Wang Shuang felt utterly baffled.
What the heck!
He wasn’t friends with Wen Ying because of Deng Shangwei!
At first, he’d even resented her connection to Deng Shangwei, thinking Deng had sent his niece to cozy up to Qin Jiao for favors.
Of course, Wang Shuang didn’t think that anymore.
Now he was a shrimp-washing grunt and minor shareholder, while Wen Ying was the head chef and majority owner. On this little stall, she clearly called the shots. If “Shuang the Shrimp-Washer” slacked off, Chef Wen would chew him out, and he couldn’t even talk back!
“Her uncle’s mess has nothing to do with her!” Wang Shuang said, turning instinctively to Li Mengjiao for backup. “Right? Are we all here helping Wen Ying start this business just because of her uncle?”
Li Mengjiao shook her head. “Forget her uncle—my dad doesn’t even have that kind of pull. I’m here washing dishes because I want to be.”
It was exhausting, no doubt. Every night, she’d collapse into bed after a shower, tempted to quit. Yet the next day, she’d show up on time at the prep house, terrified of bailing and being labeled soft by her friends.
Qin Jiao smiled at them. “If we’re here for reasons unrelated to her uncle, then whatever he’s done shouldn’t affect our friendship with Wen Ying. Even if my dad stops doing business with Uncle Deng, my bond with her won’t change!”
It made sense.
But while the logic was clear, Wang Shuang and Li Mengjiao couldn’t completely ignore it.
Wen Ying still lived with her uncle.
If her uncle and aunt fought constantly or even divorced, how could it not impact her at all?
Wang Shuang thought, *Good thing her parents bought a place in Rongcheng. Once it’s ready and renovated in a few months, she can move in… Oh, school starting soon would be better—she could live on campus!*
Tonight, Wen Ying noticed her friends were unusually patient with her.
It was the third night the stall stopped giving out free crayfish, and sales kept climbing—from over 300 yuan initially, to 500, then 600. On the sixth night, before 9 p.m., Wen Ying estimated they’d already broken 1,000 yuan.
By closing, they’d likely hit 1,200.
The star earner was their signature braised crayfish. Selling 50 jin daily brought in over 700 yuan.
Food service was grueling, but the profits were staggering. At 1,200 yuan a day, at least half was pure profit.
That’s 600 yuan daily, 18,000 monthly. Two months could net 36,000—best-case scenario.
Reality wasn’t so rosy. Even if they hustled every day, summer rains would cut them short. Wen Ying could tough it out, but customers wouldn’t—they’d stay home, waiting for clear nights to hit the food scene.
Before school started, without more foot traffic, even 36,000 wasn’t guaranteed. With her 40% stake, she needed over 35,000 to win her bet with her parents.
But then what?
After paying tutoring fees, a semester’s tuition, and living costs, her 10,000-plus winnings would dwindle.
Even scrimping—spending only on food—a semester later, she’d be back at square one.
If her parents covered tuition, food, and clothes, they—and outsiders—would feel entitled to control her.
No financial independence, no mental freedom, no equality.
A daily 1,200 yuan wasn’t enough for her dream life. The stall needed to grow. Selling 50 jin of crayfish daily wasn’t cutting it—she had to get more people hooked on it. Only then could it become a steady, long-term cash flow.
She’d initially hoped for writing fees and legal consulting cash, but society had humbled her. She’d scammed 1,000 yuan from Detective Luo, but her manuscripts? Nothing. Editors saw through her money-driven writing—dry, soulless.
Wen Ying wanted to write purely for passion. Fame and fortune would be a bonus, but even if it didn’t pay big, she’d have no regrets this time around.
For now, manuscripts and consulting were off the table. The stall was her quick money ticket. As she brainstormed crayfish promotion, Director Lü from the street office dropped by again.
Lü cared about their stall, telling Xie Qian to come to him with any issues the school couldn’t fix—he’d find a way.
Wen Ying’s first venture owed its luck to Xie Qian roping in Lü as a shield. No petty thugs dared mess with them, letting them focus on business.
But Lü was busy. This was his second visit—she couldn’t keep playing dumb.
After he left, she waited until they’d closed up and returned to the prep house to ask Xie Qian, “Should we schedule that media interview?”
Xie Qian glanced at Qin Jiao and Wang Shuang. A Beijing kid, not a provincial key student, he could only suggest ideas. School contacts were up to them.
“I’ll arrange the media interview,” he promised.
For the school, Qin Jiao, the star student, was the best liaison.
The provincial key school had plenty of rich kids, but grades ruled. Top scores meant you were golden; poor ones, and “work-study” was just “slacking.” Why not tutor instead?
Qin Jiao nodded. “Wang Shuang and I will handle the school.”
Wen Ying asked if Xie Qian would tap the Jiang family. Teacher Lin’s father-in-law, Mr. Jiang, ran a publishing group and surely knew media folks—a small favor like this was easy.
But the thought of Xie Qian begging favors made her balk. “Can we draw the media in ourselves, not beg for it through connections?”
Her friends looked to her, awaiting her lead.
Qin Jiao sensed another Wen Ying surprise brewing.
“Food festival” flashed in Wen Ying’s mind. For a lasting crayfish business, why not go big and make it famous?
