Fame comes early, and money demands hustle.
Wen Ying didn’t care what Chen Ru thought. She’d publicized the “bet” knowing her parents cared about face—they wouldn’t dare renege later.
Calling Chen Ru served the same purpose.
Inform them, get their consent, and the rest was her call.
Wen Ying felt confident about her venture. That evening, Deng Shangwei returned, tasted the crayfish she’d saved for him, and deemed her business viable.
“You know how much I buy these shrimp for in the countryside?” he asked.
Wen Ying shook her head.
By the pound?
What a quaint way to price them!
She couldn’t recall when big cities started selling crayfish by the piece.
Seeing her curious gaze, Deng Shangwei held up one hand.
“Five yuan a pound?”
That was within her cost tolerance. At the night market, a grilled fish dish cost 18 yuan—about a pound of carp with onions and potatoes. She figured crayfish could fetch a similar price.
If the cost was 5 yuan per pound, she could sell her braised shrimp at around 15 yuan per pound.
But Deng Shangwei surprised her further. He bent his thumb and pinky, leaving three fingers wagging.
Wen Ying blurted, “Three yuan?!”
Deng Shangwei nodded.
Wen Ying was speechless.
Three yuan a pound—rounded up, it was practically free!
Decades later, it wasn’t just housing prices that soared—crayfish prices did too. No wonder Deng Shangwei backed her plan. With costs this low, losing money would take effort.
“Uncle, if I start this, the supply has to be steady. I can’t run out mid-sales…”
Deng Shangwei chuckled, “No worries! Crayfish are everywhere in rural ditches and paddies. Used to be no one ate them. Now you want bulk, there’ll be no shortage of folks catching them!”
It wasn’t farming season—idle villagers were happy to earn pocket change.
Three yuan a pound already factored in transport to Chengdu.
Pork wasn’t even that pricey—crayfish couldn’t possibly outcost it!
Wen Ying, city-raised and tightly reined by her parents, had no clue how hard rural farmers worked for a buck. Even at one yuan a pound, plenty would jump at the chance.
He asked if she’d set up a stall or a shop. Without hesitation, she chose a stall.
“Then get some pots, pans, tables, and chairs—low startup cost. Selling drinks?”
Wen Ying nodded. “Of course! Shrimp without beer is a tragedy!”
Tragedy was an excuse—drinks were the real profit. Restaurants banned BYOB for a reason: alcohol was the cash cow.
She’d already planned it—no stir-fried dishes, no need for a chef.
Besides braised crayfish, she’d offer braised duck heads, rabbit heads, duck wings, and chicken feet—nighttime beer snacks made in one pot, served hot on demand.
For veggies, salted peanuts and edamame—crayfish would be the star.
She laid it out confidently, though success hinged on execution.
Even with Qin Jiao and Wang Shuang’s “investment,” a bunch of teens breaking into Chengdu’s night market would face bruises—Deng Shangwei didn’t advise her. This was her growth, not his to meddle in.
Talent deserved a voice, age be damned.
Mere talk was just theory.
If Wen Ying’s “rebellion” flopped with only theory, it’d prove she needed more experience for the next round!
She couldn’t resist asking about Yu Wenhao and son. “If I set up on the night market strip, they won’t hassle me, right?”
Deng Shangwei sneered, “Go ahead. They’re chasing big dreams now—your little stall’s beneath them. After flopping at Longtan Lake, Yu Wenhao’s got no shot at Qin’s favor again. Scheming Qin Jiao once was it—no encore.”
A life-saving favor wasn’t so easy to stage.
The first time Qin Jiao was in trouble, Yu Wenhao’s son “happened” to save her—plausible enough.
A second time? He’d be insulting everyone’s intelligence!
Seeing her unease, Deng Shangwei whispered, “I’ve ‘introduced’ Yu Wei to Boss Qin. Qin’ll snub him a few days, then drag him into business.”
Boss Qin doing business with Yu Wei?
More like buying him a coffin.
Two coffins—one for Yu Wei, one for Yu Wenhao.
Maybe Qin only paid half, with Wang footing the rest. Wang Shuang was out of the hospital, but Wang—big shot of Taisheng South Road’s phone empire—wouldn’t let Yu Wenhao off with just a few phone bills!
Yu Wenhao and son back in Chengdu meant Detective Luo was too.
Wen Ying texted Luo, asking him to come early next morning for a new “agreement.”
“You wrote me a new one?”
Luo’s gut said no.
Wen Ying claimed a lawyer friend from a forum drafted it—take it or leave it. “If you don’t trust me, hire a fancy lawyer to redo it. Our last agreement was trash. If I were nastier, you’d not only lose my fee—you’d owe me!”
Luo thought: She hadn’t demanded compensation, but a teen with such ideas was already plenty ruthless!
Curiosity and a twinge of fear won out. He agreed to meet her for breakfast.
—
At 7:30 AM, Luo arrived on time.
Before breakfast hit the table, Wen Ying handed him the agreement.
“Read it. Questions, ask me.”
Luo opened it and frowned. “Emotional Consultation Fee Agreement?”
Wen Ying nodded. “Yep. I suggest—my lawyer friend suggests—you tweak your agency’s name. Keep ‘Lovebird’ if you want, but ditch ‘Investigation.’ You know the state frowns on private detectives, right? Rename it, keep doing your thing, but charge for ‘emotional consultation.’ You’re selling a service, not privacy—trouble drops way down!”
Fabricating a friend, Wen Ying baffled Luo.
Selling service?
Emotional consultation?!
“Someone hires me to catch a cheater—勉强 counts as emotional consultation. But your uncle hiring me to dig up dirt on an enemy—that’s emotional too?”
Wen Ying argued confidently, “Of course! That’s a friendship fallout. He’s consulting you to see if he can mend ties with Yu Wenhao. What’s wrong with that? Think about it—your clients don’t investigate random strangers. It’s love or hate driving them. Emotional consultation fits perfectly.”
Luo got schooled in a breakfast joint.
He didn’t realize Wen Ying was the “teacher,” assuming she relayed a lawyer’s words.
Her “lawyer friend” seemed sharp.
“How much does this lawyer charge?” he mumbled.
Wen Ying nearly said it was free—a gift.
Then she reconsidered. Why feel guilty charging for her expertise?
Knowledge deserved payment.
“Friendship price: a thousand yuan. Future troubles, he’ll discount you. How’s that?”
It sounded oddly familiar.
Two weeks ago, even a hundred yuan wouldn’t have tempted Luo to glance at it.
But after Wen Ying and Deng Shangwei’s jobs eased his cash crunch, a thousand was doable.
“…Deal!”
Luo was straightforward.
They sealed it over breakfast. Across the street, Xie Qian watched Wen Ying hand a file to a man, who gave her an envelope, and sank into thought.
—That guy was her useless private detective?!
