Chapter Seventy-Nine: Swordlight Internet Café

The steep pricing generated astonishing profits. At least, judging by the shift on Liu Meiju’s face from anxious frowns at first to radiant smiles later, this much was clear.

On the opening day, though only a dozen or so outfits were sold, the profit was enough to leave Liu Meiju—who had always managed the company’s finances—feeling dizzy. It wasn’t that the money counted today was more than what she’d handled as an accountant, but rather that, for the first time, this money truly belonged to her. She had earned it by her own abilities.

The sense of fulfillment this brought was something that counting other people’s money could never provide.

Three thousand three hundred and thirty-six yuan was the first day’s revenue for Pin Yi Clothing Store. After deducting costs, the profit was one thousand five hundred and ninety-six yuan. This amount was far better than what Liu Meiju used to earn at her previous job—one day’s profit nearly equaled three months of wages.

Of course, the calculation wasn’t that simple; the Zhang family had invested a considerable sum to start the business. Still, it was proof enough that this path was viable, and that it could indeed bring the Zhang family a better life.

With that, Liu Meiju’s spirits soared. She knew much of the credit belonged to Liu Wentao, yet when selling clothes, she felt the pure joy of counting her own earnings—a feeling she’d never experienced before.

Amusingly, after a full day as a model, Zhang Ye found himself without a moment’s rest that evening. He washed rice, cooked, and even did the laundry—all the chores fell to him. Zhang Haiguan’s staunch masculinity kept him from such tasks.

So, over dinner as the day ended, at their family meeting, Zhang Ye solemnly proposed hiring help.

Of course, they weren’t hiring a maid—the Zhang home wasn’t big, and unlike those large families who needed daily cleaning, laundry and cooking were hardly a burden for Liu Meiju; in fact, she found them enjoyable. But Pin Yi Clothing Store was a different matter. Liu Meiju had never run a clothing business before, and having someone familiar with the trade in the shop would make things easier and, no doubt, drive better results than her own stiff explanations.

Although they felt it might be an extra expense, the Zhang family unanimously agreed to the proposal.

The next morning, Zhang Ye rose especially early, though it had been a long time since he’d slept in anyway. This morning, he woke even earlier than usual, told his mother, and left the house.

Cultural Street, a lively commercial area with a playful vibe, was never short of crowds. From dawn till dusk, people wandered its length—some entered the Cultural Park, some shopped at the stores, housewives flocked to the produce market, and, of course, the youth favored the arcades most of all.

The prosperity of Cultural Street had fueled the arcade’s booming business, which in turn brought even more people to the street. Opening the computer house here, in the early days at least, was undoubtedly a wise decision.

Flyers had been distributed days before; countless students and adults alike were drawn in by the descriptions. Computer games had been talked about for ages, but computers were so expensive that few had ever truly enjoyed the pleasure of gaming.

But two yuan for four tokens was affordable fun, and most could spend them all in under ten minutes. Five yuan guaranteed a satisfying session—perfectly reasonable in their eyes. The novelty alone was enough to spur them inside to try it out.

So, when Zhang Ye arrived early at the computer house, he was startled by the sheer mass of people crowding the entrance.

The crowd was large, but not noisy—an unusual sight that would be remembered for a long time. As Zhang Ye made his way through, he saw Zhao Haidong standing front and center, his face flushed with excitement, speaking loudly. In that moment, he was bursting with pride. After several days of being grounded, he seemed more spirited than ever.

Liu Wentao, Wu Dongjun, Liu Guangxiang, Chen Fang, and Du Tao stood nearby. A thick red ribbon was strung across the front, adorned with little flags, and even the tall signboard was covered with a red cloth, giving the event a formal air.

Zhang Ye had thought he was early, but everyone had arrived before him. He felt a bit awkward, but quickly climbed the steps, greeting Liu Wentao and the others, and teased Zhao Haidong, congratulating him on finally escaping his ordeal.

“Hurry up and open! We’ve been waiting forever!” With Zhang Ye’s arrival, the crowd’s voices grew louder. The group had run shops here before—initially a fruit stand specializing in watermelons that was quite popular. Most of the people were arcade regulars from across the street, and even if some didn’t know the group personally, a word from their neighbors was enough for an introduction.

Now, with everyone assembled, the anticipation was palpable. After all, they’d all gotten up early just for a chance to try out the computers. The longer they waited, the bigger the crowd would get.

“All right, no more speeches—let’s open right now and cut the ribbon!” To outsiders, Liu Wentao was the obvious leader. At his words, he handed scissors to Zhang Ye and the others, and together they cut the red ribbon before them.

On the side, Chen Fang and Du Tao lit firecrackers, which crackled and popped, filling the air with a festive, fiery red.

Zhao Haidong, buoyant with joy, showed surprising agility for his size—he leapt up and tore the red cloth from the signboard in one smooth motion.

“Bright Sword Internet Café!” The name was Zhang Ye’s own bit of mischief. He’d never read the original “Bright Sword” novel, but was a fan of the television series by the same name—he thought it was a real war story.

Those who had come early hardly cared to study the sign’s meaning. They surged inside, scrambling for the two dozen computers, each one bubbling with excitement as if it were New Year’s Day.

On opening day, Zhang Ye decided to make it free of charge—the main goal was to attract people. There were plenty of games on the computers, all the favorites from the arcades: Chinese Paladin, Monopoly, Dune, Xuan-Yuan Sword—these familiar titles were all available.

Soon enough, every computer was occupied, and the slower ones could only watch from the sides, full of envy.

In recent days, Liu Guangxiang, Chen Fang, and the others had become quite adept with the computers. When the technicians came to install the software and connections, they’d stuck around to learn, asking questions and picking things up quickly. Now, they were the network administrators—helping the less experienced users get started.