Chapter 9: Keep Your Voice Down, My Dad

For the next two days, Chen Yansen stayed home solving problems.

Only when a Shunfeng delivery guy called did he slowly walk downstairs to retrieve three packages.

The samples sent by three suppliers each consisted of one MP3 and one MP4, with nearly identical exterior designs and functions.

The MP3 had 2GB of internal memory and supported SD card expansion up to a maximum of 16GB.

It featured a 110mAh lithium battery that, according to the seller, could play continuously for 70 hours and supported MP3 and WMA formats.

The front had a 1.8-inch display supporting TXT-format e-books, with slightly crude workmanship.

“Total electronic trash!”

Chen Yansen toyed with the MP3 in his hand and sighed.

But this was 2010—its wholesale price of around twenty yuan would absolutely sell out like wildfire at rural market fairs!

The MP4’s craftsmanship was far superior, all with 4GB of internal memory, SD card expansion support, and a maximum expansion of 16GB.

It had a 4.3-inch screen with 720p resolution, a piano-finish surface, and looked impressively premium, supporting image browsing, voice recording, and radio functions.

The wholesale prices from the three suppliers were 105 yuan, 110 yuan, and 118 yuan respectively—equally highly competitive.

“The quality isn’t a big issue; choosing which supplier depends on their sincerity in after-sales service and gifts.”

After studying for half a day, Chen Yansen let out a long breath.

*Rip!*

He tore off a page from his notebook, leaned over the coffee table, and wrote on it: banners, pull-up stands, folding tables and chairs, wallets, suits, loose change, etc.

Clearly, he was making his final preparations for his first pot of gold.

After accounting for every detail, Chen Yansen shoved the note into his pocket and stepped out the door.

In the summer evening, shadows filled the streets; vendors at intersections shouted loudly, and the air carried the scent of grilled skewers.

Chen Yansen rode along a narrow alley lined with blue-tiled roofs and gray bricks.

He’d originally planned to go to an internet cafe, but halfway there, his stomach growled—he suddenly remembered he hadn’t eaten dinner.

“First, fill my stomach.”

Chen Yansen turned around at the intersection, followed his memory, and found a wonton shop.

“One bowl of wontons, and three liang of potstickers.”

Chen Yansen plopped down and called out to the busy owner at the door.

“Got it, wait a moment.”

The middle-aged man with a receding hairline grinned, quickly replied, then went back to his work.

“Shanghai in 2010—seen once, gone forever.”

Chen Yansen smiled faintly, silently mocking himself.

In his past life, he was busy making money; after graduation, he returned only once every two or three years, and over time, his memories faded.

“Chen Yansen!”

As he drifted off, a familiar voice came from outside.

The voice was clear and pleasant, but carried clear anger.

“Why didn’t you reply to my messages?”

Meng Jie stormed over, fists clenched tight, her expression suggesting she wanted to punch Chen Yansen hard in the face.

“Did you even send me a message?”

Chen Yansen froze, bewildered, then tossed his phone onto the table and tilted his head. “Here, find it for me.”

“But you told me to look—don’t back out now.”

Meng Jie picked up the Nokia N78 on the table, opened Mobile QQ, and a cascade of notification sounds erupted.

“Don’t you ever log into QQ?”

She glanced at the screen—every corner was red dots, all unread messages. Meng Jie finally understood: Chen Yansen wasn’t ignoring her—he ignored everyone equally.

“Who uses that thing? I only use… phone calls.”

Chen Yansen sneered, the words “WeChat” almost slipping out—but he caught himself in time.

“Then who was the one stealing vegetables from my farm last week?”

Meng Jie pulled out a delicate pink Ainixin X10 and pointed at a line of text on the screen.

“Uh-oh! [Du Ji √ Panguang] stole your [Dragon Fruit], lost [8]!”

“Uh-oh! [Du Ji √ Panguang] stole your [Rose], lost [5]!”

“Uh-oh! [Du Ji √ Panguang] stole your [Starfruit], lost [2]!”

…

Chen Yansen chuckled awkwardly—his vegetable-stealing frequency had been excessive.

“Zihao often logs in for me to harvest. Maybe it was him.”

Chen Yansen smoothly pinned the blame on Wang Zihao.

“Really?”

Meng Jie didn’t believe him.

“Give me back my phone—I’ll reply to you now.”

Chen Yansen steered the topic back; he knew Meng Jie’s real concern wasn’t about stealing vegetables.

“Actually, nothing much—just wanted to invite you to play basketball.”

Hearing this, Meng Jie’s cheeks flushed faintly, and she grew shy, gripping the N78 tightly, refusing to return it.

“If it’s nothing, why won’t you let me see it?”

Chen Yansen watched her strange expression, then suddenly moved to snatch the phone back.

“I’ll give it back in three seconds!”

Meng Jie stepped back quickly, typed furiously, and when she saw all messages cleared, she sighed in relief and smiled.

“Deleted everything?”

Chen Yansen sat on the stool and asked suddenly.

“Yeah.”

Meng Jie answered instinctively—then realized what she’d said.

“So what exactly did you message me?”

Chen Yansen crossed his arms, eyes twinkling with mischief, scanning her up and down.

“To invite you to play basketball.”

Meng Jie handed back the phone, her smile sly—clearly betting on no evidence left.

Chen Yansen didn’t care—he could guess the message’s general content from her reaction. He took the phone and flipped through it casually.

Skipping past a flood of group messages from “Class 3, Grade 10,” the person who messaged him most, besides Wang Zihao, was someone named “Smile, Pulling at the Corner of the Mouth,” with a profile picture of a girl with a bun.

He squinted—too non-mainstream to recognize; probably just a stock internet image.

“Chen Yansen, you were way too much today!”

“????”

“Why didn’t you reply to my messages?!”

“Last chance—if you don’t reply, don’t expect me to talk to you again.”

“Stop messing around—I’m really mad this time!”

“...”

Chen Yansen tapped open the chat window, glanced briefly, and instantly knew who it was.

“Heh, who has time to mess with you.”

Chen Yansen didn’t bother replying—he blocked and deleted the user in one clean motion.

Sitting across from him, Meng Jie leaned forward, watching every move. After a pause, she brought up a new topic: “I heard from Haozi that you both applied to Xucheng College?”

“No choice—we’re both stuck on the second-tier cutoff. It’s the schools choosing us, not the other way around.”

Chen Yansen spoke calmly; though his words sounded pitiful, his expression showed zero concern.

“Last time you said I’d slip through the cracks—maybe the three of us will still be classmates.”

Meng Jie spoke carefully, stealing glances at his reaction.

“Did you also list Xucheng College as your second choice?”

Chen Yansen was surprised—he remembered Meng Jie would slip through this time, end up not enrolling anywhere, and retake the exam next year to enter Luzhou University of Finance and Economics.

“Yeah.”

Meng Jie nodded, casually replying.

“Being classmates? No thanks. I suggest you retake the exam for another year—your ability could easily get you into a 211 university.”

Chen Yansen offered the advice.

“You sound exactly like my dad.”

Meng Jie sighed softly, propped her chin on her hand, looking melancholy.

A plain white T-shirt clung to her frame, outlining her petite, slender figure. Close as they were, a faint, fresh scent of gardenia drifted toward him.

“You haven’t forgotten our bet last time—I like white stockings.”

Chen Yansen leaned back, studying Meng Jie’s delicate features, then abruptly shifted topics: “Remember our bet?”

“You’re being too loud—my dad’s right outside!”

Meng Jie quickly clamped her hand over Chen Yansen’s mouth, turned to look outside—and seeing her father still chatting with friends, she finally relaxed.

(End of chapter)