Chapter 89

After Li Xuewu finished calculating the accounts, Wen San’er couldn’t sit still—he took the pen and recalculated everything.

It was true!

He hadn’t expected Li Xuewu to make so much money from a trip to the Northeast; he couldn’t help but look up in surprise at Li Xuewu.

Li Xuewu ignored him, annoyed by his provincial demeanor, snatched the pencil back, and kept calculating.

Excluding profit, based on the original principal invested before any pear profits, Wen San’er and the other three had collectively invested 710 yuan and coupons, plus two bicycles; Li Xuewu’s total investment was 1,000 yuan.

The Initial Evolution

Wen San’er had no doubt about this figure—after all, some of that original money had been Li Xuewu’s pig money; now, after the calculation, he and the other three stood to receive half the total profit.

Li Xuewu pointed at the notebook and said, “For outsiders, the new cooperative group will be presented as you four and my great-aunt jointly establishing it.”

Li Xuewu added a few notes to the paper and said, “My great-aunt contributes a small courtyard with four rooms—the western courtyard is empty; we’ll jointly fund its construction. Internally, my great-aunt represents me, contributing the house, courtyard, and 1,000 yuan in principal as equity; your four bicycles are valued at 180 yuan each, totaling 1,070 yuan in equity.”

“Decide how you’ll divide the shares today—once set, all future profits will be distributed according to this plan. And this matter must not be spoken of outside.”

Wen San’er nodded. This wasn’t about the 1,070 yuan principal anymore—it was about the seven or eight thousand yuan in profit. No one now had the courage to casually spend thousands.

Like Uncle Yi’s family surely had savings—though not much, with a monthly salary of 99 yuan. The elderly couple ate little and easily saved 60 or 70 yuan a month, 840 a year, 8,400 over ten years.

Wen San’er’s father and mother left him only a courtyard and one house.

Of course, according to Wen San’er himself, his parents also left him an “attractive” appearance and a full belly of “talent.”

And a “charming” temperament—when you added it all up, Wen San’er was still a “second-generation rich kid.”

The “second-generation rich kid” sat on the kang, lit a cigarette with a match, took a drag, then stood up and kicked each of the three still snoring awake.

This guy’s only method for waking people up was to kick them.

He’d once tried waking them with his hands and got slapped hard by Old Biao, half-asleep and confused—it was such an injustice.

Ever since then, Wen San’er’s wake-up service had always been delivered from a distance—with a kick.

“Kids, the king’s here! Time to divide the fruit! Get up, no dawdling!”

This guy hadn’t just read Jin Ping Mei—he’d read Journey to the West plenty too.

With his afro, Old Biao wrestled his third uncle onto the kang, and only then did the four accept the cigarettes Li Xuewu tossed over and listen to Wen San’er’s explanation.

Wen San’er always managed to clarify unfamiliar terms or concepts through tone and gesture—he was truly indispensable to this team.

After a flurry of gestures and explanations, Shen Guodong and the other two looked eagerly at Li Xuewu, silently asking if Wen San’er’s words were true.

This obvious lack of trust deflated Wen San’er.

When Li Xuewu smiled and nodded, all three burst into cheers.

“Wuhu!”

“Liftoff!”

“We’re rich!”

“Wuhu!”

“Yes, yes, we’re rich!”

“So how should I spend it?”

Wen San’er glared at the three bastards and cursed, “How to spend it? Give each of you five women—let you ascend to heaven early!”

Old Biao and the other two ignored their uncle’s mouthiness, just kept repeating each other’s words.

Li Xuewu cleared his throat and said, “Celebrate later—wait until Third Uncle finishes speaking. You can celebrate after I leave.”

All three turned back to Wen San’er. Wen San’er was furious.

They ignored everything he said, but acted like obedient cats the moment Li Xuewu spoke.

Wen San’er explained the planned scrap recycling station.

Shen Guodong and Erhao showed no reaction—they were too poor and too hungry to care; any livelihood was better than nothing.

Old Biao hesitated, stammering to Li Xuewu, “Brother Wu, I’m fine with not doing shady stuff, but why pick such a lowly trade? Yelling on the street’s too humiliating.”

Li Xuewu understood Old Biao’s point—they’d once been street toughs, even the worst among them had been ticket scalpers, still managing to look respectable; now, yelling on the street would erase all that status.

“What’s our status? Unemployed? Workers? Orphans? Sons with no family wealth? What status do we even have?”

“Old Biao, when you put aside your pride to make money, you’ve become sensible. When you earn back your pride with money, you’ve succeeded. When you can use your pride to make money, you’ve become someone. Tell me—when will you ever become someone, looking like this?”

Li Xuewu tapped Old Biao’s newly bought iron wine flask and said, “Watching your brothers struggle while you stay here drinking and bragging, pretending to understand things you don’t, clinging to empty pride—that’s the end of your life.”

Old Biao was speechless, dejected, and could only nod at Wen San’er.

Wen San’er fell silent for a moment, patted his nephew’s shoulder, and resumed talking about shares.

Hearing about share division, all three fell quiet.

As the saying goes, even brothers must settle accounts clearly. All of them came from poor families—they’d never seen such wealth. When they heard shares were involved, they calculated the sums and involuntarily swallowed hard.

This money could lift them to heaven overnight. After calming down, they all realized: without mutual help and support from these brothers, where would this wealth have come from?

How long had Da Zhuang been gone?

Erhao spoke first: “I didn’t contribute any capital from the start—don’t count me in now. Just feed me and clothe me.”

Li Xuewu said nothing, looking at Shen Guodong. Shen Guodong glanced around, then slowly said, “Third Uncle provided the initial capital. I just helped out. Like Erhao, just give me a wage.”

Li Xuewu looked at Shen Guodong, said nothing, then turned to Old Biao.

Old Biao had invested money in Wen San’er’s venture, but his two brothers had recently contributed labor and taken risks—he couldn’t leave them out.

Old Biao took a drag of his cigarette and said, “I have my original share with Third Uncle—I’ll split my portion into three: one each for Guodong and Erhao.”

Shen Guodong and Erhao were stunned—then began refusing repeatedly.

Old Biao sensed the awkwardness and said, “I don’t lose out. Third Uncle’s alone—he’ll never find a wife. No matter how much he gets, it’ll all be mine someday.”

Hearing this, Wen San’er jumped up and cursed, “You little brat! Are you cursing your uncle to die childless? What kind of bastard nephew are you?”

Old Biao didn’t care—he acted as if he hadn’t heard, smirking and winking at Shen Guodong and the others.

Wen San’er cursed a few more times, sat down, then thought and said, “I provided the capital, but these past two years, it’s been Biao and the others helping me—if not for them, I’d have lost everything. My father was right: to give is to receive. No need to split my share into three—let’s divide the 1,070 yuan into four equal parts. We four split it evenly.”

Old Biao grinned at his uncle: “Third Uncle, you don’t have heart disease, do you? Don’t faint from worrying—those 1,070 yuan are now split into three.”

Wen San’er kicked Old Biao and cursed, “Get out of here! You’re sick? I’m not sick! Pfft, pfft, pfft!”