"Little brother, you’ve come. Have you made your decision?"
Boss Zhou stood still in front of Hou Yong, eyeing the carrying pole on his shoulder, having likely already guessed the young man’s intentions.
"Hou Yong, are you here to see me make a fool of myself?!"
Before Hou Yong could answer, Wang Xue stomped over, furious. She wiped some noodle soup off her face, looking absolutely wretched. "Are you trying to use the bingfen recipe to suck up to this guy surnamed Zhou? Let me tell you, even without him, I can still make it on my own. It’s he who needs to rely on me, not the other way around!"
Hou Yong raised an eyebrow but said nothing. Beside him, Boss Zhou grew impatient. "You crazy woman, are you done yet? Get lost before I lose my temper."
"You surnamed Zhou, who do you think you are? Don't think I don't know that you're in the East—"
*Slap.*
Hou Yong raised his hand and decisively slapped Wang Xue across the face. She stood stunned, a bright red palm print quickly blooming on her pale cheek.
"Hou Yong, you dare hit me? You actually dare to hit me? Are you a reincarnated soul too? You—"
"Drag her to the back, throw her far away, and don't let her interfere with my business."
Wang Xue, hair disheveled, moved to pounce on Hou Yong, but she was already being dragged toward the back by the restaurant staff. Given Boss Zhou’s way of doing things, a beating was likely inevitable.
But Hou Yong didn't intend to intervene.
The slap he had just delivered was, in reality, a way of saving Wang Xue from a disaster. In his past life, after Hou Yong started his trading company, it was backed by Boss Zhou’s early investments. It was only later that Hou Yong learned that Boss Zhou’s seafood restaurant in the city served a dual purpose: besides purchasing seafood from the southeastern coast, he was heavily involved in smuggling.
Back then, Hou Yong never could have imagined that besides fish, the ocean was bringing in watches, radios, and later, televisions and refrigerators. But because Boss Zhou had given him his first job and was a shareholder in his first company, Hou Yong had never exposed him.
Ten years later, when the situation on the southeastern coast underwent a major purge, a "super big fish" was caught, and many of the old smuggling families were either locked up or fled. Boss Zhou, unfortunately, was sent away. Although Boss Zhou hadn't snitched on Hou Yong’s company at the time, Hou Yong had still suffered significant losses.
People who engaged in smuggling these days were not exactly saints. If Wang Xue had lost her temper and exposed his dark history, Hou Yong might not have walked away unscathed.
"Little brother, is that your friend? She’s a total lunatic."
Boss Zhou patted his shoulder and ushered Hou Yong into the restaurant. Hou Yong blushed, suddenly feeling it was quite shameful to even know Wang Xue, but fortunately, Boss Zhou changed the subject himself.
"Little brother, try this. It’s top-quality Taiping Houkui." Boss Zhou personally steeped a cup of tea for Hou Yong and pushed it toward him.
Hou Yong lifted the cup, took a sniff, and set it down with a smile. "Boss Zhou, I’m a rough man and don’t know much about tea. Let’s get down to business."
As he spoke, Hou Yong opened his bucket, took out a bowl of bingfen, placed it on the table, and pushed it across. "Boss Zhou, about the recipe—I’m sorry, but I can’t hand it over to you directly. I’ve done the math, and selling the recipe outright would be a huge loss for me."
Boss Zhou looked at the plain bingfen, devoid of any toppings, and remained silent. Sometimes, in negotiations, silence is an effective way to apply invisible pressure, forcing the other party to lower their bottom line. The old fox played this game well, but Hou Yong wasn't buying it.
"However, I have a better proposal. It’s much more cost-effective for you than buying the recipe, which is why I came to see you today. Hear me out." Hou Yong smiled at Boss Zhou. "I plan to partner with you. You act as my agent; I provide the raw materials, and we both make money."
"Tell me more." Boss Zhou’s interest was piqued, and he leaned forward—a subconscious action that revealed his true curiosity.
"I will provide you with at least two hundred servings of bingfen daily, without the toppings. You can develop your own flavors based on that foundation. The wholesale price from me is five mao per bowl. What do you think?"
"Little brother, are you taking me for a fool?" Boss Zhou let out a dry, angry laugh. "You wander the streets selling bingfen for five mao a bowl, and now you want to charge me five mao for the base without any toppings? Do you think I’m that easy to scam?"
"Boss Zhou, that’s not how you do the math." Seeing that the man was about to blow his top, Hou Yong shook his head with a smile. "A bowl of noodles at a street stall costs two or three mao, but in a restaurant like yours, it’s eight mao to a yuan. Why? Because you have an establishment."
"The customers who come to eat here don’t care about a few extra cents. And you can prepare your own high-end toppings, which will be much more sophisticated than what my little stall can offer. So, even if I set the wholesale price at five mao, the final selling price is still up to you."
"What I can guarantee is that in the West City, I won't cooperate with anyone but you. How does that sound?"
Boss Zhou didn't answer. He lit a Marlboro cigarette and calculated silently. Hou Yong didn't say anything further, simply taking a sip of the tea.
It was scalding hot. As soon as it hit his tongue, sweat broke out on his back. The restaurant had no air conditioning, only a few large ceiling fans spinning lazily. Hou Yong simply set the cup down and waited for Boss Zhou’s verdict.
"If you want to partner this way, that’s fine, but I have a few requirements." Boss Zhou took a deep drag of his cigarette and tapped the table with his finger. "First, it won’t be just West City; you can only work with my place for the entire city. Second, two hundred servings isn't enough; I need at least five hundred. Third, three mao per serving, no more."
Boss Zhou’s tone was uncompromising, but Hou Yong didn't flinch. He said calmly, "For the first and third points, if you want exclusivity, the price remains five mao per serving, and not a cent less. Exclusivity comes at a premium; that’s non-negotiable."
"As for the second point, two hundred servings—no more. And I’ll give you a piece of advice, Boss Zhou: it’s better to supply a limited quantity daily."
"I’m buying five hundred servings, and you’re worried I’ll make too much money?" Boss Zhou scoffed.
Hou Yong tapped the table. "Scarcity creates value. By limiting the daily supply, you create a supply-demand gap. It’s called 'hunger marketing.' So, Boss Zhou, do we have a deal?"
Upon hearing the term "hunger marketing," Boss Zhou paused. He looked at the hand Hou Yong had extended, and after a long moment, he stood up and shook it firmly.
"Deal, little brother. But as for the exclusivity, let’s hold off on that for now. Three mao a bowl, let’s try it out first."