Chapter 12: If It

The sun rose in the east, the summer breeze cool and light.

Chen Yansen stood at the alley’s mouth, six cardboard boxes and a pile of supplies beside his feet, holding a thousand-layer pancake wrapped around a crispy fried dough stick, devouring it with relish.

The pancake layered spicy minced chili and yellow bean paste, enclosing a fragrant, crunchy fried dough stick—each bite brought immense satisfaction.

Beside him, Wang Zihao tugged at a strand of his bangs, agonizing for a long while, then turned to Wang Yanyan: “Which way should we tilt it?”

“Bro, to the right.”

Wang Yanyan, still half-asleep, nodded listlessly and replied offhandedly.

“I think left looks better.”

Wang Zihao held his phone, staring at his reflection on screen, silently praising himself as ‘handsome as hell,’ then immediately reached his conclusion.

“Pfft!”

Wang Yanyan’s tone was dismissive—she’d expected this. She knew people with indecision didn’t want answers; they wanted someone to eliminate one option.

“Five minutes left till seven. Will Coach Huang ditch us?”

Wang Zihao glanced at the time and grew irritable.

“Why rush? There’s still five minutes.”

Chen Yansen didn’t look up, continuing to eat his breakfast.

In his past life, he’d dealt with Huang Boxiang—this man had a foul temper, but was also straightforward and honest.

According to his estimate, reselling MP3s and MP4s could bring in at least ten to twenty thousand a day; hiring any random driver might invite trouble.

Chen Yansen wasn’t afraid of criminals, but he hated complications.

Smart people avoided potential risks—that was wisdom.

Huang Boxiang was at least someone he knew well; compared to safety concerns, being late was trivial.

Besides…

A burst of engine roar cut through the mist as a silver Bluebird pulled up before them.

It was 6:59 a.m.!

“Chen… Boss, shall we depart now?”

Huang Boxiang leaned out of the car, his gaze flickering over them; seeing the three were young, he was briefly startled, then spoke up warmly.

Yesterday on the phone, Chen Yansen had demanded ten days of his time—he was clearly a major client!

His tone naturally grew more courteous.

Huang Boxiang, in his early forties, of average build and slightly overweight, wore a dark blue work uniform with “Da Xiang” printed on his chest—still advertising even while doing side jobs.

“Master Huang, let’s load up first! Can you lend a hand?”

Chen Yansen nodded, asking tentatively.

“Sure thing. Let me check the trunk—see if it’ll fit.”

Huang Boxiang didn’t refuse, agreeing readily.

The trunk lid popped open with a thud; he stepped out, roughly estimated the cargo volume, then turned back: “Should be fine.”

Before Chen Yansen could speak, he immediately lifted a box and carefully stacked it into the trunk.

“Boss Chen, what’s all this cargo? If it’s all fragile, I can wrap it in foam for you.”

Huang Boxiang, while loading, casually inquired.

“No need. Nothing breaks easily.”

Chen Yansen glanced up at him—he hadn’t expected Huang Boxiang, though seemingly simple, to be so shrewd.

He understood the man’s concern: he feared transporting contraband and getting dragged into trouble.

“Good.”

Huang Boxiang chuckled awkwardly, kept loading, his eyes scanning the box labels—until he spotted “Mei Mo MP3 × 100,” then he exhaled in relief.

Only a few boxes—within moments, they were neatly stacked.

“Master Huang, today we’re going to Zhongqiaozhen.”

Chen Yansen stepped into the front passenger seat, fastened his seatbelt, and instructed.

“Understood, Boss Chen.”

Huang Boxiang responded politely, not showing the slightest disrespect due to Chen Yansen’s youth.

Sitting in the back, Wang Zihao inwardly marveled: “Who says Coach Huang has a bad temper? He’s quite gentle.”

He noticed Huang Boxiang always called Chen Yansen “Boss Chen”—he instantly understood: Chen Yansen hadn’t told him they were driving school students.

The car started, speeding along the ring road.

Through the window, distant breakfast stalls bustled with smoke curling upward, voices rising in the dawn’s soft glow.

Chen Yansen’s gaze grew distant, lost in thought, then he closed his eyes, breathing steadily, soon dozing off.

To catch the early market, he’d risen before dawn; now, exhaustion overwhelmed him—he dropped straight to sleep.

“Chen…”

Wang Zihao, eager to discuss sales strategy, instinctively reached to wake him.

“Wu wu wu—”

Wang Yanyan, beside him, reacted instantly, clamping a hand over his mouth.

“Bro, quiet. Let Chen Yansen sleep a bit longer.”

Wang Yanyan shot her brother a glare, whispering a warning.

“You’re siding with the outsider! Wang Yanyan, look closely—I’m your real brother!”

Wang Zihao pried her hand off, lowering his voice, looking wounded.

“Shh!”

Wang Yanyan raised a thumb, smiling sweetly, her bright peach-blossom eyes gleaming—her pupils reflected a sharp-suited young man, eyes half-closed, lost in dreams.

The ride passed in silence.

Twenty minutes later, the noise outside grew louder; Chen Yansen reluctantly opened his eyes and sat up straight.

“Ahead is Zhongqiaozhen’s main market. Where should we park?”

Huang Boxiang, seeing he was awake, immediately asked.

“Near the market entrance or exit—is there a bank, a large supermarket, or a government office?”

Chen Yansen asked thoughtfully.

To make this resale business work, he first needed a suitable stall location.

Market stalls in rural towns were either officially assigned and rented, or spontaneously formed by locals on a first-come, first-served basis.

But neither suited him!

The first involved too much bureaucracy—he’d stay at each market at most two days; the second, though first-come-first-served, saw the busiest spots already taken by veteran vendors—if you tried to grab one, they’d pull knives.

Huang Boxiang, who’d driven illegally for years across a dozen towns around Chunshen, was essentially a living map—he could answer this with his eyes shut.

“At the exit, there’s a small clinic. No supermarket or bank, but at the entrance, there’s a Police Inspector’s office.”

Huang Boxiang squinted, listing details with familiarity.

“Can we set up a stall there?”

Chen Yansen’s interest sparked.

“At the Police Inspector’s office?”

Huang Boxiang was baffled—who in their right mind would set up a stall right outside a Police Inspector’s office?

“Master Huang, let me introduce myself—I’m the sales manager of Yangcheng Mei Mo Electronics Factory. This is my colleague Wang Zihao. We’re on a business trip to promote our MP3 and MP4 products, so our priority is finding a suitable spot for promotion.”

Chen Yansen pointed behind him, speaking with convincing detail.

“Oh, you two start work early.”

Huang Boxiang nodded in understanding, chuckling.

In his view, though Chen Yansen and Wang Zihao wore suits and looked like white-collar workers, their faces were painfully young.

Even generously estimating, he guessed they were no older than twenty-three or twenty-four.

“Our family’s poor—we started working early to ease our parents’ burden.”

Chen Yansen lied without a flicker of guilt, utterly natural.

Sitting in the back, Wang Zihao nearly burst out laughing—what the hell was this “sales manager” and “Mei Mo Electronics Factory”?

Damn it, Chen Yansen could bullshit like a pro!

“Hey, the girl in back—is she your colleague too?”

Huang Boxiang paused, then frowned in suspicion.

“She’s not.”

Chen Yansen denied it outright, offering no further explanation.

“Usually no one dares set up a stall outside the Police Inspector’s office, so I don’t know if it’s allowed.”

“But once, passing by, I thought I saw someone selling baked bread there—though maybe I was mistaken.”

Huang Boxiang was an honest man—he spoke plainly, steering the conversation back.

“If it’s not forbidden, then it’s allowed!”

Chen Yansen declared firmly, then gestured for Huang Boxiang to keep driving.

“Huh?”

Huang Boxiang’s mouth hung open, his expression frozen—he realized his mind operated on a completely different frequency from Chen Yansen’s.

(End of Chapter)