Wen Ying wanted to hold a food festival.
When she shared the idea with her friends, Li Mengjiao’s jaw practically hit the floor.
“That’s gonna cost a ton, right?!”
Li Mengjiao mentally tallied her pocket money. She figured she could scrape together another 5,000 yuan at most.
If every shareholder chipped in 5,000, they’d have 25,000.
Oh, wait—Wen Ying probably couldn’t swing 5,000. Li Mengjiao left her out, settling on 20,000 as a rough estimate.
If that wasn’t enough, they could rope in Tang Yifeng and Geng Xiao for another 10,000!
When she suggested this, Wen Ying nearly burst out laughing.
No, she couldn’t laugh aloud—that’d crush Li Mengjiao’s sweet enthusiasm.
But Wen Ying hadn’t expected this. Li Mengjiao—talented, outgoing class belle—stripped of her past-life halo, was a total softie.
This girl was way too gullible.
Especially with money—she had zero guard up.
She’d invested 2,000 without seeing a dime back, yet here she was, ready to toss in 5,000 more, even volunteering Xie Qian, Qin Jiao, and Wang Shuang!
If Li Mengjiao genuinely loved the night stall gig and wanted to expand it, her eagerness to fund it might make sense. But Wen Ying could tell she wasn’t into it—she found the work grueling. She stuck around daily just to keep pace with the crew. Half the reason Wen Ying painted big dreams was to keep Li Mengjiao motivated… So her throwing money around wasn’t passion—it was pure innocence. She’d grown up never being scammed, blissfully unaware.
Wen Ying sighed inwardly, touched.
Li Mengjiao’s quick cash offer wasn’t just trust in her—it was faith.
The moment Wen Ying pitched a “food festival” to boost crayfish fame, Li Mengjiao didn’t doubt her ability or grumble about extra work. She jumped in with cash first—tangible support worth more than sweet talk.
Wen Ying hurriedly clarified, “No need for money. We haven’t recouped our startup costs yet. A festival costing 20-30,000? How many jin of crayfish would we need to sell to break even? We’ll do it for free and maybe even earn some sweat equity.”
Qin Jiao pondered but couldn’t crack the logic.
Wang Shuang scratched his head.
Making money took brains.
But getting media to advertise their stall for free—and earning a little on top? Wang Shuang didn’t buy that any outlet would bite.
Xie Qian mused, “You’re banking on scale?”
Wen Ying nodded. “Look at this night market street—it’s practically Rongcheng’s nighttime calling card. Locals think of it first for late eats unless they’re too far. The variety here could totally anchor a food festival. No one’s tapped it before—just wasted potential.”
A festival wouldn’t just push crayfish—it’d lift the whole street.
Wen Ying didn’t care if other stall owners thanked her. It’d definitely repay Director Lü’s favor.
As the saying goes, live off the land or the river. Other districts had resources; Lü’s wasn’t lacking—just untapped.
Wen Ying planned a proposal to show Lü. With the street office backing it, her underage pitch would carry more weight.
Prep the “food festival” here, and Rongcheng’s media would flock.
Print was solid promo, but it was 2004. Some skipped books and papers, but everyone watched TV. A TV spot trumped print hands down.
Wen Ying briefly regretted clashing with Professor Fang. Had she not burned that bridge, she could’ve tapped Fang at the Music Academy… Nah, forget the provincial station—Rongcheng’s city channel was folksier, with killer ratings.
Compared to dull shrimp-washing, Wang Shuang lit up at “food festival.” If Wen Ying could pull it off—crafting an event from scratch, making crayfish a city hit, landing press and TV coverage—that’d be a rush!
Watching her animated chatter, Wang Shuang wondered: *Does poverty really sharpen the mind?*
Wen Ying said it’d take days to plan. She told everyone to brainstorm ideas at home, then regroup to hammer out a convincing proposal. Xie Qian would pitch it to Lü for approval.
Her approach felt like homework, yet even slacker Wang Shuang didn’t balk—he was pumped.
Xie Qian figured Wen Ying had her plan but assigned tasks anyway. She wanted Qin Jiao, Wang Shuang, and Li Mengjiao to feel involved—not like her lackeys. They were friends, not minions. Ordering them around too long might breed resentment. If Wen Ying were a hamster, she’d be a soft-hearted one—young, yet mindful of those around her.
Deng Shangwei, Chen Li, Qin Jiao, Wang Shuang, Li Mengjiao—all under her care.
Xie Qian hated to admit it, but she might be looking out for him too. That MSG-heavy chip bag proved it.
Only Qin Jiao’s trio responded—Xie Qian stayed quiet. Wen Ying thought he disagreed and called him out.
Xie Qian snapped back, “I’m in.”
—
On the ride home with Wang Shuang, big-shot Boss Wang teased, “Is that night stall raking it in yet? After this summer, use your earnings to buy gifts for your mom, grandparents—they’d be thrilled!”
He secretly hoped Wang Shuang might toss him a trinket too.
Wang Shuang caught the hint.
He knew a gift would net a bigger “return,” but he wasn’t in the mood for fake filial piety. “Dad, don’t you think I get too much allowance?”
“…?”
What’s this? Reverse psychology for a raise before the gifts?
“What’re you getting at?”
Wang Shuang looked pained. “You guys give me too much. I don’t lack cash, so I don’t hustle.”
Brains rust without use!
He wasn’t as sharp as Wen Ying—not IQ, but lack of grind. His family never pushed him!
Convinced, confidence surged back. He told his dad about the food festival, stressing, “No more allowance. Whatever I earn this summer is my next semester’s budget. How’s that sound?”
Boss Wang, a grown man, nearly teared up.
He’d always envied Boss Qin—Qin Yi and Qin Jiao were standout kids in their circle.
Wang Shuang wasn’t bad. Compared to trust-fund brats racing cars and clubbing, he was tame.
A few girlfriends? Child’s play. Boss Wang had warned him—no funny business before adulthood, or no cleanup from home. Without Qin siblings as a benchmark, Wang Shuang’s decent rich-kid vibe satisfied him. But those comparisons stung.
Wang Shuang showed no business knack.
Not dumb, just average grades—no tech or degree meal ticket.
Lacking skill, he had attitude—few earned his respect!
Boss Wang fretted.
He worked hard to leave wealth for Wang Shuang, but could the kid hold it?
He’d considered tough love, but family always intervened—Wang Shuang’s too young, don’t be harsh.
Boss Wang was stifled!
He was the dad, not a stepfather—would he hurt his own son?
Now Wang Shuang volunteered to cut allowance and live off earnings. He might backtrack by morning, but tonight, Boss Wang was moved!
His son was growing up, showing ambition!
Half this shift—credit to Wen Ying.
—*Should’ve pushed her parents to buy more units at the sales office that day!*
“Dad, why’re you quiet?”
“Oh, your idea’s solid. Doing it’s one thing—thinking it’s great. Tell me about this food festival—how’re you kids pulling it off?”
Boss Wang offered help; Wang Shuang brushed it off.
His dad’s plan wouldn’t be his win!
From his tone, Dad doubted the stall’s earnings. With 15% shares, two months’ work—wages plus dividends—wouldn’t cover a semester.
Wang Shuang hadn’t crunched his semester costs… Skip new kicks, clothes, girlfriends, and random treats—thousands might suffice?
If the stall hit 50,000 in two months, he’d get 7,500.
Add two months’ pay—around 9,000.
Calculating, Wang Shuang realized the “food festival” had to happen—and succeed!
Next semester’s meals—plain or hearty—rode on crayfish sales!
