Chapter Eleven: Daguan's Father's Jealousy

The child’s question was clearly a hint that she wanted to eat, so Chen Huajiang took out a few freshly grilled skewers of lamb and handed them to Lin Jiayin.

“Let your mother feed you. Be careful, it’s hot!”

Chen Huajiang’s eyes were filled with affection.

Lin Jiayin took the lamb skewers from his hand and led Huanhuan to a table at the side.

When Lin Jiayin walked over, the men who were drinking all fixed their gazes on her. But as soon as they realized she was Chen Huajiang’s wife, a trace of disappointment flickered in their eyes.

“It really pays to have a skill—look at the boss, he managed to marry such a beautiful wife.”

“I think so too. I should learn a trade myself, or I might never find a wife.”

“Oh, give it a rest! With how slow you all are, what could you possibly learn? Why not ask the boss if he’s taking apprentices?”

Laughter and banter filled the air.

Huanhuan ended up with oil all around her mouth, and even Lin Jiayin sampled a bite; the taste was indeed excellent.

After they finished eating, Lin Jiayin came over to help. The crowd was large, and Dagang couldn’t handle it alone.

Moreover, Dagang was a bit slow-witted; sometimes he couldn’t even manage the accounts.

Lin Jiayin, being clever, found a notebook and wrote down everything each table ordered, marking them by number.

They toiled away all night. Once the lamb was sold out, they stopped taking customers.

Everyone gave glowing feedback, which left Chen Huajiang deeply satisfied.

After calculating the day’s income, he found that just the lamb skewers alone brought in about fifty or sixty yuan. After deducting costs, there was still a profit of over thirty yuan.

For the 1980s, this was quite impressive.

Still, it was a bit short of Chen Huajiang’s goal.

After tidying up, the three of them headed home together.

“I see business is good here. Why don’t I come help you every evening? Dagang can’t handle the accounts, but I have an idea: we can number each table, write down what each orders, and that’ll make settling the bill much easier.”

Lin Jiayin offered her suggestion.

Chen Huajiang nodded and smiled. “I’d thought about asking you to help before—honestly, I even considered asking you to quit your job. But then I thought, if people get jealous and something happens to our snack stall, both of us would be in trouble. So, for now, you’d better stay at the factory.”

What he said made sense. After all, seeing others make money can stir up resentment.

For instance, when Dagang went home, his father asked, “Dagang, how much did you make these past few days?”

Dagang had spent his days cooking and hadn’t kept close track.

“I’m not sure; Brother Jiang handles the money. I just focus on making the braised pork,” he replied offhandedly.

“You’re such a fool. I heard they make thirty to fifty yuan a day—over a thousand a month—and they only pay you fifty? And you’re content with that?”

Dagang’s father was a sly old fox, sharp as a tack.

“They do make that much, but there are lots of expenses—tables, chairs, electricity, and rent. Brother Jiang pays for all that.”

Chen Huajiang had already explained this to Dagang, worried he’d feel shortchanged.

“Even after those deductions, there’s profit. Have you ever thought, if you and I ran it, wouldn’t we have a guaranteed income?”

Seeing Chen Huajiang’s prosperous business, Dagang’s father was tempted to open a snack stall himself.

“But the main problem is, could you even get a place? That spot outside the factory—are you sure they’d let us use it?”

Dagang, for once, was sharp, hitting on the crucial issue.

That stall had only been secured thanks to Liang Long’s help; Dagang’s father didn’t have that kind of pull.

“Forget it. No point talking to you, just happy to work for others,” Dagang’s father grumbled, realizing the problem was out of his reach.

These days, business at Chen Huajiang’s stall was booming, both at lunch and in the evenings.

Lin Jiayin’s earnings were steadily rising, from just tens of yuan at the start to over a hundred now.

While working, Lin Jiayin kept pondering how to raise the turnover even more.

He thought of distributing flyers. Even if he couldn’t handle the extra customers himself, he could always hire help.

But for this, he’d still need Liang Long. Print shops were scarce, so Chen Huajiang decided to ask Liang Long to find someone who could draw.

They’d buy paper and have someone sketch flyers by hand to give to customers.

That evening, when Liang Long came to the barbecue stall, Chen Huajiang called him inside.

Over the past few days, he’d taught Dagang how to grill lamb skewers, and Dagang had picked it up quickly.

So, when things were slow, he found himself with some spare time.

“Do you know anyone who can draw? We need to advertise the stall, or no one will know about it.”

Chen Huajiang handed him a pack of cigarettes.

“I can draw! I learned when I was a kid. Don’t believe me? Tell me what you want, and I’ll sketch something for you right now,” Liang Long replied with confidence.

Skeptical, Chen Huajiang handed him a pen and paper, laughing, “Then draw me our lamb skewers.”

With a cigarette dangling from his lips, Liang Long quickly sketched a picture.

And truth be told, it looked quite accurate.

“I never realized you had this talent! But we’ll need hundreds of these—are you sure you can handle it?”

Chen Huajiang was pleased with the drawing but worried Liang Long might not follow through.

“Why not just get a print shop to make them? Why do it all by hand?”

“I know about print shops, but it’s expensive—several hundred yuan. I’m trying to save us money. Just take these home and draw them tonight.”

Honestly, drawing hundreds of flyers by hand was going to be a real chore.

“I know the print shop manager’s son. I can work something out for you—don’t worry, just wait for good news!”

With that, Liang Long slapped his backside and left.

Chen Huajiang frowned. Did the kid really have a solution? He shook his head; since Liang Long had agreed, he’d see what happened.

A little after nine, a group of men who looked like local toughs showed up at the stall.

“Boss, fifty lamb skewers, ten bottles of beer, and three plates of peanuts.”

The leader was a shaved-headed man, about twenty-seven or twenty-eight.

“All right, just a moment, coming right up.”

Who cared if they were thugs? Customers were customers.

Dagang pulled Chen Huajiang aside and whispered, “I know that bald guy—he’s a small-time hood from the next street over.”