Sister Xi.
Now, few called Yang Xi that. Most called her “Manager Yang.”
A person’s demeanor shifts with their social role and status. Once, Yang Xi was an abandoned infant, raised by three elderly people, scraping by at society’s bottom. Naturally, she couldn’t escape that environment.
If she were dim-witted, muddling through might have been fine. But Yang Xi wasn’t dim.
Clarity brought her immense pain.
She rejected pity, was sharp-edged, desperate to earn money to repay the three elders, fearing she’d outlive them. Without a tough front, she’d be bullied. So she had to be “Sister Xi.”
Wen Ying gave her a chance.
Yang Xi claimed she followed Wen Ying for the paycheck, but she seized the opportunity with all her strength.
Didn’t know how?
She learned.
New boss?
She proved her ability.
Yang Xi treated her Shrimp King job like a street turf war, tackling challenges from easy to hard, transforming into “Manager Yang.”
Shrimp King grew from a modest diner to a proper catering company, making Yang Xi’s “manager” title weighty.
Wages and benefits were the visible gains.
Beneath was the job’s potential, the shift in how neighbors viewed Yang Xi and her family.
Before, neighbors pitied the three elders and shook their heads at Yang Xi, thinking her great-grandfather Yang Hongan foolish for adopting her. A girl like that, they said, offered no return, destined to be a troublemaking teen, leaving Yang Hongan to clean up her messes.
Yang Hongan, old and still scavenging scraps, cared for a polio-stricken brother and an intellectually disabled wife, now with a defiant adopted granddaughter. What a burden.
Before Wen Ying recruited Yang Xi to Shrimp King, this was the Yang family’s public perception.
Even when Yang Xi started at Shrimp King, opinions didn’t shift.
No college entrance exam, working at a crayfish diner, what future was there?
Still, a proper job beat being a drifter.
Later, hearing Yang Xi wasn’t just a worker but a shift supervisor, some neighbors thought her lucky, meeting a “benefactor.”
They heard the diner’s boss valued Yang Xi, hiring electricians to fix neighborhood hazards.
Hopefully, with this benefactor watching, Yang Xi wouldn’t go astray.
Neighbors had their own lives, not fixating on the Yangs, only joking when Yang Hongan stopped scavenging, “Your granddaughter’s working, no pressure now,” or “Old Yang, time to retire.”
The Yang family’s life kept improving.
No more scrap piles.
New furniture, appliances.
Freshly painted walls, leveled floors.
Seeing these changes, neighbors’ views shifted. Yang Xi might not achieve much or earn big, but she was filial, spending her earnings on the family. Not a wasted adoption.
They didn’t expect Shrimp King to grow so fast, from diner to catering company. Yang Xi went from supervisor to manager.
A diner and a company were worlds apart.
So were a supervisor and a manager.
The former felt unstable, prone to unemployment; the latter was legit.
Young Yang Xi as a manager changed the neighbors’ tune: that girl was always sharp, the Yangs were blessed.
Gossips insinuating Yang Xi’s earnings came from shady work were quickly shut down.
Heard of dodgy massage parlors, sure, but a crayfish diner as a front?
Shrimp King’s business boomed. Some neighbors dined there, seeing Yang Xi manage.
Later, she was less visible, managing as a manager.
Manager Yang couldn’t stick to one shop, often traveling. Neighbors saw her rushing off with a suitcase, returning dusty.
They didn’t know her exact salary, but the Yang elders’ improved life was clear.
No more scavenging, no leftover meals, a fridge always stocked.
Yang Xi scheduled their medical checkups every six months.
These details showed her income was substantial.
The Yangs just needed to buy a house and move, right?
Whether Yang Xi planned to buy, when, Yang Hongan kept tight-lipped.
As Yang Xi became “Manager Yang,” neighbors’ pity turned to envy.
Before, they teased Yang Hongan casually, with pity but little respect.
Now, they spoke to him politely.
Who supported the Yang elders?
Yang Xi.
The Yang Xi before Wen Ying and the others was transformed from the former delinquent.
Clean and polished, barely in her early twenties, Shrimp King’s grind made her seem older.
She dressed maturely to gain clients’ trust.
Looks could be styled, but not her gaze or poise. Gone were her sharp edges. Briefing Wen Ying’s group on Shrimp King’s business, her speech was fluid, her thoughts clear. She wasn’t Qin Yi’s echo or mouthpiece; she knew the business inside out.
Wen Ying thought: Yang Xi’s future is boundless, far beyond a small manager at Shrimp King.
And Shrimp King’s future wasn’t limited to its current scale.
After Wen Ying and others transferred most shares, under Qin Yi’s control, Shrimp King surged forward. With so many shares, Qin Yi wasn’t playing small.
Shanghai’s stores were now Qin Yi’s domain, with five more planned in Beijing post-New Year.
Shanghai and Beijing, top-tier cities, were run directly by the Qin siblings. Other cities sought franchisees.
“Ningcheng and Jiangcheng clients are in talks, just awaiting franchise agreements,” Yang Xi said.
Xie Qian, silent until now, cut in, “Forget franchisees. The five Beijing stores, are they directly operated? If so, where’s the funding? Can last year’s profits cover it?”
For two or three years, Xie Qian didn’t expect dividends from Shrimp King. With his and Wen Ying’s small remaining shares, payouts would be minor.
But no dividends was one thing; constant reinvestment was another. Xie Qian wanted Shrimp King’s net profits clear.
He had to ask. Wen Ying, too close to Qin Jiao, wouldn’t.
