Chapter Eighty-Three: Bao Mingzhi's Probe

Just as Lin Hongda and his daughter had anticipated, Bao Mingzhi shifted all the blame onto Qian San and another of his associates. Since he hadn’t shown his face that day, Qian San had no evidence to prove Bao Mingzhi was the mastermind. Qian San and the other man were thrown into prison, while Bao Mingzhi managed to extricate himself unscathed.

As for Lin Shuimei, she was considered merely an accessory, and insisted she had been led astray. The officials, seeing she was a young woman, soon allowed her to return home. After several days' absence, Lin Shuimei received little concern from Lai Ruyu, who merely scolded her harshly. Lin Shuimei huddled in her room, trembling at the thought that she had nearly been imprisoned herself. At the same time, her resentment toward Lin Sangqian deepened.

…

The recipes Lin Sangqian provided for Fortune Abounds Restaurant had made business flourish day by day. However, to their surprise, the new dish—Braised Lamb with Soy Sauce—recently introduced by Wanhua Restaurant had become wildly popular as well, stealing away a significant portion of Fortune Abounds' customers.

Early in the morning, before the fried chicken shop opened, Lin Sangqian and Zhao Lan’er arrived to deliver chicken feet and overheard Yang Shi grumbling as he sat by the door.

“Those fellows from Wanhua Restaurant are getting too cocky. Just because one of their dishes is popular? Aren’t ours just as favored? Really, what are they so proud about!”

“Brother Yang,” Lin Sangqian called, “what’s gotten you so worked up?”

“Sangqian, Miss Zhao, you’re here!” Yang Shi hurried over. “I’m talking about those Wanhua workers. This morning, when they saw me, they rolled their eyes. Did I ever provoke them?”

Lin Sangqian laughed, “No need to stoop to their level. Wanhua might be doing well now, but it’s nowhere near Fortune Abounds. They’re just jealous.”

“Hmph, you’re right. By the way, Sangqian, I hear your shop is really bustling lately—what’s it called again…”

“McCrunch Chicken,” Zhao Lan’er prompted.

“Yes, McCrunch Chicken! I wanted to go support you, but I’ve just been too busy.”

“Speaking of which, I brought you a watermelon,” said Lin Sangqian, lifting a watermelon from the cart and handing it to Yang Shi. “Share it with Manager Lu and the others at the restaurant.”

“Wonderful! I’ve heard your watermelon juice is delicious—I’ve always wanted to try it. But Sangqian, how do you grow such tasty watermelons? When did you plant them?”

Out of the corner of her eye, Lin Sangqian noticed a few workers from Wanhua Restaurant peering over from across the street. She smiled mysteriously, “That’s a secret.”

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“Well, you’ve always been quite remarkable,” Yang Shi said, tapping the watermelon. “Oh, and about Wanhua’s braised lamb—I got someone to buy it for me to try, and honestly, it’s nothing special. I just don’t get why it’s so popular.”

At this, Yang Shi suddenly paused, murmuring, “Strange, now that you mention braised lamb, I feel like eating it again…”

Lin Sangqian hadn’t thought much about it, but his words made her frown and glance toward Wanhua Restaurant. Bao Mingzhi—surely he wouldn’t dare?

“Right, I almost forgot to pay you for the chicken feet. The manager’s out today, but he told me to make sure you get your money.”

Today Lin Sangqian had delivered forty pounds of chicken feet, so Yang Shi handed her a little over two taels. Lin Sangqian gave the money to Zhao Lan’er to take home, then headed to the fried chicken shop.

Although the fried chicken prices had returned to normal, the food was still delicious and novel, so customers continued to flock in. Every afternoon, around the time of the eighth hour, Lin Sangqian could usually finish work and go home.

Whenever she had crayfish, Lin Sangqian would also make spicy crayfish to sell, but she hung a sign at the door stating that crayfish were only available occasionally and in limited supply. Spicy crayfish was wildly popular, and every day, people would come hoping for a taste.

Sometimes Lin Wenyan helped out at the fried chicken shop. When he wasn’t busy, he would go to the Yu residence to learn martial arts from Lin Hongda, then come to pick up Lin Sangqian in the afternoon.

Just past midday, the shop was quiet. Lin Sangqian fried herself a chicken wing, and sipped watermelon juice at a leisurely pace.

A shadow appeared at the doorway. Lin Sangqian looked up and smiled, “Oh, what a rare visitor.”

“Miss Lin,” Bao Mingzhi stood at the entrance, his face creased with smiles, “It’s been a while.”

“Manager Bao is a busy man. How could I see you whenever I please?” Lin Sangqian laughed. “So, are you here for a chicken leg?”

Bao Mingzhi didn’t answer right away, but glanced around the shop. It was a small place, with only two or three tables. Most customers bought fried chicken to go, and few stayed to eat. At this hour, no one was around but Lin Sangqian herself.

Still, the street was bustling, and officials regularly patrolled, so Lin Sangqian wasn’t worried Bao Mingzhi would dare try anything here.

“I’ll have a fried chicken leg and a wing,” Bao Mingzhi said.

“All right,” Lin Sangqian replied with a cheerful smile. “Manager Bao, please have a seat—it’ll be ready soon.”

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Bao Mingzhi nodded and took a seat at a table. Lin Sangqian expertly fried a chicken wing and a leg, then poured a cup of watermelon juice. She brought them over, but Bao Mingzhi didn’t begin eating right away. Instead, he asked, “I’ve heard your business is excellent—why is it so quiet now?”

“Oh, business fluctuates; sometimes it’s good, sometimes not,” Lin Sangqian replied nonchalantly. In truth, this was the quietest time, just after lunch. In a little while, the crowds would return.

Bao Mingzhi had already tasted the fried chicken from her shop, having sent others to buy it. After trying it once, even he found himself craving more.

He’d hoped to collaborate with Lin Sangqian, but knew she would surely refuse.

He took a sip of watermelon juice, smacking his lips thoughtfully. If he couldn’t get the fried chicken, perhaps he could get her watermelons. No one else could grow good watermelons here—only Lin Sangqian. What was her secret?

Bao Mingzhi was utterly baffled.

He gnawed on the chicken leg, watching Lin Sangqian. But she seemed to pay him no mind, wholly absorbed in a storybook in her hands.

She had bought it at a bookstall a few days ago—a tale of a domineering general and an ordinary girl’s romance. It was surprisingly well-written, reminiscent of the contemporary romance novels she used to read.

Halfway through his chicken leg, a crowd of customers began to arrive for fried chicken. Soon, a queue formed.

Bao Mingzhi sat there, watching with envy. When would his restaurant draw crowds like this?

After a while, Lin Wenyan returned. As soon as he saw Bao Mingzhi sitting inside, his expression darkened, but recalling Lin Sangqian’s previous advice, he forced a strained smile, “Manager Bao.”

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