Chapter 61

The taste was just okay.

—Shiyi grumbled internally.

Even though the private dining room at the top of the government cafeteria that Secretary Ge Rui brought them to was clearly reserved for hosting officials.

Flavor-wise, his palate had gotten spoiled—it felt 'average' compared to what he usually ate.

But Shiyi still enjoyed the meal. Maybe it was the charm of government food.

A kind of psychological satisfaction (.

People always want what they don't have.

After eating and drinking his fill and discussing a bit of actual business, Shiyi took his leave, not wanting to take up any more of their after-work time.

Mainly because he wanted to go back and lie down or lean back—Shiyi always felt sluggish after a full meal.

It wasn't healthy, but it was comfortable.

One thing came to mind—

He really hadn't been on Weibo in a long time. Too busy, forgot. This time he could chat with netizens and kill some time.

['Boss Sang, aren't you dating? Or is it a cliffhanger breakup? One moment you're here, next you're gone?']

[Y_03]: [Actually someone invented the elixir of immortality. I went into hibernation to shed my skin, thanks.]

['Don't be like that... some netizens can't tell you're being abstract.']

[Y_03]: [I dare not play abstract anymore (trembling)]

['Pretty busy, huh? Aurora Immortal Realm Project, the talent contest, the chef variety show—there's a ton of backlog. Will next year be a blowout?']

['Are you going to air the backlog? Or hold onto it, release one per year for the next ten years, and keep winning the annual crown? Aurora Entertainment ten years straight—tempting, right?']

[Y_03]: [Good idea. But I won't listen. I can't hold onto stuff.]

['DOH's new recruit—too biased! That talent freak! Can you snatch one for CUT too (whining)']

['Self-recommending for my fave...']

['Boss Sang, the recently released 3A game 'Wulin Animation' made a special promotional short thanking you. Did you invest? Not just dipping into esports—are you going deeper into gaming?']

[Y_03]: [You've got it backwards. I invested in 'Wulin Animation' first.]

That's right. 'Wulin Animation' is the biggest investor in that project.

'Wulin Animation' made a one-minute short, specially dedicated to him.

He knew.

They chose his favorite assassin class, in an ink-wash bamboo forest, fighting another 'him' in a combat interaction.

Because 'he' knew himself well enough, the moves were fast and brilliant, the clashing of blades sending chills down the spine.

Especially the bamboo forest location.

Bamboo leaves flying, bamboo shadows swaying, rustling in the ears, two assassins darting through—it fully showcased the assassin class's appeal.

But netizens didn't know that.

Netizens were thrilled!

So cool.

The screen went black, then brightened again, and a line of subtitles appeared. Netizens looked closely: 'Huh? They thanked a familiar account?'

Domestic 3A games exist, but few get good feedback, because 3A means high budget, high volume, high quality.

Achieving that is incredibly hard, and doing so means costs skyrocket.

Hard-to-recover big projects—even major domestic game companies won't touch them easily. Having money doesn't mean you burn it like that.

Of the dozen or so 3A games released before, only three barely broke even.

The two that turned a decent profit were the Chinese epic 'Candle Dragon' and the Cthulhu-style 'Delusion·Murmur'.

Even though they made money, netizens figured they wouldn't see a sequel.

Who knew Boss Shiyi actually invested in a brand-new 3A game!

So they flooded Weibo with comments.

To that, [Y_03] tossed out: [The game's probably about to release, entering the promo period, so they're riding my coattails.]

Netizens: '...'

Isn't it your investment project? What's wrong with riding coattails? That's normal. But... he's not wrong.

The account [Y_03] has a wider reach than any marketing matrix.

How many people learned about 'Wulin Animation' because of that thank-you short?

['Boss Sang, do you think it'll recoup its costs?']

[Y_03]: [? If I remember correctly, when I set up Aurora Entertainment, I never expected to recoup my investment.]

['Oh come on, don't be modest. You've succeeded in everything—you should be arrogant, Boss Sang, otherwise you'll seem like you're humblebragging.']

['Post more often from now on!? Without you, Domestic Entertainment loses half its fun!']

['Got it, hubby!']

...

The arrogant Boss Sang was currently only 'wielding power' at the local market fair.

Being arrogant probably felt good.

After all, no need to worry about the wallet.

As for netizens' wishes, he wouldn't let them down. This time he'd send some local specialties (so kind and generous).

Just in time for the fair.

But Shiyi overestimated himself. Usually he fell asleep around 11 PM, but staying up until 2 AM made him dizzy with sleepiness.

He yawned again and again. To stay awake, he deliberately didn't turn off the light, planning to keep his eyes open until sunrise.

But he fell asleep.

With the light on.

When the assistant knocked, Shiyi, eyes closed, took an uneven breath and woke up.

...Tired.

But he caught a whiff of fragrance—the oily scent of pan-fried leek pancakes.

Very aggressive.

The assistant had waited until the market was crowded for atmosphere before calling him. It was now a bit past seven.

Shiyi checked the time. He'd slept about three hours. Deadly.

At that moment, Shiyi really wanted to throw a tantrum and not go, but another powerful desire overcame his sleepiness, urging him to stand up.

Since he was already up, might as well go.

The assistant was downstairs.

Shiyi dragged his not-quite-awake body and pounding heart to wash up, threw on a jacket, and left the room.

It was pretty cold at this hour.

The main street in town hadn't been too quiet yesterday, but compared to today, it was practically 'silent'.

Sound hit him first—

Yelling, bargaining, tricycle horns, the sizzle of frying in oil—all mixed into a buzzing symphony of street life.

The air was full of smells.

Pancake fragrance, sugar cake sweetness, braised meat's savory aroma, the faint fishy water vapor from the fresh seafood stall.

All kinds of people.

People in thin short sleeves, old folks wrapped in cotton jackets and headscarves, families carrying or leading children through the market.

One kid sat on his dad's shoulders, holding a stick of hawthorn candied fruit that Shiyi normally wouldn't be interested in, munching away.

The hawthorn wrapped in sugar glaze, under the not-yet-fully-risen sun, looked like red lanterns.

He wanted some too.

Shiyi quickly got the same, took a bite full of anticipation—

Ugh, the texture was weird.

Zhou Li whispered: 'Hawthorn isn't in season right now. These... are probably made from frozen or canned stuff.'

As for why he didn't say so earlier—he knew Boss Shiyi loved trying new things. If he'd spoiled the fun from the start, Shiyi would've been unhappy.

Shiyi was exactly that kind of person.

Not just Zhou Li—anyone 'close' to Boss Shiyi would instinctively develop a reading comprehension of Boss Shiyi.

Only the assistant was more obvious about it.

Shiyi lost interest, tossed the thing to Zhou Li, who caught it expertly—Zhou Li didn't drop it, of course, just acted as a human coat rack.

Frozen stuff?

Seeing Boss Shiyi's curiosity, Zhou Li played narrator: 'Not everything at the market is locally grown. Some people buy semi-finished products.'

He lowered his voice.

'Not all farmers are... simple. Some people order online and sell it as homemade.' Zhou Li chose his words carefully.

He came from the countryside too, so he knew human nature is equally complex—just because some people live in the countryside doesn't make them all the same.

There are simple ones, and there are cunning ones.

This kind of buying and selling is different from buying raw materials online for braised goods—they buy finished products directly, like crops.

Pickled vegetables, vermicelli, lotus root starch—that kind of thing.

Hard to tell apart.

Buy online, put it in your own container, the taste is guaranteed, better than homemade pickles. Customers taste it and buy.

Shiyi nodded.

Not surprising. He'd seen similar things online. Human nature is the same.

Farming is super exhausting.

That's why Shiyi prefers reading novels where the protagonist works as a ticket seller or civil servant, not going to the countryside—because of this.

Modern people can't even grow two green onions on a balcony, let alone farm.

Shiyi's elementary school was demolished in the town—the Sang family village, over time, became a 'dangerous building', getting closer to the riverbank.

Shiyi had heard from his grandparents that they had seriously farmed for most of their lives.

Back then, both men and women had to work the fields. There was no point in skincare.

Even if you put on cream or ointment, the next day in the fields your hands would crack again, cycling between cracking and healing.

So his grandparents' hands were the same—rough knuckles, thick yellow calluses. Rubbing a bedsheet would 'scratch' out a few threads.

Later, when conditions improved, they could only soften the marks, never erase them.

See how exhausting farming is!

So Shiyi understood one reason some people cut corners...

Save money, save effort.

Growing, tending, harvesting, processing, selling—a few yuan per pound. The labor cost is lower than making milk tea in a shop.

Shortcuts are much easier. Factory-made products have low prices themselves.

And because they're factory-made, they can be sold cheap, which pressures similar products and drives prices down.

Shiyi witnessed it.

An old man was selling his homegrown vegetables, dried black beans, and some melons from a corner stall, and ran into a haggler.

The haggling got intense.

Through Zhou Li's translation, he learned the customer wanted to buy the jar of black beans in a crooked Sprite bottle.

But offered too low a price.

The customer kept saying, 'That stall over there sells for this much,' 'Sell it to me,' 'Otherwise you won't sell anything today.'

The old man squatted there, waving his hand.

Thin.

So thin you could see the bones poking through his cloth clothes.

Shiyi didn't approve of the customer's belittling bargaining—call it 'let them eat cake' if you will—but he felt it was unnecessary.

The old man's hands were rough, with black dirt.

Clearly, he really farmed.

The half-filled Sprite bottle was obviously homegrown, with a small yield, so he brought it to sell.

That little bit—was it even two jin?

Pity for the poor and weak, plus a sense of justice, Shiyi walked over: 'Old Man, are the black beans for sale?'

Zhou Li translated.

The old man looked up, speaking loudly while gesturing: 'Twelve yuan a jin! This isn't even two jin—take it for twenty!'

Only twelve.

Shiyi was stunned.

Less than he imagined. Not that it was too little, but... it was too little.

For twenty yuan, the old man's brow was furrowed, face full of worry.

His already dark, yellow face, with a frown like a twisted tissue.

No, he couldn't stand it.

The 'let them eat cake' personality went offline, the saint personality came online, saint syndrome flared up.

The haggler, seeing an outsider about to buy, quickly squatted down and started putting things in a bag.

'Fine, fine, twenty it is! I wanted you to knock off two yuan, but you wouldn't...'

Seeing it was real goods, he couldn't let this outsider snatch it.

Shiyi stopped him: 'What are you doing?'

Zhou Li immediately reached out, with the same energy as old folks grabbing free eggs.

The man: 'Hey, I already bought it...'

Shiyi still wore a mask, but you could tell his eyes were smiling as he asked the old man: 'Old Man, homegrown?'

'Yes, just a little, all sun-dried!'

The old man had farmed all his life, wasn't good with people, but that didn't mean he was stupid.

Seeing this young man step in, and the other guy suddenly eager to buy, he wasn't in a hurry anymore. He listened to the young man.

Shiyi rarely used his 'gentle' skill—

'Here's the deal, Old Man. I'll buy everything on your stall, guaranteed above market price, plus a 'guide fee.'

'Today I'm hanging out with my friend, want to buy some specialties to send home.'

Friend? Zhou Li was right there.

Zhou Li grinned and nodded.

'If you have more at home—homegrown, homemade—show me. I need a lot, if it's good, I'll buy it all.'

'Your relatives, people in your village—I'll take theirs too. Price will be fair, but it has to be homegrown. You'll take me to find them and help me vet.'

Prepared for the market, Shiyi had exchanged cash—some old folks don't have smartphones, let alone QR codes.

Even if they do, it's set up by their kids, and the money might go to the kids, not the old person.

Shiyi felt a bit lucky.

He took out his wallet, counted money: 'Don't worry I'll run off. I'll give you a deposit first, okay?'

Zhou Li dutifully translated.

The old man listened, first stunned, then stood up flustered, his dark yellow face flushing red.

'Oh my, how can this be, oh my...'