Xie Qian was practically cursing Detective Luo in his mind.
The thing about Detective Luo was, he had the skills to be a detective, but absolutely no knack for being a boss.
His private detective agency was so broke he couldn’t even pay rent. If Wen Ying hadn’t suggested rebranding it as an “emotional consulting firm,” Luo’s career would’ve likely been dead in the water.
But entrepreneurship? It’s easy if you’ve got the knack, and impossible if you don’t. Unless Wen Ying could personally guide Luo forever, his ventures were bound to crash eventually.
Take this, for example: Luo finally found a trustworthy old comrade to partner with, took on a job from Xie Qian, and poof—his partner vanished like a meat bun thrown to a dog.
It wasn’t a one-off.
If he couldn’t even keep a partner, how could he retain employees?
When Xie Qian called, Luo was wallowing in gloom.
He’d rented a fancier office, and his detective business had briefly thrived, gaining some fame in Rongcheng.
But Luo had zero interest in management. As a boss, he was always out on cases, leaving the back end to hired staff. At first, employees appreciated his trust. Over time, they realised he was easy to fool. By the time Luo caught on, his staff had poached half his hard-earned clients, taking most of his business to start their own emotional consulting firm, copying his model!
On the phone with Xie Qian, Luo finally had an outlet for his pent-up frustrations.
“Was I wrong to treat my employees well?”
Being kind to employees isn’t wrong.
But kindness without authority breeds greed.
Human nature doesn’t hold up under temptation, a lesson vividly clear in Luo’s entrepreneurial flop!
Xie Qian listened patiently until Luo had vented all his grievances, then dangled a hook. “Your dream was always to be a detective, not a boss. Why not focus on detecting? You’re a pro at it. Leave running the agency to others… Interested in coming to Shanghai?”
No interest, no way!
Luo screamed internally.
But his failed venture had plunged him from stability back into debt.
A fancy office meant high rent. Entrusting the back end to employees meant high salaries. Obsessed with completing cases, he didn’t care about budget overruns—no wonder his staff betrayed him. Seeing someone like Luo, who couldn’t balance the books, succeed as a boss? Who wouldn’t be tempted?
So, despite building a reputation, Luo’s firm made little money. His employees gutted his client base and bolted, leaving him in financial straits.
A single penny can stump a hero. Two years ago, Luo couldn’t resist Wen Ying’s “cash power.” Now, he couldn’t resist Xie Qian’s temptation either.
Focus on detecting, leave management to others? That didn’t sound bad.
As long as he wasn’t the boss, he wouldn’t fear betrayal again.
In China’s private detective scene, Luo was still confident in his skills.
As for taking jobs from minors and earning their money, the first time felt heavy, but after that came the second, third… even the Nth time.
Principles? Too rigid, and they break. Too soft, and you can’t live with yourself. Best to keep them flexible, bending as needed!
He was already sold but too embarrassed to admit it. At the critical moment, Xie Qian gave him a nudge. “If you don’t object, I’ll take it as a yes. Shall I book your ticket?”
Luo’s curiosity was piqued. “What kind of job? Is it tough?”
“Pretty tough. The police can’t do much without a solid evidence chain, so we need another approach.”
“I’m in, alright? I’m in!”
Luo jumped at the chance, afraid Xie Qian might back out, and hung up first.
Moments later, Xie Qian’s phone buzzed. Luo had sent his name and ID for ticket booking.
Talk about shameless.
It showed just how broke Luo was.
Peng Guoqing was in awe of Xie Qian’s ability to reel in a guy with a few words. Wen Ying, meanwhile, was torn between laughter and tears. “Detective Luo is really…”
What?
A hopeless case.
Some people just aren’t cut out for entrepreneurship. Even with Wen Ying’s help revising contracts and suggesting ideas, Luo’s firm still tanked.
Wen Ying was almost in awe of his failure!
Whatever. Luo should come to Shanghai. In her past life, he’d made it here, thriving in the detective scene, working with major agencies, earning plenty, and buying a house before Wen Ying did. This time, arriving earlier, there was no reason he’d fare worse!
Zou Weijun was a pro at publishing but not at handling publicity. She thought she’d contained the signing incident, but fearing loose ends that could affect Wen Ying, she contacted Yuan Fenghui back at the hotel.
Yuan Fenghui, hearing the story, was delighted rather than worried. “No envy, no talent. Wen Ying’s popularity is real!”
“Yuan Director—”
Zou Weijun’s tone was stern, and Yuan Fenghui got serious. “It’s better if it blows up! If it stays quiet, how do we find who’s targeting Wen Ying? People who do this are psychos craving attention. For a public figure like Wen Ying, they want her humiliated!”
But the foul water didn’t hit Wen Ying, the troublemaker was hauled to the station, and Zou Weijun kept the scene under control, ensuring the signing wasn’t derailed and no reader left disappointed!
No scandal, no attention. If someone was behind this, wouldn’t they be furious?
“If a hushed incident gets stirred up again, following the trail to the mastermind is easy! Some things, you either don’t do, or they leave traces.”
Yuan Fenghui spoke from experience, ironically reminded of herself by fools like Yu Tianlin and Manager Guan. Indeed, some things leave traces—like Xie Jinghu’s investment in the He family’s factory, hardly a normal business move.
“I know what to do. Thanks, Director Yuan. I won’t disturb your rest.”
Zou Weijun had a plan forming.
Yuan Fenghui chuckled at the dial tone. Zou Weijun’s got some spine now!
A woman being tough wasn’t bad. In this harsh world, expecting lifelong protection was unrealistic. Self-reliance was the truth!
…
At the Zhao residence, He Zhen stared at the half-read *The Zhao Family Letters*, his heart conflicted.
Logic told him to finish it to understand Zhao Dong, but the book was unbearable—full of self-aggrandizing drivel.
Inexplicably, his gaze drifted to *The Galaxy and You*.
It didn’t suit his taste either, but with so many at the signing, it had to be better than *The Zhao Family Letters*, right?
To read or not, He Zhen wavered.
