Money’s easy to spend, tough to earn.
Wang Shuang had heard his dad say this often, but it went in one ear and out the other. In his memory, his family had been well-off since the ‘90s. As far back as he could recall, he’d never lacked pocket money.
Running low?
Just ask for more!
If his dad said no, his mom would give in.
If both clamped down, he had his grandparents—they’d shove cash at him, terrified he’d starve at school, convinced his dad’s barking orders was abuse.
So when Wang Shuang decided to join Wen Ying’s crayfish venture, his dad found out and laughed his head off. “No way, you can’t handle that grind. Don’t drag Wen Ying down. Without you, she might make over ten grand this summer. With you? Forget it! If you’re bored and want a taste of life, work at the phone store. Every phone you sell, the profit’s yours. Don’t like that? We’ve got other businesses…”
Wang Shuang didn’t bite. Not only did he ignore his dad, he swore to make the stall a hit—prove him wrong and savor the face-slapping moment. But on opening day, his grand ambitions nearly fizzled out.
His dad wasn’t kidding—this night market gig was brutal.
Crayfish tasted great but were a pain to clean. Wen Ying soaked them in water for two days to purge the mud, yet the shell grime wouldn’t budge without scrubbing—one hand holding, the other brushing.
Wen Ying handled the seasoning and braising. Qin Jiao and Li Mengjiao cleaned duck heads and chicken feet. That left Wang Shuang with the glorious, grueling task of washing shrimp!
Those pincers nipped fingers if he wasn’t careful.
And the heads? Sharp enough to stab his palms.
If he didn’t do it, Qin Jiao or Li Mengjiao would have to.
Qin Jiao’s hands washing shrimp? In Wang Shuang’s mind, even at a hundred bucks a pound, crayfish didn’t deserve her touch.
Li Mengjiao? Forget it—she’d cry if pinched, and he’d have to console her.
Xie Qian could’ve shared the load, but Wang Shuang eyed him top to bottom and couldn’t ask.
Fine, he’d wash them himself. Asking Xie Qian felt oddly criminal.
Damn, good-looking people got a pass. After a vote, Xie Qian was sent to snag a stall spot.
Wen Ying stressed it wasn’t simple. “Takes sharp eyes, brains, and smooth talk. Grabbing a temp spot on the night market strip ain’t easy!”
Everyone’s there to make a buck—why let a newbie cut in?
Xie Qian’s job was tough: carve a niche in the established strip for their braised shrimp stall.
Wang Shuang nodded along, only realizing after Xie Qian left—wait, was that a jab at him being dumb?
He wanted to confront Wen Ying, but the shrimp pile loomed like a mountain. Once he started scrubbing, there was no break.
Did they need this many?
He doubted they’d sell out. Wen Ying grinned, “Who said I’m selling? If you’d never tried this before, would you buy it off the strip?”
No way!
Why pick unknown shrimp over tasty barbecue or skewers?
Like most, Wang Shuang stuck to familiar haunts and flavors—few dared be the first crab-eater or try new grub.
So Wen Ying planned to hook customers by giving away shrimp for three days.
At 3 yuan a pound, she could afford it!
That afternoon, Wang Shuang scrubbed a hundred pounds. As he brushed, Wen Ying fried. When she finished, Xie Qian returned.
“Spot’s secured.”
Wang Shuang ditched the brush, more excited to see Xie Qian than a supermodel. “Let’s go, now! Don’t be late!”
He was itching to bolt.
Wen Ying held them back. “Wait—the banner’s not here yet!”
Once everything loaded onto the tricycle, the banner arrived.
It read in bold: “First Three Days, Sichuan-Style Braised Crayfish—Free to Eat!” Smaller text below: “One pound per person. Small business, no takeout.”
As for riding the rickety tricycle… Wang Shuang stepped up again. Wen Ying could drive a car but not this. If no one else could, she’d grit her teeth and try.
Wang Shuang chugged off on the beat-up trike, Li Mengjiao doubling over with laughter. “If the school crowd saw this, Wang Shuang’s girlfriend prospects at the key school are toast!”
Qin Jiao giggled too.
The nth-hand trike, no matter how scrubbed, bore dents and scars. If classmates spotted Wang Shuang on it, rumors would fly—his family’s broke!
Sure, most “girlfriends” didn’t care about his cash, just his cool factor—but riding this, could he stay cool?
Wen Ying shot Li Mengjiao a knowing look.
Little friend, your glee’s showing!
Wang Shuang led on the trike; the others trailed. At the spot, he and Xie Qian unloaded tables and chairs.
Xie Qian picked a gem—a narrow lane by a residential gate, diagonal from the strip’s busiest barbecue joint—the one where they’d run into Yu Wenhao.
“This spot’s gold,” Wen Ying marveled.
A prime location like this, even with temp fees, wasn’t guaranteed. How’d Xie Qian pull it off?
She whispered, “Once we set up and start, no one’s smashing our stall, right?”
Xie Qian glanced at her, puzzled by her worry.
“I’m not Wang Shuang.”
Meaning: she’d tasked him, and he wouldn’t botch it—everything was solid.
Wen Ying sensed Xie Qian dissing Wang Shuang, with proof, but she kept mum. If she riled Wang Shuang and he bailed, who’d wash shrimp?
Together, they set up fast. Wen Ying dumped fried shrimp into a pot of braising juice, the aroma wafting out. The banner went up—ready for customers!
Nearby shop owners sized them up.
A new rival? Nope, just some kids playing shop.
“Sichuan braised crayfish?”
“Free for three days?”
“Tasty or not, if it’s free, I could bankrupt them solo!”
“Hah, they’re not dumb—capped it at a pound per person to stop gluttons like you.”
Past 6 PM, the strip was still quiet. Nearby bosses chatted, dismissing the kids’ stall.
A one-pound limit stopped honest folk, not rogues. If it threatened their turf, they’d squeeze these kids out!
—
While Wen Ying’s crew hustled, Wang Sr., Boss Qin, and Li Mengjiao’s mom huddled elsewhere.
The kids’ first stab at earning—should parents help?
If so, how far?
Letting the stall sink or swim could toughen them up—or crush their confidence.
Li Mengjiao’s mom fretted most. “My husband’s abroad till next month. I can only cheer Mengjiao on. You two uncles need to play bad cop!”
Wang Sr. and Qin exchanged looks.
Qin cleared his throat. “Let’s trust them a bit. Watch and see?”
Like them, Chen Ru and Wen Dongrong arrived with Chen Li at the night market strip.
From afar, Chen Ru saw Wen Ying and Xie Qian chatting, her eyes blazing. “Business? Looks like she’s selling dog meat under a sheep’s sign—up to no good!”
