Chapter 979: Grandpa Uncle

Yedongjing’s business is usually slow, not reliant on walk-in customers, and the space is limited; so on this Saturday when everyone gathers for meals, after barely serving two tables past lunchtime, Lingzi shut down for the day.

Linghong said: “Oh my, you’re really the boss lady—shutting the door so effortlessly, so cool.”

“I think you’re just jealous.” Tao Tao arrived early, leaning against the wall with a cigarette, sneering; without giving Linghong a chance to retort, he asked, “Teacher Ge, when’s Boss Wang coming? Hey, you old geezer, why’re you staring at Little Northeast? I wouldn’t dare call him—Boss Wang would beat me up. He takes on a whole crowd by himself; I’d end up stuffed in a flowerpot.”

Teacher Ge was speechless. He found Tao Tao always hovering near Little Northeast, then getting scared—but still hovering, scared yet drawn in. He just couldn’t understand it. At most, he’d just introduced Tao Tao to the Jin Meilin family’s business and gifted him a Longines watch.

“I ran into him this morning—he said he’s going to check on a factory in Pudong. We arranged for five-thirty; he’s cooking today, making over twenty dishes plus stews, so he’ll definitely come back early. He should be here any moment.”

Lingzi called out: “Alright, stop loafing around. We bought all the ingredients this morning—get moving, help clean up. When Boss Wang gets back, we’ll start cooking right away.”

They said they were working, but none of them worked efficiently. Of course, Lingzi had once been a waitress in Japan, Linghong had worked at a ramen shop there, Tao Tao had built his business selling seafood, and Teacher Ge had lived through hard times—they all could work, if they had to.

But when this group got together, it was a disaster. One moment laughing, the next bickering—how could they possibly get anything done? They did lend a little help, but it was negligible.

Only when someone gave orders did the real work get done—the chef, Little Monk, and the two waitresses, Xiao Wen and Xiao Qin—they were the ones actually doing the labor…

Wang Yan returned around two-thirty to find Lingzi and the others laughing around one table, while Little Monk and the two waitresses sat at the other, their work progressing swiftly, while Lingzi’s group made almost no progress.

“Boss Wang’s back! Hurry up, hurry up—people will be here any minute!”

“If you keep picking those scallions any longer, there won’t be any left.”

“Oh my, got so caught up talking, I forgot!” Lingzi stood up, tossed the scallions aside, showing zero embarrassment, still urging, “No scallions? Just buy more. Get cooking—the Grandpa Uncle’s coming. He’s seventy—he needs tender, flavorful stews.”

Teacher Ge said: “You bought more wine again, Little Northeast.”

“Yedongjing’s got wine thieves—I leave a case here, and it’s gone in a month. Today’s crowded, we need plenty of wine.”

“I’ll hold it for you—go cook. Five-thirty’s set; we can’t keep people waiting.” Teacher Ge didn’t care about wine thieves—he pretended not to hear.

Wang Yan placed two cases of Moutai on the table and called out: “Little Monk.”

“Been waiting for this day, Boss Wang!” Little Monk was eager.

“Go chop the garnishes.”

Master Wang rolled up his sleeves; Tao Tao, ever eager, fetched an apron and tied it on him…

The dishes were truly numerous—Dongpo pork, braised pork hock, stewed chicken, meat and vegetables, hot and cold, fried, stir-fried, steamed, boiled—all covered. No one else needed to help—in fact, they’d only hinder. Wang Yan worked alongside Little Monk, putting long-cooking dishes on several stoves.

In a professional restaurant kitchen, Wang Yan’s dishes were even better. As he’d told Miss Wang, timing was one factor, but equally important was the intensity of the stove flame. Restaurant stoves were hotter and heated faster than home ones—that’s why restaurant food tasted better.

Linghong said: “Boss Wang, you’ve got to grill some lamb skewers. Everyone says even if they use your exact marinade, their skewers never taste as good as yours. We’ve known each other so long—I’ve never tasted one.”

“Yes, yes!” Teacher Ge strongly agreed. “Don’t waste your skill—grill some!”

Seeing Wang Yan’s gaze turn to her, Lingzi said: “There’s some frozen in the fridge… Hey, Little Monk, when were those lamb skewers skewered?”

“Two days ago. Still have a few dozen.”

“Frozen meat loses flavor. Even if I grilled them, they wouldn’t be special. But if you want to eat them, fine—take them out to thaw.”

Wang Yan didn’t refuse, kept working…

Time flies when you’re busy. Though they’d agreed on five-thirty, it was a quiet Saturday—everyone arrived early. By four-thirty, people had started trickling in.

“Boss Wang, the money’s all here.” Postage Li walked in, each hand holding a suitcase, heading straight for the kitchen.

“Long time no see, Mr. Li.”

“No, no, don’t call me Mr. Li—I’m not used to it. Call me Postage Li.” Postage Li swung the two suitcases. “Aren’t you going to check, Boss Wang?”

“No need. Just put them somewhere. Thanks for the trouble.”

“Oh my, no trouble at all, Boss Wang. Look—this watch you brought me all the way from Hong Kong? And that bag? My wife adores it. You went to Hong Kong and still thought of me. You’re too kind, Boss Wang.”

“We’re friends—don’t be so formal. Sit down, I’ll grill the lamb skewers first, then start stir-frying.”

“Need any help?”

“Just wait and eat.” Wang Yan waved him off, grabbed the skewers, and headed outside to grill.

As he stepped out, he saw Abao opening the door. A bald, spectacled old man walked in first.

“You must be Boss Wang. Hello.”

“Everyone calls you Grandpa Uncle—I’ll follow suit. Grandpa Uncle, hello.” Wang Yan wiped his hands on his apron and shook the old man’s hand. The old man’s grip was warm, thin but strong—still vigorous despite his age.

“I’ve heard about you. Your business is thriving—in just a few months, you’ve amassed such wealth. Impressive.”

“It’s ancestral blessings. Grandpa Uncle overestimates me. Honestly, I still rely on selling the family’s seasoning blends—eventually, they’ll leak. I’ve been lucky so far, but longevity is uncertain.”

“Modest. I’ve heard your moves—you built a seasoning factory, expanded your product line, built your reputation. Whether you have family recipes or not doesn’t matter. You only need time. Before the formula leaks, you’re already worth a million—you’ve got room to retreat. But if you succeed, you’ll have an open road to heaven…”

“Thank you for your good wishes, Grandpa Uncle. I’ll strive for that heavenly path.” Wang Yan nodded to Abao behind him. “Sit down, everyone. Everyone’s clamoring for lamb skewers—I’ll grill them first, then start stir-frying. It’s four-thirty-five now—I’ll finish before five-thirty.”

“No rush, take your time.” Abao smiled and nodded.

“Can’t take too long—many dishes taste best hot.”

Wang Yan said this, then took the skewers outside to grill. The kitchen’s exhaust wasn’t enough—better to rely on Shanghai’s September breeze.

Little Jinbao, still young, didn’t understand any of this. He only knew strangers had arrived, and he didn’t get the laughter. So he came outside, dragged over the small stool Lingzi had left for him, and sat beside Wang Yan grilling. He propped his chin on his hands, eagerly waiting.

Though freezing affected the meat’s texture, the aroma of grilling was just as potent. It attracted passersby who suddenly wanted skewers. Each time, Little Fat would stand up and say, “Closed today!”—and each time, Wang Yan praised him…

Since the family got rich, Jinbao’s mother became busy. Jinbao usually stayed with Teacher Ge, occasionally getting homework help. Schoolwork was light, especially for a second-grader—he spent his days playing. Since becoming cheerful, his life was rich.

Sometimes he played with classmates nearby; otherwise, life in Teacher Ge’s building was full. He could sit beside Teacher Chen, drawing and scribbling; he could visit Teacher Kong to learn piano; or follow Teacher Shi to learn music.

Because of Boss Wang and Teacher Ge, and because Jinbao himself wasn’t annoying, he fit right in at Yedongjing. It had become his little dining table—since Yedongjing had no business, he felt perfectly at ease…

Just as Wang Yan was chatting idly with Little Fat, a taxi pulled up across the street. Miss Wang wore a plaid shirt, loose jeans, and white Hui Li shoes, her glasses—naturally—the ones Boss Wang had gifted her.

Miss Wang didn’t rush over. On the other side of the road, one arm crossed over her chest, the other supporting her chin, her long fingers stroking it, watching Wang Yan grill and smile at her.

She finally walked over. Wang Yan, ever perceptive, asked: “What’re you looking at?”

“I was imagining how you’d look wearing the same outfit from our first meeting, grilling on bustling Huanghe Road.”

“Same as now—only surrounded by restaurant waiters lining up to serve their bosses. You came just in time—freshly grilled lamb skewers. But I’ll warn you: I didn’t plan to grill today—it was Linghong and the others demanding it. The meat’s frozen, so texture’s affected. If it’s not tasty, it’s the meat, not my skill.”

Miss Wang took a few skewers, bit in with a hiss, then stared at Wang Yan in surprise: “Really good! The best skewers I’ve ever had—even though I’ve only had them a few times.”

“Eat less—there are other dishes.” Wang Yan placed the grilled skewers on a plate and moved the coals aside.

“Whose kid is this?”

“The son of my seasoning factory manager—Jinbao. Jinbao, say hello.”

Jinbao, already smeared with sauce, chewed with a hiss, looked up, and mumbled: “Hello, sister.”

“You too, so polite!” Miss Wang mimicked a child’s voice, ruffling Little Fat’s hair.

Little Fat looked up, beaming a simple, earnest smile.

Wang Yan gently kicked Little Fat’s butt: “Eat less—you’ve got other dishes coming.”

“Got it, Boss Wang.” Little Fat didn’t eat more—he’d been waiting since the moment the door opened and the aroma spilled out.

“Come on, Miss Wang, come inside, we’ll eat soon.”

“Wait—here’s a thousand yuan. Take it. I don’t know how much the glasses cost, but I know it’s not six hundred.” Miss Wang pulled out a separate stack of cash. “I reported it, but they didn’t say I couldn’t take it, nor that I should—just said it’s best to keep things clean. Don’t say no—I only have this thousand, even borrowed it from my dad. I can’t give more.”

Wang Yan smiled, shook his head, took the money, and tucked it in his pocket: “I’ll give you a receipt—registered mail to No. 27.”

“No need for that.”

“Better safe than sorry. You say you gave me money, I say you gave me money—if someone says you didn’t, how do we prove it? Come on, inside.” Wang Yan clicked his tongue. “You really live like this at No. 27?”

“What?” Miss Wang stood there, confused.

“I’ll open the door for you, Boss Wang!” Little Fat understood perfectly, trotting over to pull open Yedongjing’s door.

“See? Learn from Jinbao.”

“You’re such a little sneak.” Miss Wang laughed, ruffling Jinbao’s hair as she walked in. “Come on.”

“Miss Wang’s here! Quick, quick! Oh my, the lamb skewers are ready too! Hard work, Boss Wang! Come on, everyone, start eating. Grandpa Uncle’s teeth aren’t good—just one skewer to taste.”

Lingzi was warm and welcoming, stepping forward to greet Miss Wang, taking the dishes from Wang Yan’s hands, beaming brightly—she was playing the perfect hostess.

“I’m the last to arrive. Grandpa Uncle, hello.” Miss Wang was equally warm, speaking loudly, greeting everyone.

She was still proud—her master was her direct superior, and she handled many orders from Abao’s side. Overall, things were quite satisfying. So even though she wasn’t close to anyone else, she still chattered away freely, paying little attention to others.

Of course, everyone gave Miss Wang great respect—her words never fell on deaf ears. As Grandpa Uncle said, no one looked at Miss Wang—they all looked at No. 27. Besides, everyone here was Abao’s friend; Miss Wang had helped Abao greatly, and she was from the public sector. Even if she was self-centered, no one criticized her—instead, they said she was genuine.

As everyone ate skewers and chatted, Wang Yan entered the kitchen to start stir-frying.

Yedongjing had few guests, but four stoves. He set the stews to simmer, then operated all four stoves at once—clanging his wok ladle, dishes came out one after another.

He had Little Monk bring up the stews; his hands moved swiftly, and four cold appetizers were quickly tossed and served. By five-twenty, he’d finished over twenty dishes.

They pushed together several tables into one long rectangle. Non-drinkers sat in back, drinkers in front. Grandpa Uncle sat on one side; the other side held Xiao Wen, Xiao Qin, Little Monk, and Little Fat. No one was sent to eat alone—they all sat at one table.

Abao raised his glass: “Come on, let’s thank Boss Wang for his generous hospitality—everyone, drink up!”

Lingzi feigned reluctance: “Oh my, it’s Boss Wang hosting at Yedongjing, right? Boss Wang’s cooking is excellent, but we’ve been running around too—Yedongjing shut down this afternoon, even turned away business.”

“Then we must toast the boss lady’s generosity—not only shutting down business, but buying all the food today. But if you ask me to pay, I’ve got nothing.” Wang Yan raised his glass. “Come on, drink up. Grandpa Uncle, sip slowly.”

Everyone laughed and chatted; Little Fat even had soda to join in.

Everyone had tasted the dishes—the initial amazement had passed. The universal praise for Boss Wang was: he could open a big restaurant and it’d be wildly successful. Grandpa Uncle agreed: “Another safety net. With this skill, you’re never afraid to go anywhere.”

“Never afraid to go anywhere”—that was true. But “this skill” was wrong—he, Wang Mou, always believed in accumulating skills. He had far too many…

Wang Yan didn’t forget those who ran errands. He raised his glass: “Boss Bao, Postage Li—I toast you both. Thank you for your help.”

“Oh my, Boss Wang, you’re being formal! Just now you told me not to be formal, and now you are?”

Postage Li chuckled: “But honestly, Boss Wang, you’ve got great fortune. We’ve all paid our dues to Boss Bao. I know—he bought his first vacuum tubes from me. Back then, he paid 150 for 6,000 yuan. Later, the stock split, and in a week, the price halved—he lost 3,000 yuan. That was 1987—hard to find even a few ten-thousand-yuan households then.”

“But Boss Wang? He’s amazing. Just chatting casually, he said he wanted to buy 100,000 yuan worth—then added another 100,000. From March to September, half a year, he turned it into a million. With such fortune, everything he touches turns to gold.”

Abao nodded, smiling: “Boss Wang is truly enviable.”

“Hahaha, then let me share my fortune with everyone—let’s all get rich! Drink up!”

Miss Wang smiled: “Oh my, Boss Wang, so generous—you’re giving away fortune too?”

“This stuff is mysterious—who knows if it even exists?”

Wang Yan glanced at Abao and Lingzi exchanging glances and said: “If fortune really exists, then my earnings this half-year must mean I’ve got thick fortune—ancestors blessing me. Sharing it with you all should be more than enough. Enough of this mystical talk—drink up. Miss Wang, you can’t drink—eat more. I told you my cooking’s amazing—look how happily you’re eating. Not lying, right?”

“You’ve been holding your glass up for ages—just drink already.” Miss Wang’s mouth was full; she mumbled, slightly embarrassed, because she wasn’t elegant now—but everyone, following Wang Yan’s words, was watching her.

Wang Yan laughed heartily and drank another cup with Bao and the others.

Bao asked, “Boss Wang, how’s it going in Hong Kong?”

“Fine, but in my view, when something reaches its peak, decline follows—it’s now at its final zenith. The space is small, so growth is limited. It’s all propped up by finance and services. But in the end, finance must touch the ground; the game of capital depends on the hard labor of the masses.”

“I think in another ten years, Hong Kong will decline—or at least slow down significantly. By comparison, the mainland has far greater room to grow. Once the foundation is laid, the momentum will be stronger and the pace faster. This is an era of radical change, and the shifts ahead will only grow larger—truly transformative. For us, that’s vast land with boundless opportunity.”

Uncle laughed and said, “Boss Wang has great confidence in us.”

“Because I’m not predicting—I’m stating facts.”

“From what you’re saying, you don’t like the financial market?”

“It’s not about liking or disliking. As I said, finance isn’t a castle in the air—it must touch the ground. How did I get this million? It didn’t appear out of nowhere. It came from people who heard the stock market was hot, believed the myths of sudden wealth, didn’t understand a thing, and rushed in chasing prices. I made money off them.”

“When I first met Lingzi, she told me someone had told Boss Bao that climbing from the bottom to the top of New York’s Empire State Building takes an hour, but jumping from the top takes only 8.8 seconds. I think that’s what Uncle told Boss Bao—those chasing prices are the ones jumping. In the end, this money is stained with blood.”

Uncle smiled silently. Boss Bao looked thoughtful. But Postage Li disagreed: “Oh my, Boss Wang, you shouldn’t say things like that. If we don’t do it, someone else will. Those who make money won’t always make it, and those who jump won’t always jump.”

“Besides, the state is reforming finance—we have no experience. What do we do? We have to feel our way forward. The leaders say to cross the river by feeling the stones. What are we? We’re the stones in the river. Because of our actions, the higher-ups learn what works and what doesn’t.”

“In a market economy, greed must bear consequences. If you don’t understand anything but still want to dream of wealth, don’t blame us when you jump. It’s gambling—the winner takes all. If you can’t afford to lose, don’t play. If everyone were like you, Boss Wang—‘Here’s a hundred thousand, if I lose it, it’s just a month’s earnings, no big deal’—then you’d be the real player, Boss Wang.”

Wang Yan smiled and nodded: “You’ve got a point—that’s why I made money. Thanks for your hard work—running back and forth every day, shipping out a little here, a little there. It’s not easy. Let me toast you again—you’ve got to drink more today.”

Postage Li was delighted and drank heartily with Wang Yan.

Boss Bao turned and asked, “Boss Wang, how’s your shoe and apparel factory coming?”

“Under construction. Actual production won’t start for another month. The Nanjing Road store had issues too. I ordered double-layered floor-to-ceiling glass from the glass factory, but when we tried to install it, something went wrong—it shattered completely. Getting it fully fixed will take another month.”

“Miss Wang said you want to launch a sportswear brand—that’s tough.”

Wang Yan ate while nodding: “I know. My stuff isn’t cheap, so the audience is limited. I have no distribution channels—only one store on Nanjing Road, and zero brand recognition. Anyone who buys is a sucker. The road is winding, but I believe the future is bright. Take it slow—it’ll come together eventually.”

“So you plan to stick with direct sales?”

“Yes—to guarantee service quality. Right now it’s just Nanjing Road. Later, I’ll open stores one by one in other cities: Beijing, Guangzhou, Shenzhen—first the major ones, then other prefecture-level cities.”

“I told you before—I believe in future real estate appreciation. This is another kind of investment. I’ve bought all my shops in prime locations. Even if my clothes never sell, the rent alone will keep me living comfortably. I’ve got to learn from Teacher Ge. Look at this guy—how relaxed is he?”

“Oh my, the money you spent on that Western-style house on Julu Road could buy me an entire building. What are you learning from me?” Teacher Ge, sipping his wine contentedly, shook his head.

“I’m learning your relaxed attitude toward life.”

“That’s true. Among all of us, Teacher Ge is the most relaxed,” Bao laughed, raising his cup. “Come on, Teacher Ge—cheers!”

“Oh my, you’re all big bosses—so many people envy you—and now you’re talking about me, a lonely old man?”

“People always look at what’s in the pot while eating from the bowl,” Uncle said, lifting his cup to join in the merriment.

Meals are for relaxing. Everyone here is a friend—no formalities. Just chatting about future plans, rambling, lively and full of laughter.

Uncle came today mainly to see Wang Yan, secondarily because he’d never been here before and wanted to meet Lingzi—after all, since Night Tokyo opened, it’s been losing money nonstop. In his words, Lingzi had become a debt demon…

The merriment paused now and then. Tao Tao was drunk. Postage Li was drunk. Teacher Ge was drunk. All loved the party—no one needed urging; they poured their own drinks.

Miss Wang’s face was flushed from wine. If she still wore her old thick-rimmed glasses, she’d look even more sweetly innocent. Lingzi, playing hostess—or perhaps feeling the pressure of meeting Uncle for the first time, like meeting the in-laws—drank a few extra cups, her eyes equally hazy. Linghong was drunk too—maybe envious of others, maybe swept up by the atmosphere—she’d drunk plenty.

Postage Li went home alone, no one cared. Tao Tao went home alone, no one cared—just hailed a taxi, paid the fare, gave the destination, and that was it. Miss Wang left with Bao and Uncle; Bao saw her safely to her building before leaving.

Wang Yan and the young monk, along with others, saw Teacher Ge, Lingzi, and Linghong home—then parted ways…

After dropping Miss Wang off, Bao got into the taxi and asked Uncle, who was comfortably half-asleep from drink: “Uncle, what do you think of Boss Wang?”

“Better than you.”

“I admit that—but he’s got a family secret recipe. Why didn’t my family have one? No wonder he got rich.”

Uncle sneered, turning to look at Bao: “Does he say ‘family secret’ and it’s really one? Even if he gave you the formula, would you dare hand it over to someone else? Everyone says he gave it out freely out of pity for Jinbao’s mother—but how do you know he didn’t first confirm the person was trustworthy, worth cultivating, before giving it? And his views on finance needing to touch the ground, and the mainland’s rise—I agree with those.”

“You’re still too obsessed with stocks. Look beyond them. Vast land—this world isn’t just stocks…”

“And land,” Bao replied. “I’ll buy some soon.”

Uncle shook his head. He believed land would appreciate, but what he truly wanted Bao to do was open a factory—build real products. Stock trading could lead to ruin—fall once, and you’re finished. You need an escape route. But land is an escape route, so he stayed silent.

“Uncle, you think his clothes will succeed?”

“Yes.”

“You’re that confident in him?”

“He’s bold, has vision, knows how to act—what can’t he accomplish? If not now, then later. He’ll make it.”

“So you’ll get closer to him?”

“He’s a reliable friend,” Uncle nodded, closed his eyes, and fell silent.

Bao stared out the window. He wasn’t thinking of anything else—he thought of Xue Zhi, of Lingzi, of Miss Wang…

In a sizable two-story shop on Nanjing Road, Wang Yan, in a sharp suit with slicked-back hair, warmly handed out two packs of Huaqiao cigarettes to the grimy workers inside. Finally, he opened a new pack himself, lit a cigarette, then went upstairs.

The foreman, dressed in trendy baggy suit, bowed and smiled beside Wang Yan: “Boss Wang, we didn’t make a single mistake this time.”

Wang Yan leaned close, touched the window frame, and turned to the foreman with a smile: “Why so nervous? Did I bully you? Why bow so low? Look at you—there’s still carpentry work ahead, dust everywhere. Why clean the windows so spotless?”

“I just wanted you to see there are no scratches on the glass.”

“With glass this big, do you think I can inspect it all? Waste of effort.”

Wang Yan waved his hand, slapped the foreman’s shoulder: “Enough. I already told you last time—you don’t have to pay. I said it publicly—would I come after you later? Besides, the Western house I bought on Julu Road isn’t even renovated yet. Once this job’s done, I’ll have you guys handle the renovation.”

“Yes, yes, yes—but I’m still uneasy. I specifically ordered two huge glass panels. The manufacturer didn’t mess up, the transport didn’t mess up—but I messed up. I made Boss Wang waste money—I feel terrible.”

“So pay me back?”

“Uh…”

“See? You won’t pay, yet you say you feel bad. Give me something real.” Wang Yan chuckled, pulled several stacks of cash from his briefcase, and weighed them in his hand. “How’s this for real?”

“Real! Very real, Boss Wang!” The foreman’s eyes nearly glued to the money. He cautiously watched Wang Yan, extended his hands, gently took the cash, then snatched them back.

“You think I’d steal your money?” Wang Yan lightly punched the foreman’s chest. “Tomorrow afternoon, go to… Julu Road, number… I’ll discuss the renovation with you.”

“Boss Wang, rest assured—I’ll make it beautiful. You’ll live there your whole life.”

“You need to fix that habit—don’t overpromise. If someone takes you seriously, you’ll be in trouble. Alright, clean up. I’m leaving.”

Surrounded by the workers’ gazes, Wang Yan got in his car and drove off. In the rearview mirror, he saw the workers clustering around the foreman, all smiling.

The glass cost had been fronted by the foreman. In the end, all workers would split the cost. The money Wang Yan just gave covered both the glass and labor—and included the renovation of his house.

Leaving Nanjing Road, Wang Yan drove toward Pudong. At this time, Pudong wasn’t yet the bustling area it would become, but development along the river was already quite good.

But Wang Yan’s factory needed to be deeper inland.

After months of construction, the factory building was complete. It wasn’t elegant—no high-rises—just higher ceilings, with production floors over five meters tall. The administrative offices were simple single-story buildings, but much larger, occupying a vast stretch of land.

After Wang Yan ran around tirelessly, all machinery had been delivered, and raw materials purchased in bulk. Workers were local, supplemented by skilled laborers recruited from other shoe and apparel factories.

Capacity wasn’t an issue—he couldn’t even sell much, so why worry? He didn’t rush to open. Instead, he slowly produced a few garments first, ensuring stable output. After all, his clothes were expensive—craftsmanship had to be flawless; loose threads wouldn’t do. He slowly built up inventory before launching.

The brand and trademark were fully registered: “Hongyun”—using the traditional character for “hong” and simplified for “yun.” The logo was a minimalist black crane with a single red dot—striking and prominent. “Hongyun Dangtou, Yidian Hong”—auspicious, lucky. He wrote the characters himself, drew the logo himself—his aesthetic was top-tier.

With no designer on staff, he designed the clothes himself. The styles weren’t revolutionary, but still ahead of the times: sportswear, hoodies, shoes copied from future designs—all emphasizing color and aesthetics.

He had no intention of exporting clothes overseas and repackaging them with nonsense Latin letters as foreign brands—even though that worked well. He refused to stoop to it. It meant nothing.

The irrational belief that things with Latin letters were “prestigious” was clearly wrong—but it was happening anyway…

The most important thing: Wang Yan took time off to go to Beijing and find the national team. A sportswear brand must support sports—and rely on sports stars to build its reputation.

After detailed talks and multiple contacts—even though not a single “Hongyun” item existed on the market—he successfully secured sponsorship from the national team. He designed and produced their uniforms; the first batch would be delivered after the Spring Festival.

This was a long-term investment. The initial impact might only show at the 1992 Olympics. When the athletes competed, Wang Yan would flood the media with news, creating overwhelming momentum—and that would become…

“Boss Wang, what are you sneaking around doing? This is the first time you’ve been to Night Tokyo since you treated us last time—over a month! We haven’t seen you—did you go get rich again?”

Lingzi, holding a beer, asked Wang Yan, who was eating and drinking heartily.

“Oh my, even I can’t find you,” Teacher Ge said, sipping his beer. “Are you moving?”

“Boss Wang, I tried calling you several times—but every time I picked up the phone, I couldn’t bring myself to dial,” Tao Tao said.

Linghong looked disgusted: “Will Boss Wang eat you?”

“Oh my, if it were me, you wouldn’t…”

“Tao Tao,” Wang Yan tapped his chopsticks. “If you called me about anything serious, I wouldn’t say a word. But what are you asking? Are Hong Kong women pretty?”

“Alright, alright, Boss Wang, I’m wrong—I’m truly wrong.”

“Oh my, Tao Tao, I misjudged you. Are you cheating on Fangmei?” Linghong grinned, sensing a scandal.

“What? Men notice beautiful women—that’s normal! Times are more open now—go outside and look. Every man’s eyes follow beauties. Teacher Ge, don’t pretend you’re too old—he’s still looking, oh my, he’s loving it.”

“Nonsense! I didn’t look! If you say that, I’m devoted to my wife!” Teacher Ge waved his hands.

“You two—don’t blame each other. I saw you the other day—when a woman walked by…”

Lingzi waved her hand impatiently: “Enough! We’re talking about Boss Wang—why are you drifting off?”

Teacher Ge quickly jumped in: “Oh yes, yes—Little Northeast, what have you been busy with lately? Are you moving?”

Wang Yan gnawed on a chicken leg, grease on his mouth, shook his head: “I’ll move after the New Year. The house needs a full renovation, the courtyard needs redesigning—it’ll take time. I’ve been busy with the shoe and apparel factory and the seasoning factory. The seasoning factory doesn’t need my attention—Jinbao’s mother runs it excellently. But the apparel factory? Not so easy.”

“I leased land, built the factory, bought equipment, hired and trained workers, bought materials, and bought a shop on Nanjing Road—I’ve spent over two million. The shop and renovation costs are still owed to the bank. I’ve put in over a million of my own money—and not a single garment has sold yet. How could I not be busy?”

“Oh my, we all warned you—Boss Bao warned you, Miss Wang warned you—you insisted on apparel, insisted on a brand. Now look—you’ve reaped what you sowed!”

Lingzi counted people on her fingers, looking regretful.

“That’s too soon—it’s only just begun.”

“Oh my, Boss Lady, that’s a clever way to put it. But I said before: the path is winding, the future is bright.”

“The future is you bankrupted,” Teacher Ge was deeply skeptical.

Wang Yan raised an eyebrow: “Lingzi, is this the last bottle of Maotai?”

“Yes.”

“Oh my, Little Northeast, you can do anything—you’ll sell your clothes all over the world, make a fortune. Get rich! What’s your brand called?”

Wang Yan smiled: “Hongyun.”

“Hongyun Dangtou—perfect! Just the name tells you it’ll become a global brand,” Teacher Ge was suddenly very optimistic.

Ling Hong couldn’t bear to look: “Oh my, you old man, you’ve got no spirit at all—want to drink? Buy your own booze.”

Tao Tao nodded along: “Exactly, exactly—your coffin money’s meant to be spent. Look at you, hanging around Boss Wang so close, how many chances to get rich have you missed?”

“Ling Hong doesn’t drink often—she’s just talking. There’s so much liquor at Night Tokyo, and am I the only one drinking it all? Oh my, I’m just an old man, two taels a meal—how could I possibly drink that much?”

“I’m good friends with Boss Wang—what’s wrong with me drinking? Right, Boss Wang?”

Wang Yan nodded absently, eating and drinking on his own. He arrived late; everyone else had already finished their meal. These dishes were made fresh by the young monk at Lingzi’s order, after they learned he was coming. Everyone knew Boss Wang had a big appetite and could eat a lot. Lingzi was truly generous—this was a proper feast.

To be honest, Wang Yan had never spent a penny at Lingzi’s place. The Maotai she gave him was all drunk by Ge Laoshi and Tao Tao; occasionally Bao came by and had some, but no one else ever got any. Besides, he supplied the barbecue seasoning—something worthless, everyone knew his cost was just 27 fen per unit.

The lamb skewer marinade recipe wasn’t precious either. Lingzi didn’t sell them often—even if she didn’t roast or thread them herself, she found it too much trouble. Only when this group wanted to eat did she make some. Perhaps the most important point was that Wang Yan had trained the young monk, whose skills had improved rapidly…

Ge Laoshi and Tao Tao argued over who drank more, who shouldn’t drink, who should pay, and who was the tightest-fisted. Then they dragged in Ling Hong, and the three of them bickered endlessly. Next they turned to Lingzi, who sat quietly drinking with Wang Yan, enjoying peaceful evenings—and accused her of taking advantage of Bao, running a bad business, and always losing money. Lingzi joined in, scolding them all as ungrateful wretches, and the whole scene grew lively…

Wang Yan smiled amiably, eating and drinking heartily on his side. Every now and then they called on him to settle the dispute—he just muttered “Mm-hmm,” “Uh-huh,” in reply.

Honestly, after too long in quietness, you really do need to come sit at Night Tokyo. Only then do you realize how precious peace and quiet truly are…