Chapter 33: Yan Li: If You Regret It, Use Your Mouth

In the days that followed, Yan Li’s life grew regular.

During weekday mornings, he memorized lines at home; in the afternoons, he bought several books on stocks to study.

He also opened several brokerage accounts, mainly to gain basic hands-on experience and subtly integrate into investor circles to expand his intelligence sources.

At night, Yan Li researched and refined his braised meat recipe, trying to make it taste even better.

Occasionally, Yan Li would go out for meals, watch movies, or return home to discuss life with Dong Xuan at her invitation.

There was no choice—Yin Xu had taken on a job and was away; Guan Yue and Tong Dawei were inseparable, coming and going all hours, leaving Dong Xuan always alone.

We broke up, but we’re still friends!

Yan Li was a kind-hearted man, worried that Dong Xuan, as a girl, wasn’t safe alone, so he extended a warm hand out of protective instinct.

Plop~

The door knocked; Dong Xuan tapped Yan Li, who reluctantly pulled his hand out of her clothes.

Dong Xuan straightened her clothes, stood up, and opened the door—it was Zhou Yiwei, who entered with exaggerated winks.

“Brother Li, hope I’m not interrupting.”

“Cut the crap.”

Yan Li laughed and scolded him, then went to the fridge and grabbed a soda: “How’s the paperwork coming?”

Zhou Yiwei was thirsty; he took the soda and downed more than half in one go, letting out a satisfied burp.

“Almost done. I’ll pick it up Monday when the office opens—weekend’s off.”

Yan Li had been busy these days, and Zhou Yiwei wasn’t idle either—he’d bought the tricycle, the thermos, the digital scale, the packaging bags, and handled all the permits for selling food.

In this era, nobody really checked on street vendors like this; worst case, you just dodged the urban management.

But Yan Li believed caution brought no harm—he wanted peace of mind, and since Zhou Yiwei had nothing else to do, it was perfect.

“Alright, I’ve got the recipe finalized. Let’s start selling tomorrow.”

“Good.”

Zhou Yiwei rubbed his hands together eagerly—he’d sold with Yan Li twice before, unofficially, just to test the market, and the meat sold out instantly.

So Zhou Yiwei had full confidence in Yan Li’s braised meat.

He’d invested money too—even if it was a small amount—it was enough to keep him from asking home for cash for now.

…

Zhou Yiwei stuck around for a meal, helped wash the dishes, then took his leave with good sense.

The newly installed wired TV was playing the current hit drama “Liu Laogen,” where Uncle Ben Shan transformed into a peasant entrepreneur leading his villagers to prosperity.

Yan Li loved this drama—he watched it every night, and Dong Xuan snuggled into his arms.

“It’s hot.”

“I don’t mind.”

Yan Li had no choice but to hold her; Dong Xuan leaned against him, playing with his large hand, then asked curiously:

“If you’ve got the recipe, why not just give it to your family? Why bother setting up your own stall?”

“Giving it to the family is one thing—I’m grown now; I can’t keep asking them for money. Setting up my own stall lets me earn a bit, and I can spend it freely.”

Yan Li had already passed the braised meat recipe to his family, but judging by their reaction, his father, Old Yan, didn’t seem to take it seriously.

Think about it—Old Yan had started as a kitchen helper in the commune canteen at fifteen, spent over a decade as a cook before opening his own restaurant, and had been steeped in the smoke of the stove for nearly thirty years.

Yan Li’s skills were taught to him hand-to-hand; his father knew exactly how much skill he had.

Now he’s handed over a braised meat recipe, talking up a storm—Old Yan probably won’t believe it; he likely thinks his son’s just bragging.

Yan Li called twice to persuade him, but it did little good—he was scolded for wasting money on long-distance calls.

So now Yan Li stopped calling altogether.

Fine, don’t use it—when he comes home and braises a pot of meat, that’ll shut him up.

Thinking of it, Yan Li felt a small anticipation—he’d been beaten plenty as a kid; it was time to reclaim some dignity.

As they talked, Yan Li’s phone rang. Seeing the caller ID, he stood and stepped aside to answer.

“...I just helped out a little, you’re too kind... Got it, I’ll wait for your call...”

Dong Xuan pretended to watch TV, but had been listening closely. When Yan Li returned, she feigned casualness:

“Who was that?”

“A friend.”

“Cough... male or female?”

“Female.”

Seeing Dong Xuan’s expression darken, Yan Li ruffled her hair and grinned:

“Just teasing you—didn’t you hear me call him Brother Cheng? He’s a producer I met in Hengdian. I helped him out with a small favor, and now that it’s done, he’s returning to Zhejiang and wants to treat me to dinner.”

“A producer? And he’s treating you to dinner?”

Dong Xuan didn’t believe it. For newcomers like them, producers and directors were big shots—they couldn’t even get invited to dinner, let alone be invited out.

“That’s why I’m impressive. How do you feel now? Regretting breaking up with me? Feels like you lost a treasure, right?”

“Yes yes yes, I regret it so much.”

Dong Xuan increasingly felt Yan Li refused to reconcile because he still harbored resentment from the breakup, so whenever this came up, she’d soothe him with extra tenderness, hoping to ease his bitterness.

“If you regret it, use your mouth.”

Dong Xuan rolled her eyes, placed her hands on Yan Li’s neck, and was about to move forward when he stopped her—he grinned wickedly and repeated:

“If you regret it, use your mouth.”

“Huh?”

Dong Xuan was stunned. Yan Li whispered two things in her ear; her face flushed crimson, and she shook her head like a rattle.

“No.”

Yan Li held up one finger: “Just once.”

“Pfft!”

Dong Xuan spat, stood to run, but Yan Li held her tight, refusing to let go. After several minutes of coaxing and cajoling, she reluctantly knelt down...

————

Yan Li and Zhou Yiwei’s braised meat business was going fairly well.

Because the flavor was excellent, even though the price wasn’t cheap, sales never lagged—a single run of dozens of pounds of meat brought in hundreds of yuan after costs.

In 2002, this was high income. Zhou Yiwei counted money daily with beaming delight, even joked about switching careers.

But Yan Li wasn’t fully satisfied—he’d checked the market through his intelligence system.

In Beijing, successful cooked meat shops sold in bulk with huge profits—some earned tens of thousands a month, even reaching six-figure monthly revenue.

Yan Li had never imagined these unassuming street-side cooked meat stalls made so much money.

It was clear: in this era of booming economy, Beijing, at the nation’s center, was littered with gold—if you had courage and ability, you could pick it up freely.

Compared to the mediocre performance of the braised meat business, Yan Li’s stock market trial went poorly.

His research time was too short; he still didn’t understand the market or operations well. The intelligence system triggered little useful data—mostly useless, only a few helpful bits. After a few days, his principal had dropped by a few hundred yuan.

Still, Yan Li wasn’t discouraged—it was just a trial, after all.

Besides, the system was slowly adjusting, and the triggered intelligence was becoming increasingly useful. He believed that in time, he’d become a “Little Stock God”...

(End of Chapter)