Chapter Twenty-Seven: Profits at Last

Wang Mengzi’s face flushed in an instant. She hurriedly broke free from Zhang Ye’s hand around her waist, stepped back quickly, and pouted coquettishly, “What are you doing?” Her eyes were soft and alluring, her breathing clearly growing rapid.

Zhang Ye knew when to stop; being too obvious would only embarrass them both. He quickly smiled and said, “How about this? It’s been ages since we went out together. The weather’s so hot in summer—why don’t we go swimming?”

Just today, while following Wang Mengzi, he happened to see a swimming pool opening up. It had been more than ten years since he last went swimming, and he felt a pang of nostalgia. Besides, if he could go swimming with Wang Mengzi and see her in a swimsuit that showed off her perfect figure, he felt the trip would be more than worthwhile.

“All right, let’s go together on Saturday,” Wang Mengzi replied, blushing. Zhang Ye was overjoyed and hugged her in his excitement. Only after embracing her did he realize how stiff her body was. Embarrassed, he quickly let go, stammering, “I’ll write, I’ll get back to writing, ha…”

With that, he hurried over to the desk and sat down, stealing a careful glance at Wang Mengzi. Seeing she wasn’t angry, he finally relaxed.

Casting Zhang Ye an amused look, Wang Mengzi left the room and placed a bucket by the front door, adding some camouflage with a few more buckets before finally turning off the lights and returning to her room to write.

Two hours later, Zhang Ye put down his pen, stretched lazily, yawned, and said, “Aunt Wang, how late do you usually write? Aren’t you going to sleep?”

“It depends. If I’m in the zone, I might work all night. If you’re tired, go ahead and sleep. The sofa’s already made up for you, and the quilt’s there—just cover up and rest,” Wang Mengzi replied without stopping her work.

“All right then, you should get some rest too.” Zhang Ye patted his face and slowly walked out.

But before long, he returned, picked up his manuscript, and with a mischievous grin said, “Can’t let you see this just yet.”

“Who cares!” Wang Mengzi shrugged with feigned indifference. In truth, she’d been tempted to take a peek the moment Zhang Ye left, curious about what he’d written.

Lying on the sofa, wrapped in the quilt, breathing in its familiar warm scent, Zhang Ye drifted off into a sweet sleep.

At five the next morning, Zhang Ye got up right on time. Seeing the buckets by the door were undisturbed, he breathed a sigh of relief. He put on his pants, went to Wang Mengzi’s bedroom door, knocked lightly, and, hearing no answer, guessed she’d worked late into the night. Not wanting to disturb her, he washed up and went out.

After his usual half-hour morning exercise, sweating profusely, Zhang Ye headed to the building materials market. He negotiated a price and hired someone to measure Wang Mengzi’s door.

By the time Wang Mengzi, worn out from working overnight, woke up, the new door was already installed—a sturdy little iron door, solid and secure, impossible to kick open easily. Zhang Ye hadn’t skimped; he’d also put in a security lock. Door and lock together cost just under two hundred.

“How much is it, sir?” Wang Mengzi had changed into her house clothes and asked the worker as he tightened the screws.

“It’s already paid for; that young man gave me the money earlier. He must be your boyfriend, right? He’s really good to you—running around, even making you breakfast,” the worker said, casting a grinning glance at the thermos of red date porridge on the table.

Wang Mengzi blushed shyly, but didn’t explain.

With a major problem solved, Zhang Ye was in high spirits and sauntered off to the fruit shop. From a distance, he saw Liu Wentao and Zhao Haidong busy selling fruit, the shop bustling with waves of customers.

“How’s business, guys?” Zhang Ye asked with a smile as he walked in.

“Boss, you finally decided to show up?” Zhao Haidong shot Zhang Ye a look as he handed change to a young girl.

Liu Wentao smiled but said nothing, handing Zhang Ye a small notebook.

From the start of their business, they’d agreed to keep careful records—every day’s income and expenses clearly listed.

“One…” Zhang Ye’s eyes widened in disbelief as he looked at Liu Wentao and the others.

He’d expected that, after the newspaper article, demand for their watermelons would outstrip supply, but he hadn’t imagined that in just one day, they’d sold over ten thousand yuan’s worth. The melons weren’t even expensive—just twenty cents a pound. That meant they’d sold at least fifty thousand pounds, or more than six thousand melons, assuming eight pounds each.

Only now did he truly appreciate the sheer buying power of the people.

“You should’ve seen how crazy it was yesterday. It was nothing for someone to buy ten or eight at a time. Some folks even brought carts, hauling away fifty melons at once. At first, we thought they were hawkers, but it turned out it was a few families buying together. It was wild,” Zhao Haidong said, clearly enjoying Zhang Ye’s astonished expression.

Remembering the scene from yesterday, Zhao Haidong’s chubby cheeks quivered, his small eyes shining with excitement.

“That’s right—when people heard we’d be raising prices the next day, even those who only wanted one or two went wild, buying five or six as if they were free. The nearby tricycle drivers made a killing too,” Liu Wentao chimed in, his face glowing with pride, his voice louder than usual.

What could Zhang Ye say? He simply smiled calmly, offered a few words of encouragement, and then joined in the busy work. He had planned to ask Liu Wentao for help with something, but seeing how busy they were, he felt embarrassed. After all, he’d been gone all day yesterday—coming back just to pull someone away didn’t seem like the right thing for a boss to do.

“By the way, we were so busy yesterday that I called my cousins over. Seven of us worked the whole day—I paid each of them ten yuan. They’re already here today, hauling goods from the warehouse,” Liu Wentao explained a bit sheepishly.

Yesterday, since Zhang Ye had said it was fine to hire help, and given how busy they were, he’d immediately thought of his cousin Liu Guangxiang and some close friends.

Zhang Ye waved it off, saying, “No problem. Actually, I need a few of them to help me with something. Can you spare a couple of guys later?”

Since Liu Wentao had brought it up, he no longer felt any need for courtesy. Though he’d let Gao Ming go yesterday, Zhang Ye was not one to forget a slight easily, and today he needed people for just that reason.

“We raised prices today, so business should be a bit slower. Why don’t you take two guys with you? What’s the matter—do you want me to come too?” Liu Wentao asked. He was tall and strong, skilled in a fight, and few on the street could take him on.

“No need, it’s just a small matter—two helpers are enough,” Zhang Ye declined with a wave.

Just then, Liu Guangxiang and the others arrived—young men, seventeen or eighteen to twenty, sturdy and robust. With three flatbed carts, one pulled while another pushed, they worked hard without slacking, all drenched in sweat.