A small shop? No big deal!
Zhu Meiqun was opening a fruit shop, not a later-era fruit supermarket. She didn’t need a large indoor space.
In 2006 Rongcheng, roadside stalls were the norm, with goods displayed outside. It would be odd if Zhu Meiqun didn’t use the open space.
If she could set up fruit outside, this spot was a goldmine. Passersby couldn’t miss the shop’s presence.
Unlike clothes or shoes, a well-arranged fruit stall was enticing. People rarely impulse-buy clothes, but neat fruit displays easily drew them in. At this three-way intersection with heavy foot traffic, Zhu Meiqun’s outdoor fruit spread would catch every eye, making the open space more valuable than the shop itself.
Wen Ying’s view resonated deeply with Old Wen, but he didn’t want his “black-hearted cotton” getting too smug. He countered, “If the outdoor space is so important, why rent a shop? Just get a mobile stall like selling wontons, save your aunt the rent.”
Wen Ying looked at him like he was a fool.
This was her dad?
No wonder in her past life he insisted she aim for a government job, believing anything else was unstable. Old Wen wasn’t cut out for business.
“It’s not the same. A shop with fruit outside is roadside selling. During city clean-ups, you just move the fruit inside, no big impact on business. Rain, wind, or scorching sun, your aunt keeps earning. Without a shop, setting up outside? Rain, wind, or sun aside, city inspectors would chase you off every time. Plus, shop-sold fruit can be priced higher than from a mobile stall. Fruit damage during transport offsets any rent savings. Most importantly, a shop gives your aunt a sense of belonging in Rongcheng.”
A stall was rootless; a shop was fixed.
Constant drifting left no sense of belonging.
A rented home wouldn’t give Zhu Meiqun that. A shop could, steadily earning money, building wealth, helping her achieve her dream of buying a house for Wen Kai in Rongcheng.
Wen Ying wondered how Old Wen, with his rigid thinking, came up with the fruit business idea for Zhu Meiqun. Was it her uncle-in-law’s suggestion too?
Facing her skepticism, Wen Dongrong coughed, “You think I don’t know these basics? I was testing you.”
Without waiting for her reply, he strode to Zhu Meiqun, who was negotiating rent with the landlord, and raised his voice sternly, “No need to lower the rent, but sign for two extra years. Unless there’s a demolition or force majeure, you break the contract, you pay.”
The landlord wanted a three-year lease.
When Wen Dongrong put on airs, he had an imposing presence, skilled at official-sounding talk. The landlord, taken aback, agreed to five years.
Wen Ying pretended to make a call, “I’ll check with Lawyer Zheng. A proper contract benefits both sides.”
She didn’t actually call, just stepped aside, muttering “mm-hmm” while drafting a lease for Zhu Meiqun in minutes.
Wen Dongrong reviewed her contract from start to finish, thoughtful.
One call to Lawyer Zheng, and she produced such a clear, standard contract?
This was the third time Wen Ying showed legal savvy.
Before, when short on funds for her crayfish business, she earned money drafting agreements.
Wen Dongrong had wondered what agreements earned her a thousand yuan.
Then there was Shu Guobing’s whistleblower letter. Wen Ying said it was false accusation, a crime landing him in jail, and it did.
She claimed she learned from Hong Kong dramas, but Wen Dongrong didn’t buy it.
Now, he believed it even less.
In front of Wen Ying, he said nothing. That night, while Chen Ru showered, he hid the floor mat in the wardrobe, placed his pillow back on the bed, and lay down with a satisfied sigh. Though Chen Ru hadn’t banished him to the balcony for New Year’s, the floor mat was no match for the bed.
As Chen Ru entered, toweling her hair, Wen Dongrong preempted, “I think Wen Ying’s interested in law. Ask her sometime if she wants to study it at university.”
Interested in law?
Chen Ru’s attention shifted.
Wen Dongrong summed up his observations, “Why else would she focus on this? Think about it. When she hired Lawyer Zheng for that rights lawsuit, she didn’t want to tell us at first. A young girl, facing that, wasn’t panicked but excited.”
Interest was the best teacher.
Without it, learning was torture, even with pressure. With it, no urging was needed; you’d find ways to learn.
Wen Dongrong’s words made sense, and Chen Ru’s thoughts wandered.
She’d considered many majors for Wen Ying.
A year ago, the safest path was the New Concept Essay Contest’s score reduction for top universities. As a first-prize winner, Wen Ying could negotiate with co-hosting schools for admission advantages.
Back then, Wen Ying wasn’t keen.
In her first year of high school, under Wu Chunqin’s persuasion, Chen Ru didn’t push her to decide.
Now it was different.
After the winter break, Wen Ying would start her second semester of high school, soon entering her final year. It was time to think about universities and majors.
In her first-semester finals, Wen Ying ranked 127th in her grade. With the provincial key school’s admission rate, this gave her more options.
She could enter the contest’s co-hosting universities without score reductions. Choosing a major seemed Chen Ru’s main concern. Law was a good option.
But not studying law was fine too, right?
Wen Ying was too independent. Her major had to be her choice. Parents could suggest, not enforce.
When Chen Ru sorted her thoughts and wanted to debate Wen Dongrong, he was curled in the blankets, snoring rhythmically.
Too rhythmic, suspiciously fake.
Hmph, this man, playing tricks on her?
Chen Ru didn’t kick him out of bed.
His acting was clumsy, but his concern for Wen Ying was genuine, better than worrying about unreliable nieces.
Now, Wen Dongrong, despite his scheming, was starting to act like a proper father.
…
Xie Qian returned to Rongcheng, and Wen Ying thought they’d meet alone. The next day, Qin Jiao called, suggesting a friends’ gathering, turning their meeting into a group event.
Qin Jiao, studying in Beijing, kept in touch via phone and QQ. Her university life was vibrant, while Wen Ying juggled studies and writing. Their schedules rarely aligned, and though they stayed in contact, they hadn’t had a deep talk in ages.
Xie Qian had no issue with the group meet-up.
Qin Jiao called it a friends’ gathering, but Xie Qian sensed more.
Sure enough, at the venue, besides Li Mengjiao and Wang Shuang, still in Shanghai, Geng Xiao, Tang Yifeng, and Qin Yi, back in Rongcheng, were there.
Wen Ying arrived minutes after Xie Qian, laughing at the sight, “Is this a ‘Shrimp King’ shareholders’ meeting?”
Qin Yi checked his watch, nodding, “Qin Jiao’s here for friends. I’m here for business. Wait a moment, I’ve asked Yang Xi to brief you on Shrimp King’s recent performance and future plans.”
As he spoke, Yang Xi entered, and all eyes turned to her.
Since Wen Ying stepped back from managing Shrimp King, she hadn’t seen Yang Xi in a while. At first glance, she almost didn’t recognize her.
