Chen Ru, having worked in a bank for years, had a keen professional instinct for keeping track of household expenses.
She was the kind of person who meticulously recorded every cost related to her daughter from birth to adulthood, even noting down exactly how much her husband had subsidised his family for specific reasons in a given year or month.
Chen Ru had a rough idea of how much Wen Ying had earned from publishing novels.
She didn’t check Wen Ying’s accounts because she’d promised to let Wen Ying manage her own manuscript fees. Besides, when Wen Ying first signed with the publisher, the bank account she provided to Zou Weijun wasn’t at Chen Ru’s bank, making it inconvenient to snoop.
But Wen Dongrong’s accounts? Chen Ru never said she wouldn’t oversee those, so they were fair game.
How much money had he received, and where had it gone? Wen Dongrong might not keep detailed records, but now that the matter was exposed, he had to explain clearly.
Had he spent it on drinking?
Smoking?
Or playing the big shot outside?
How shameless of this dog of a man to spend his underage daughter’s money. If she hadn’t caught him, would he have kept it hidden forever?
If he’d secretly given it to Shu Lu and her daughter, or used it on the Wen family, Chen Ru would be livid.
The Shu family was Chen Ru’s least favourite, and if Wen Dongrong was still supporting them, he’d be unforgivably foolish.
As for the Wen family, Chen Ru was equally annoyed.
Apart from the Shu family, when had she ever stopped Wen Dongrong from helping other Wen relatives?
If the Wen family genuinely needed help, as long as it wasn’t for something like gambling or drugs, and Wen Dongrong discussed it properly with Chen Ru, she wouldn’t refuse.
As a couple, financial transparency was a sign of respect!
This was a lesson Chen Ru had learned over years of marriage, now one of her core principles.
While questioning Wen Dongrong, her mind raced, wondering if any Wen family members recently needed money.
Wen Ying’s aunt, Zhu Meiqun, had taken over a shop at the intersection after the Spring Festival, turning it into a fruit business after simple renovations. At first, she didn’t dare sell expensive fruits, sticking to common varieties at low prices.
Zhu Meiqun, an honest person, might not have the vision for big business but had the savvy for small trade. She carefully selected stock, only buying fruits she tasted and found good, then sorted them again, separating them by quality.
Higher-quality fruits were priced higher for visitors buying to see patients at the provincial hospital; less perfect ones were cheaper for nearby residents, who cared more about taste than flawless appearance.
Most fruit shop owners had tricks to handle damaged goods, like covering blemishes with stickers for sale. Honest Zhu Meiqun blushed at such tactics. Even large, beautiful fruits with bruises or damage went to the cheaper tier.
Too honest to use stickers, she certainly wouldn’t short-weight customers.
This integrity quickly won over the nearby residents, especially the local retirees.
These sharp-witted seniors would queue all day for free eggs, believing not taking advantage was a loss, and not being cheated was a gain. Within a month of opening, Zhu Meiqun’s shop dominated the elderly market in the neighbourhood. When they needed fruit, “Xiao Zhu’s shop” was their first thought.
Fancy promotions were beyond Zhu Meiqun’s grasp; she didn’t have that kind of flair.
But with good quality and honest weights, plus a prime location, business thrived.
As sales grew, Zhu Meiqun added dry goods.
Peanuts, melon seeds, pistachios, raisins—things households regularly ate, often bought alongside fruit.
Business was so good that Zhu Meiqun couldn’t manage alone and hired help.
Rongcheng’s wages were higher than in their hometown, and the salary Zhu Meiqun offered was close to what Wen Ying’s uncle earned back home. He was considering quitting his job, though unsure if the shop’s success would last.
Wen Ying’s uncle thought his wife worked too hard, while Zhu Meiqun worried that if he quit and business faltered, the family would lose its stable income.
Long-term separation wasn’t sustainable, and Chen Ru felt Wen Ying’s uncle would eventually join Zhu Meiqun in Rongcheng.
Honest Zhu Meiqun had built a steady small business, open rain or shine, earning a consistent profit.
Wen Ying’s third uncle, Wen Changlin, was a smooth talker, thriving in insurance. Last year, a rookie, this year he’d already won his team’s sales champion title!
His monthly income likely surpassed Wen Dongrong’s fixed salary, so he shouldn’t need subsidies either.
Chen Ru mentally reviewed the possibilities but couldn’t pinpoint a reason. Her eyes locked onto Wen Dongrong, eager to see what excuse this dead man could conjure.
Wen Dongrong, middle-aged, had few wrinkles, hadn’t gone to fat, and his youthful handsomeness had matured into masculine charm.
Now, with a furrowed brow and hesitant expression, he seemed to be playing the pity card to soften Chen Ru.
—Hah, dream on!
After all these years, she’d built immunity to that handsome face.
Chen Ru remained unmoved.
Wen Dongrong sighed deeply, “Alright, I’ll spill. Wen Ying started giving me money last year, a few hundred at first, then from August, it rose to 1000 a month. I was thrilled at first and treated her uncle to dinner. Later, I didn’t spend much, it was mostly Deng Shangwei dragging me to spend it!”
Treated Deng Shangwei to dinner?
Chen Ru frowned, “Since when were you so close with her uncle?”
“We’ve always been close. Before, he was doing business in Rongcheng while I was working back home, so we didn’t meet often!”
Wen Dongrong lied through his teeth, refusing to admit he used to look down on Deng Shangwei.
Chen Ru snorted, “You might treat Deng Shangwei once or twice, but every meal? I’d believe he paid for you, not that he dragged you to spend. Shame on you for coming up with that.”
From last year to now, 500 a month at first, then 1000 a month, adding up to over ten thousand, and now only a little over a thousand left, all spent on meals with Deng Shangwei?
To this doubt, Wen Dongrong fell silent, then awkwardly rummaged through the wardrobe, pulling several letters from a small drawer.
“It’s true, Wen Ying’s money was spent with Shangwei, you’ll understand when you see these.”
Chen Ru glanced down, seeing “To Uncle Wen Dongrong” written in crooked handwriting on the envelopes.
What was this?
Opening the letters, Chen Ru was stunned.
“This is…”
“You’re not mistaken, these are thank-you letters from poor students I sponsored in the countryside.”
Wen Dongrong sighed with emotion, “200 a month per student is nothing to us, but for them, it’s vital, supporting their education.”
