a publishing bigwig—that explained it!
Catching Deng Shangwei’s drift, Wen Ying laughed and groaned.
It was his clumsy way of caring. She appreciated it but didn’t need help with her writing.
“Uncle, it’s a hobby. Getting published and paid would be great, but if it’s rejected, it just means I need to improve. Bugging Mr. Jiang over this? That’s weird, overblown, and against why I started!”
Deng Shangwei got it.
Wen Ying loved books—he knew that.
Reading tons naturally sparked ideas to write her own tales.
Not every reader becomes a writer, but every writer starts as a reader!
Her dream deserved nurturing, not crass shortcuts. Deng Shangwei nodded, then couldn’t hold back. “So how’ll you make over ten grand? Can’t work at my company—Boss Qin’s?”
Boss Qin’s?
She was sixteen—why would he hire her? It’d still boil down to Deng Shangwei’s favor.
Her mom wouldn’t count that as earning it herself.
Writing was too slow, and skilled work wasn’t an option at her age.
Law folks know the saying: the fastest cash is in the Criminal Code. Risk it all for money? Ha, she wasn’t Yu Wenhao—reborn just to grovel for ten grand? Embarrassing!
Wen Ying gazed at the street. Rongcheng’s nightlife was kicking off—skewers, barbecue, tricycles with stoves frying snails, every kind of late-night bite.
To rake in cash in two months, she couldn’t wait for buzz. She needed quick money.
If she swallowed her pride and worked hard, a food stall could do it.
Without a standout product, though, she’d lack an edge to make bank fast… Wait, she might have one.
“Working for Uncle Qin or you is the same—I’m not considering either now. Uncle, can you drive me to the late-night food street?”
Deng Shangwei didn’t think twice, assuming she was hungry.
But there, Wen Ying scoped out every stall from end to end without picking one. As Deng Shangwei wondered, she spun around.
“Uncle, Qingshiqiao seafood market—no, all of Rongcheng’s wholesale markets—do they sell crayfish?”
Deng Shangwei frowned. “…Crayfish?”
He knew lobsters—flower, blue, Boston, Australian.
Crayfish? Sure, Hubei folks braised them, Jiangsu did thirteen-spice, and Sichuan had some too—rural types catching them from ditches, stir-frying the tails. Big heads, no meat, just a nibble from the tail. Too low-class for restaurants or hotels.
Cheap stuff—selling a thousand pounds wouldn’t earn much. Deng Shangwei wasn’t interested.
“If you want some, I’ll have folks grab it from the countryside.”
Wen Ying’s eyes sparkled. “Thanks, Uncle! Don’t forget. After Longtan Lake, I’ll get to eat it, right?”
With his firm nod, Wen Ying’s lips curved up.
She’d felt something was off.
Rongcheng’s late-night scene was missing something.
The summer king of snacks—crayfish!
To Rongcheng folks, braised or spiced was heresy. Sichuan-style brined shrimp was the real deal!
