Chapter 36: “Rules of Being a Decent Person—Next Time, Bring Old Rong Too!” Eat Well, or I’ll Worry About You!

Jiang Feng replied, “Focus on your work. Stop overthinking.”

After sending the message, he rested for ten minutes before heading out to buy ingredients for lunch.

By 9:00 AM, he arrived at the shop and began unloading supplies—only to find someone already waiting at the entrance.

He Guangyi.

The older man smiled as Jiang Feng approached. “Boss Jiang.”

Jiang Feng raised an eyebrow. “You’re here early.”

He Guangyi nodded. “Haven’t tasted flavors like yours in years. Invited two friends to try it today.”

Jiang Feng understood immediately. “How many in your group?”

If they had a large party, he’d call to order ten extra fish to avoid shortages for regulars.

He Guangyi’s eyes crinkled with approval. “No need. Two fish will suffice.”

“You prioritize your customers—we’ll return the consideration. Won’t waste your time.”

“Though,” he added with a chuckle, “I’ve many friends. They might become daily regulars.”

Jiang Feng grinned. “You’re always welcome.”

He admired He Guangyi’s ethos—the man had even shared his fish portions with neighbors without charging them.

“Go on with your work,” He Guangyi said, waving him off. “I’ll wait here.”

“Need a stool?”

“At my age, standing aids digestion.” He patted his stomach. “Besides, I plan to eat ten of your buns. Northern-style ones are usually too dense, but yours? Different league.”

Jiang Feng thanked him and headed inside to prep.

11:30 AM

Everything was ready: 100 buns steamed, ingredients prepped.

Sunlight finally pierced the lingering clouds, spilling into the shop.

Meanwhile, at the kindergarten, Jiang Youyou and her classmates lined up for lunch—stir-fried pork with peppers, chicken-mushroom greens, and rice.

Rong Shuang served Youyou’s portion.

The little girl tugged her sleeve.

Bending down, Rong Shuang whispered, “What’s wrong, Youyou?”

“I miss Daddy.”

“Me too.”

“And his cooking.”

“Same.”

The kindergarten meals were decent—prepared by a professional chef—but compared to Jiang Feng’s wok-fried ho fun and steamed perch from that morning?

Bland.

“Power through,” Rong Shuang murmured. “We’ll have his food tonight.”

Youyou nodded and dug in without complaint.

Back at the shop, He Guangyi—having waited over two hours—was the first inside, flanked by two well-dressed middle-aged men.

“Two fish, five of each bun type, and three seafood congees,” he ordered.

As they sat, the newcomers eyed the modest shop skeptically.

“Fish with buns? Odd combo.”

“And the boss is so young. Can he really handle dual steaming?”

He Guangyi scoffed. “Just taste it. When have I ever led you astray?”

Other customers began filing in, deepening the duo’s doubt.

Then—

Jiang Feng abruptly set aside half-packed buns, lifted steamer lids, and plated two fish in one fluid motion.

“Uncle He, grab these yourself.”

“Coming!”

The group carried their dishes back.

Around them, murmurs erupted:

“That fish smells insane! Get me one!”

“Same—I’m in!”

He Guangyi smirked. “Told you they’d sell out fast.”

His friends finally inspected the fish—golden skin glazed with custom soy blend, drizzled with fresh peanut oil. Promising.

One bite later, their chopsticks froze.

“Holy—”

“This is next-level!”

The fish surpassed any steamed version they’d ever had.

“Order two more! At 200 yuan, this is a steal!”

He Guangyi shook his head. “Ten per meal max. We’ve already taken two.”

The men groaned but conceded. “Chefs this skilled usually do limit quantities…”

Between bites of buns (which also blew their minds), they debated:

“Why charge 200 yuan instead of 4,000?”

“These buns—why single-digit prices when they’re worth 100 each?”

The answer struck them:

At 4,000 yuan/fish, Jiang Feng could sell 200 daily—millions in monthly revenue. Wealthy clients would fight for reservations.

Yet he chose accessibility over greed.

Principles.

He Guangyi raised his tea. “Pity Old Rong’s tied up with business. He’d love this fish.”

“Still estranged from his daughter?” one friend asked.

“Not our place to pry,” He Guangyi chided. “Eat.”

12:40 PM

Sold out.

Today’s lunch revenue hit 14,000+ yuan, boosted by drink sales.

At this rate, the second location opens by early July.

With his Cantonese mastery, Jiang Feng’s plan crystallized:

One flagship store

3-5 trained chefs

10 daily dishes (4 congees, 6 bun varieties)

Self-serve format (15 staff max)

All he needed was 1 million yuan in seed capital.

No rush. Profits would snowball post-expansion.

After cleaning up, Jiang Feng fried himself ho fun and sipped congee.

His phone buzzed—a message from Rong Shuang:

“Youyou and I miss you.”

“Eat well, or I’ll worry.”

Attached: a heart-handed selfie.

He replied, “Had fried noodles,” then leaned back, savoring his break.

Then—

His phone rang.

An unexpected caller:

Xu Xiuli.