Chapter 224: The Cruel Jungle

On the fourth day, Jin Peng came to find Li Ye.

"Guo Donglun left. He told me that if you go to Yangcheng, he'll treat you to drinks."

"Didn't he say anything to you these past few days?"

"No, he didn't contact us at all—just visited several malls we've moved into, spending entire days there."

"I thought he might check out the renovation site on Xiushuijie, but he suddenly left yesterday, leaving behind one message."

Li Ye raised an eyebrow and asked, "What message?"

Jin Peng said, "He said our cooperation might be terminated at any moment—you need to speed up and work harder."

"Does he need to tell me that?" Li Ye chuckled. "Call Hao Jian. Let him know our situation—if we perform poorly at the Guangjiao Society, we'll run out of food."

"We won't run out," Jin Peng smiled. "Recently, several external factories in Jingcheng have contacted us, asking if we can increase cooperation—they'll source the raw materials themselves, as long as we guarantee sales and pay in cash."

Li Ye asked with a smile, "You didn't agree?"

"How could I not agree?" Jin Peng said. "Tian Hongshan has already connected with shopping malls around Jingcheng's suburbs—once our sales staff are trained, they can open immediately."

"So I'm the only idle one, then?"

"How could you be idle?" Jin Peng chuckled and handed Li Ye a parcel. "It arrived by express from Hong Kong—some tasks can only be done by you, no one else can handle them."

Li Ye took it and saw it was from Pei Wencong.

Inside were manuscript drafts—all in English.

A few had labels attached, detailing the authors' backgrounds: past publications, awards won—clearly these authors were "renowned writers."

Li Ye thought for a moment, then went to the post office to make an international call.

When the line connected, Li Ye said to Pei Wencong, "I received the manuscripts you mailed, but I won't offer any feedback."

"Our original plan was to rely entirely on market response—why did you single out these seasoned authors' drafts as a separate category?"

"It's standard practice in publishing—seasoned authors always get special treatment,"

Pei Wencong explained. "These authors have some influence; if handled well, they'll boost the buzz around our prize submission campaign."

"And right now, it's working—many media outlets have already reviewed the works of these seasoned authors."

Li Ye thought for a moment and said, "Then add a Best Review Award—let readers submit evaluation letters, select the finest ones for publication, and let readers vote to draw more enthusiasm."

"Also, subtly mix the submissions from ordinary writers with those from seasoned ones—won't that raise the topic's buzz? And consider raising the prize money slightly."

"Mr. Li, slow down—I'm writing this down."

Pei Wencong quickly grabbed paper and pen and carefully noted Li Ye's suggestions.

After finishing, he felt Li Ye was the true veteran of publishing—he, a ten-year industry veteran, felt like a novice.

But Pei Wencong had no idea that in the future, there would be a behavior called—fighting.

Come on! Fan the flames, sow discord—let them tear each other apart. The fiercer the fight, the happier the audience.

"So, Mr. Li, how will we ultimately decide the winner? By topic buzz, or…"

"Of course by book sales," Li Ye said seriously. "We're a legitimate publisher, dedicated to providing readers with the finest works—we won't show favoritism to anyone. How many people have pre-ordered so far?"

"."

Pei Wencong blinked, then realized: "Over ten thousand people already—still increasing. We plan to stop accepting submissions once we hit one hundred thousand pre-orders, to avoid revealing plot details too early."

"Then that's settled. Any other matters?"

"No, no—wait, one more thing," Pei Wencong lowered his voice. "Mr. Li, the Hang Seng Index has dropped a hundred points—what do you think?"

Li Ye asked curiously, "A hundred-point drop? We're still far from seven hundred. What did Luo Runbo say? Did he suggest exiting?"

Pei Wencong immediately replied, "No, Luo Runbo also advised continuing."

"Then why are you in a rush?" Li Ye said. "Let professionals handle professional matters. Don't interfere too much—otherwise Old Luo will get angry."

Luo Runbo professional? If he were, how could he be stuck like this? This is your fortune, boss—I just want to ride a little of it.

Pei Wencong smiled apologetically: "No, no—he thinks we've already made over ten times profit, so he just asked. Since you say not to liquidate, I'll tell him to follow your lead."

"I'm not selling. Tell him to wait for my instructions."

Li Ye didn't expose Pei Wencong's little lie—he'd just spoken to Luo Runbo two days ago, and Luo not only insisted on holding, but also asked if Li Ye wanted to increase financial leverage.

So Li Ye understood: Pei Wencong had followed his trend.

After hanging up, Pei Wencong called Ah Min in.

"Organize these points and send them to our overseas partners—get them to implement them quickly."

Ah Min glanced at the paper and complained: "Boss, you're a top graduate from Hong Kong University—why don't you do this yourself? If I mess up the translation…"

"Mess up and you're fired," Pei Wencong snapped. "Don't you know how many job applications we get every day? Don't you want to improve?"

Ah Min: "."

Nowadays, Boss Pei had moved into an office with an unbeatable sea view; the publishing house had grown, hiring many new staff—all with higher degrees than Ah Min.

But Ah Min still held the number-two position. Pei Wencong felt she was getting arrogant—she needed a reminder.

"Yes, Boss!"

After leaving Pei Wencong's office, Ah Min handed the paper to a new young hire.

"Organize and translate these suggestions, send them to our overseas partners, and push them to act fast. If you make a mistake, you know the consequences."

"."

………………

In springtime Britain, rain was abundant—mostly sudden showers. After the hurried spring rains, the ancient, gloomy buildings would gleam with clean colors.

Yang Liqin walked quickly through Manchester's streets under her umbrella, dodging puddles splashed by passing cars, until she entered a Chinese archway and finally relaxed.

Yang Liqin had been in Britain for two years and knew Manchester's safety wasn't as good as some claimed—especially toward vulnerable female international students like her.

But once she passed through that archway, her black hair and yellow skin earned her more kindness, more warmth—because this was Chinatown.

Manchester's Chinatown was Britain's second Chinatown, later called "Britain's waystation for overseas Chinese."

As early as 150 years ago, China had commercial ties with Manchester.

At the time, Qing envoy Bin Chun recorded in his travelogue "Notes on a Journey on a Raft": "This place is Britain's second port, where flowers, Indian cotton, and American cotton all converge."

This was the earliest recorded account of Chinese travelers in Manchester. As Britain's Industrial Revolution surged, Sino-British cotton textile trade grew closer, and Manchester became a vital bridge between the two nations.

Later, Manchester became the region in northern Britain with the densest Chinese population, forming Britain's largest Chinatown.

The grand Chinese archway at the entrance, with its traditional dragon-and-phoenix patterns, carried the homesick yearnings of overseas Chinese.

"Hello, Uncle Hu, business good today?"

"Excellent, excellent! Little Miss Yang, come in for a cup of hot tea?"

"No, no, thank you, Uncle Hu—I've already been delayed. If I'm late again, I'll be late."

"Bah, late? Boss Zhao isn't that strict. A few minutes in this weather doesn't matter."

"He doesn't mind, but we can't take it for granted. Oh, by the way, Uncle Hu—did you see that fellow from Dongshan, Xiao Lu, pass by today?"

"Didn't notice."

"Then I've got to hurry—two people late means a pair, Boss will be frantic."

"Hey, slow down—someone stole the manhole cover ahead. Probably some brat who lost money gambling again."

Yang Liqin, warned by Uncle Hu, detoured around the corner and entered the Dongshan Restaurant where she worked.

The boss said nothing harsh—just smiled and waved her to dry her hair and get ready to serve.

This was 1983's Chinatown: though some stole, others still remembered their homeland's deep affection—letting students feel, in an instant, the overseas Chinese's longing for their motherland.

Yang Liqin changed clothes and entered the kitchen, finding the new student she'd recommended already there—and finished her own tasks.

"Jingyao, how'd you get here so early? Skip class again?"

Both Yang Liqin and Lu Jingyao were international students at the University of Salford, but Lu Jingyao had just arrived in Britain with no savings—she never took buses. How could she walk faster than Yang Liqin?

"No," Lu Jingyao said while working. "I borrowed a classmate's bike and took a shortcut."

"A shortcut? You're bold."

Yang Liqin frowned. "Didn't I tell you not to take shortcuts? What if something happened?"

"I won't do it again," Lu Jingyao smiled sheepishly. "I thought today's rain meant no one would notice my skin color."

"Don't be careless. Never rely on luck. Now, get back to work."

Yang Liqin planned to finish her duties first, then properly lecture Lu Jingyao later.

This Dongshan compatriot was hardworking and quick-handed—but her thinking was too naive.

They worked until nine at night before finally getting a moment to rest.

Even though Lu Jingyao had been used to farm work back home, she sat exhausted in her chair, too tired to move.

But others in the restaurant seemed used to this workload—some read newspapers, others chatted.

In Chinatown shops, you could buy newspapers printed in Hong Kong and flown in by special aircraft—so those who arrived through special channels needed them badly, since their English was poor.

Yang Liqin pulled Lu Jingyao aside, her face cold. "Lu Jingyao, I must tell you seriously—if you ever again ignore your safety like today, I'll recommend to the boss that you lose this job."

Lu Jingyao stared at Yang Liqin, stunned—how could this fellow countrywoman, who had always cared for her, be so harsh?

Seeing Lu Jingyao didn't grasp the seriousness, Yang Liqin said directly: "I recommended you. If anything happens to you and the school finds out, it'll drag me down."

"Remember—in Britain, our compatriots help you out of kindness, but they won't risk their own trouble."

"I understand, Liqin-jie. I won't do it again—I just…"

"Just what?"

Lu Jingyao smiled awkwardly. "Lately, at school and in Chinatown, everyone seems so kind, so polite, so… gentlemanly. So I thought…"

"Don't ever think that."

Yang Liqin said sternly: "Remember here—never take 'polite respect' seriously. They may treat you respectfully on the surface, but inside they don't…"

"Here, fathers call their daughters 'my little princess' from childhood—but if someone tells you you're his little princess, praises you as beautiful as a princess, never believe you actually are one."

"Gentlemen only exist when parties are equal in status; you must remain vigilant toward everyone around you—even me."

""

Lu Jingyao froze.

She had only been in Britain for two months when she met a fellow countryman from her school, landed a job without trouble, and last month received her first salary—a full pound.

She felt this place was wonderful; every teacher, classmate, coworker, and boss treated her kindly. How, then, did Yang Liqin make it sound as if she had entered not a civilized society, but a brutal jungle where only the strong survive?

"What are you two arguing about?"

The restaurant owner walked over with a smile and handed Lu Jingyao a newspaper.

"I remember you used to be in the English department, didn't you, Xiao Lu? Take a look—maybe this could make you rich overnight!"

The weekend off feels worse than no day off at all—endless nonsense, and I can't even focus on writing.

(End of Chapter)