Chapter 331

"Chen Dama, got any garlic? Two cloves, please."

"I'll take another bowl of noodle broth—I ate too much, need to digest."

"I want another bowl of noodles—I'm still hungry!"

In Jiang Xiaoyan's noodle shop, Li Ye, Li Yue, and six others each had a large bowl, eating heartily.

On a freezing winter day, a steaming bowl of mutton noodle soup instantly drove away all the chill.

Jiang Yougui, Jiang Xiaoyan's father, shuffled out of the kitchen with a big handful of garlic cloves and two bowls of broth, placing them on the table.

"Hehe, eat up—it's free, plenty to go around."

"How can it be free? Uncle Jiang, if you don't charge us, we won't dare eat."

"No, really, we can't take money."

Jiang Yougui rubbed his sleeves, cheeks flushed with embarrassment, and retreated back into the kitchen.

Inside the kitchen, Jiang Xiaoyan scolded him in a low voice: "Can't you speak properly? Always blabbing about money—you're so annoying, why don't you just go back to the countryside?"

"I didn't say anything wrong! It's supposed to be free—we're all classmates, charging money would be ridiculous."

Hearing the man's plaintive tone, Li Ye, Hu Man, and the others couldn't help but laugh helplessly.

In the 1980s, there was no short holiday for Spring Festival, so Jiang Xiaoyan and her mother didn't return home with Li Ye and the others, nor did they come back to Beijing together—they stayed in the countryside for only two days before rushing back to run their noodle shop.

After arriving at Jiang Xiaoyan's shop, the group discovered that Jiang Yougui, who had been in the countryside all last year, had come to Beijing, while Jiang Xiaoning, who had spent months in the capital, was nowhere to be seen.

Everyone felt too awkward to ask outright, so only at the door, as they prepared to leave, did they finally ask Jiang Xiaoyan.

Jiang Xiaoyan said: "What's there to talk about? My brother couldn't handle Beijing's hardships, so he went back home."

Han Xia, blunt and close to Jiang Xiaoyan, asked without hesitation: "So your brother's okay with that? Last time I saw him, he swore he'd never go back!"

Jiang Xiaoyan shook her head: "He got a job at a joint-venture instant noodle factory back home—eight hours a day, forty to fifty yuan a month. What's there to resent?"

Han Xia nodded thoughtfully: "True—your family's business is brutal."

Though Jiang Xiaoyan's shop was small, they had to wake up at three or four in the morning to knead dough and didn't close until ten at night—year after year of this grind left them so exhausted they could fall asleep standing.

Jiang Xiaoning had never done hard labor since childhood—how could he endure this?

There was another reason Jiang Xiaoyan didn't mention.

That was: despite all the suffering, Jiang Xiaoning earned almost nothing.

His mother and sister held the money tightly, giving him only five yuan a month for pocket money—say one word more and they'd threaten to deport him as a "floating population."

Jiang Xiaoning worked day and night, had no time even to stroll around Beijing, and lived a miserable life.

Eventually, under his sister's pressure and bribes, Jiang Xiaoning agreed to a humiliating deal: send home fifteen yuan monthly, and stay put waiting for Chen Jinhua to save up for his bride.

As for bringing Jiang Yougui to Beijing, Jiang Xiaoyan didn't want it—her mother Chen Jinhua's serious illness had made her deeply resent her father.

Just now in the shop, Li Ye and the others had sensed the tension between them.

Li Ye glanced at Jiang Xiaoyan's sour expression and said to the others: "You guys go ahead—I'll talk to Xiaoyan."

Jiang Xiaoyan immediately snapped: "Li Ye, are you trying to pay me back for the meal again? Can you stop being so annoying?"

"Am I the annoying type?"

Li Ye glanced at Jiang Xiaoyan and pointed to the shop sign: "Who decided on this sign—your mom or you?"

Jiang Xiaoyan's noodle shop was called "Chen Family Noodle Shop"—the Chen was Chen Jinhua's Chen.

Jiang Xiaoyan frowned: "My mom and I decided together—what's the point?"

Li Ye smiled: "Do you think your mom's smart?"

Jiang Xiaoyan didn't understand his meaning, so she nodded silently.

Even as a college student, she had to admit her mother was sharp and capable—if not for her mother's insistence, Jiang Xiaoyan would've dropped out long ago to farm.

"So," Li Ye whispered, "your mom bringing your dad to Beijing isn't stupid—she's probably planning to split the household."

"Split the household?"

Jiang Xiaoyan froze, suddenly understanding.

No wonder her mother insisted on bringing her father to Beijing despite her fierce opposition.

Li Ye watched Jiang Xiaoyan's expression and smiled: "Before, your mom was stuck in Qingshui County, narrow-minded—but now, she's the head of the household."

"."

Li Ye had watched Chen Jinhua turn the small noodle shop into a thriving business in just one year—and now she was already planning a second branch.

A woman with this kind of drive, once her horizons expanded, would never tolerate being controlled by the Jiang family again.

Just like the shop sign—"Chen Family Noodle Shop"—in this tiny Beijing home, Chen Jinhua now held absolute power.

Jiang Yougui was always a quiet, obedient man—he'd only be fit to be a "supportive husband" from now on.

Li Ye returned to Beijing early for two reasons: first, the university debate team's training; second, of course, to stroll lanterns with Wen Leyu.

And the second reason was the main one—the debate team was just an afterthought.

In China, gender segregation had once been strict, but during the Lantern Festival, whether noble ladies or humble girls, all could walk the lantern-lit streets, gazing at handsome men and dreaming of romantic tales from folk stories.

Thus, dating a girl to stroll lanterns during Lantern Festival had deep, timeless meaning—romance wasn't some foreign import; our ancestors had been doing it for centuries.

Li Ye and Wen Leyu walked hand in hand, each holding a string of candied hawthorns, strolling down streets hung with lanterns.

Occasionally, Li Ye would extend his candied hawthorn toward Wen Leyu's face.

Wen Leyu never refused—she'd open her mouth, bite the hawthorn, and tilt her head to slide it off the bamboo skewer.

Then, within a minute, she'd extend her own string to Li Ye, reversing the process.

Their relationship now was practically that of a real couple—only lacking physical intimacy; even if Li Ye dared to go further, he might well succeed.

"Oh, by the way, my mom had a colleague bring back some literary criticism magazines from Lighthouse—they had reviews of *A Song of Ice and Fire*, and she got angry after reading them."

"Hmm?"

Li Ye spat out the hawthorn seed and said seriously: "What did the review say?"

Wen Leyu said: "A famous writer claimed our book is neither fish nor fowl—not Western thinking at all, just a scam to rip off readers."

"That review… is rather harsh."

After the first volume of *A Song of Ice and Fire* was published, market response was strong—it was now in its second volume, earning heavily—but to call it a scam?

Li Ye suddenly asked: "Is the reviewer named Wood?"

Wen Leyu nodded: "Yes, that's him. My mom asked a classmate familiar with the Lighthouse literary circle—he's no nobody."

"You don't know the backstory," Li Ye said. "When we ran a contest for *A Song of Ice and Fire* in Lighthouse, Wood's draft was first in the Americas—but he couldn't make it to Hong Kong."

Li Ye briefly recounted what happened in Hong Kong, then added: "Wood was proud, didn't care to argue with us—but then *A Song of Ice and Fire* sold so well!"

I asked Pei Wencong over the New Year—according to incomplete stats, last year's revenue was between four and five million U. . dollars.

So if Wood had accepted our translation contract, he'd now have earned forty-five to fifty thousand U. . dollars in translation fees.

With later volumes, the fees could multiply several times over—Wood was proud, so when the money went to someone else, he regretted it."

"Cough cough~"

Li Ye suddenly heard Wen Leyu cough.

He quickly pulled out a small silver thermos from his coat, uncapped it, and pressed it to her lips.

"Gulp gulp gulp~"

Wen Leyu drank half the thermos of warm water, then opened her eyes wide at Li Ye: "Didn't we agree? Just pay them a salary—why give them so much?"

Li Ye had already told Wen Leyu that *A Song of Ice and Fire*'s value would soon exceed ten million U. . dollars—with no ceiling afterward.

At the time, Wen Leyu had doubted it—but Professor Ke believed Li Ye completely.

Later, Li Ye had also told her about "million-dollar royalties," but those figures were within her tolerance—no big deal.

But how quickly had it jumped to five million? Worse—why should those "tools" get fifty thousand?

That was fifty thousand U. . dollars!

Li Ye wrapped his arm around Wen Leyu's waist: "There's no choice—we couldn't meet Western readers' standards with our draft. Ten percent translation fee is mandatory."

"But they earn more, so do we—after deducting twenty percent for the two authors and thirty percent for Pei Wencong, we keep fifty-six percent."

"Oh, we earn more, more."

Wen Leyu nodded vigorously, soothing herself while rapidly calculating one-third of fifty-six percent.

The answer was nearly a million—plus Professor Ke's share, which he'd entrusted to Wen Leyu—so nearly two million U. . dollars would flow into her hands.

But then she remembered something and asked: "You said five million—is that just the Americas version, or combined with Europe?"

Li Ye smiled: "Just the Americas version—Europe sold less, about three million."

Wen Leyu: "………"

She had to recalculate.

Li Ye watched Wen Leyu's eyes gleaming with gold and chuckled: "Xiao Yu, I heard girls from your family aren't interested in money?"

Wen Leyu froze, tilting her head, glancing sideways at Li Ye without speaking.

Because she wore a fluffy mink hat, she looked like a young Northeastern golden tabby kitten, sweetly sizing up Li Ye—"Are you local?"

If you're not local, I might just test my teeth.

You say I'm not interested in money? Then what do you plan to do from now on?

Wen Leyu wasn't greedy—but on her little notebook, one note was written: "Talk seriously with Li Ye—don't let him waste money, learn frugality."

The best way to make someone frugal? Keep his pockets empty.

Though frugality on a ten-yuan salary differs from frugality on a million-dollar salary, Wen Leyu still felt it was her duty to help Li Ye build good habits.

Li Ye blinked, not understanding her gaze, and continued: "I heard you were raised with elite education— 【100】 like who outmaneuvered whom, who outsmarted whom—so small sums like money probably don't even register with you."

For instance, who got ousted by whom, who outmaneuvered and tricked whom—so a small amount of money, such a vulgar thing, might not even catch your eye.

Li Ye wasn't making this up—he'd been a nobody in his past life, but he'd once accompanied his boss to meet a big shot, and the situation had been exactly like this.

But Li Ye wasn't sure if today in 1984 was the same as it would be forty years later.

"Money isn't something noble, but you can't get along without it—and it also depends on how much you have."

Wen Leyu squinted, slipped her small hand into Li Ye's sleeve, gripped his wrist, and pinched hard.

"And since I marry a rooster, I follow the rooster; marry a dog, I follow the dog. Whatever you're interested in later, I'll be interested in too—what's high-end or low-end? If you ever say something so distant again, I'll pinch you till you bleed."

Li Ye's wrist hurt—he immediately realized he was wrong. No matter how ethereal a girl was, she was still a girl, with all the ordinary little quirks.

But for Wen Leyu to say "marry a rooster, follow the rooster; marry a dog, follow the dog" made Li Ye feel genuinely at ease.

It'll be late tonight—sometime after midnight, probably past two in the morning—so just check tomorrow morning! Sorry, sorry!