Their family had been in business for generations, but when new policies were introduced, they caught wind of it early and donated all their assets. In exchange, Manager Li secured a position as the head of a state-owned restaurant.
Yet, deep down, he still dreamed of reviving the family business someday. But with policies unchanged, he could only make small, discreet moves for now.
He believed Song Nianchu was cut from the same cloth, which was why their collaboration had gone so smoothly.
"My ambition still needs Manager Li’s guidance to flourish," Song Nianchu said with a smile. She was the type who’d say anything sweet as long as it helped her make money.
Manager Li burst into laughter at her words.
"Nianchu, I really do adore you. If my son weren’t still so young, I would’ve long since arranged for you to be my daughter-in-law," Manager Li said, looking at her with unmistakable regret.
"Manager Li is blessed with good fortune. I’m sure your son will find an even better match in the future," Song Nianchu replied smoothly, leaving no opening.
"Well, I’ll take your kind words to heart. For now, let’s leave these canned goods in my shop for consignment. I’ll keep an eye on sales and give you feedback tomorrow," Manager Li said heartily.
"Then I’ll trouble you with this, Manager Li," Song Nianchu thanked him before taking her leave.
She made another trip to the market to stock up on ingredients for the next day, filling her emptied bamboo basket once more.
Since Mu Shi'an had mentioned that Mu's Father would be discharged from the hospital the next day, she skipped visiting him today and headed straight back to the village after shopping.
At home, she cooked dinner for Mu Haoxuan and Mu Yongnian before hurrying off to the village office.
With the experience from the previous day, everyone worked with practiced ease now.
Each person was putting in extra effort, but Song Nianchu’s gaze lingered on Meng Yingying.
In the two days she’d been here, Meng Yingying had barely spoken a word. Yet she worked diligently—even faster than the others since she didn’t engage in chatter.
But when she stood up, Song Nianchu noticed the bruises on her lower back, purplish-green and unmistakable.
A place like that—no one else could’ve inflicted those marks except her husband.
Yet, as Aunt Wu had said, if she didn’t cry for help, others couldn’t intervene.
Right now, her situation with Third Wu was a private family matter. If Song Nianchu stepped in, she’d be overstepping without justification.
With a quiet sigh, Song Nianchu averted her eyes.
…
The next day, instead of carrying her bamboo basket, Song Nianchu pulled a wooden cart for deliveries.
She went to Manager Li’s place first.
The moment she stepped inside, the sight of Manager Li grinning from ear to ear told her the canned goods had sold well.
Sure enough, he rushed over immediately.
"Nianchu, you’re a born businesswoman! Do you know your canned goods flew off the shelves yesterday? No promotion needed—just set them on the counter, and they were gone in a flash! How many did you bring today? I’ve already got advance orders lined up," Manager Li said excitedly.
Even if he only made twenty cents per can, the sheer volume made for a tidy profit.
"I brought twenty of each today," Song Nianchu said with a smile.
"Only twenty? That’s not even enough for the pre-orders!" Manager Li frowned.
"Don’t worry, I can prepare fifty of each tomorrow." Since she hadn’t known the demand, she hadn’t dared to make too many today.
"Good, good! Fifty it is, then!" Manager Li nodded repeatedly.
"Wait—these jars look different from yesterday’s?" He noticed the glass containers in her cart.
Song Nianchu had been waiting for this. She quickly handed him one.
"I drew these labels myself. The plain glass seemed too dull, so I added a name and our address—free advertising," she explained, presenting the modified version.
Without access to printing shops, she’d resorted to hand-drawn labels.
Though a bit rough, no one would mind—most canned goods at the supply cooperatives didn’t even have labels.
"Qingheyuan, produced in Qinghe Fishing Village," Manager Li read aloud.
Song Nianchu masked her thoughts with a smile.
"Our village has fished for generations. Listing the origin lets customers know the ingredients are freshly caught by us."
Manager Li nodded. "Your handwriting is impressive."
"I just copied what I’ve seen," Song Nianchu said modestly.
"Even so, it’s better than my chicken scratch!" Manager Li laughed ruefully. As a businessman, he only needed to keep accounts—neat handwriting wasn’t a priority.
"Manager Li, I still need to pick someone up from the hospital, so…" Song Nianchu gently redirected as he kept examining the cans.
"Pick someone up? A family member ill?" he asked, snapping back to attention.
"My father-in-law," she clarified.
"Ah, then you’d best hurry." Manager Li set the can aside and handed her the day’s earnings.
"Thank you, Manager Li." After verifying the amount, she left swiftly—her steps quicker than usual.
Once she was gone, Manager Li studied the modified can again.
Something felt off. The label highlighted Qinghe Fishing Village but made no mention of his restaurant.
Amused, he glanced toward the door. No wonder she’d left in such a hurry.
That girl was a natural—sharp, resourceful, and smooth.
If not for the current policies, he’d have loved to team up with her for something big.
But alas, that dream was likely out of reach.
Well, this state-owned restaurant wasn’t his anyway. No harm done.
With that, he set the can down.
…
By the time Song Nianchu reached the hospital with her cart, Mu Shi'an was already supporting Mu's Father at the entrance.
"You’re already here? How long have you been waiting?" she asked, rushing over.
"Not long," Mu Shi'an replied calmly.
Truthfully, Mu's Father had insisted on leaving early to save on the hospital fee, so they’d been waiting half the morning. But Song Nianchu didn’t need to know that.
"Help your father onto the cart," she said, unfurling a padded mat over the wooden planks.
Mu's Father stared at the neatly arranged cart, his expression shifting slightly.
"Dad?" Mu Shi'an called out softly, noticing Mu's Father standing motionless, afraid he might refuse to get into the car.
