Chapter Forty-Nine: I Truly Know How to Write (Third Update)

The boss and his wife were so stunned by this windfall that they hardly knew which way was north. They weren’t fools; if what Jiang Yingying said was true and that area really had such a high footfall, then rent would easily be double or even triple what they were paying now.

Yet Jiang Yingying offered them a rent not only unchanged, but at half the price they currently paid! If that wasn’t a pie dropping from the sky, what could be?

As for the three percent cut of annual revenue, that seemed fair enough. Based on their store’s yearly performance, it was equivalent to the rent being raised to one and a half times the current rate—a figure still within reason.

And this was to be paid annually! All they had to do was hand over three percent of their year-end revenue. What did that mean? It meant merchants would have more cash on hand throughout the year to pursue other ventures, allowing their profits to grow by several more points.

Nowadays, working capital is invaluable for anyone in business.

Simply explaining these benefits to the business owners would be enough to secure their enthusiastic agreement. In truth, most merchants could see the advantages for themselves without much persuasion.

That night, the boss and his wife dined with Qin Tian and his companions, enjoying a meal filled with laughter and relief. The heavy weight in their hearts had finally been lifted.

The very next day, the boss and his wife took Qin Tian and the others to visit each merchant, one by one. As expected, the shop owners agreed without hesitation. Who would refuse such a golden opportunity delivered to their doorstep? Not only would it be foolish to refuse—it would be downright idiotic!

With this matter settled, they quickly discussed a collective moving date. In the meantime, the Jiang Group would provide a large warehouse for merchants to store their goods temporarily, a gesture that earned the company even more gratitude and praise.

Afterward, Qin Tian, Jiang Yingying, and Shen Xiaoqing hurriedly drove to the Imperial Equestrian Center. The horse race would begin at two thirty in the afternoon, and it was already past eleven—they had no time to waste.

Pushing their schedule to the limit, the three finally arrived at Imperial Equestrian Center a little after two o’clock.

“Stop right there! What’s your business here?”

Because of the day’s event, the Imperial Equestrian Center required all entrants to show competitor passes.

“We’re here to compete. We represent Jiang Group,” Jiang Yingying replied.

“Jiang Group? Show me your competitor passes. No entry without them,” the staff member at the gate insisted.

“This…” Jiang Yingying was caught off guard. Jiang Tianxiang hadn’t mentioned anything about needing a pass.

“No pass? Then move along!” The staff member waved them away.

“We really are here for the race. The horse in stall number three is ours,” Qin Tian explained.

“Anyone can claim that,” the staff member replied skeptically, though he knew full well that the horse in stall three did belong to Jiang Group.

However, the rules from above were clear: only ticket-holders and those with competitor passes could enter today. Not even the emperor himself would be exempt. If he let just one unauthorized person through, two months’ wages would be forfeit—he couldn’t risk that.

“You’re quite diligent. Still, you can call Jiang Feng—he’ll vouch for us,” Qin Tian said amiably. He respected the man’s sense of duty and spoke politely.

“You want to see Young Master Feng? Who do you think you are?” The staff member now regarded Qin Tian as just another opportunist trying to sneak in, spinning tall tales.

Qin Tian frowned slightly. He respected the man’s professionalism, but this contemptuous attitude was unwarranted.

Just as Qin Tian was about to speak up, a group of young men approached from across the way.

“Well, well, who do we have here?” one of them drawled, a young man in a baseball cap and athletic jacket, eyeing the three with a smirk.

“Tang Chengli, tell them we’re here for the race,” Jiang Yingying quickly said.

Tang Chengli, son of Tang Yiliu and heir to the Tian Tang Group, was flanked by two other scions of major families: Deng Taihe, son of Deng Jiachun, president of Fulai Media, and Huang Yuquan, son of Huang Qinhu, head of the Bodhi Society’s Wushi branch.

With these three, and the addition of Jiang Feng, young master of Imperial Group, they were known as the Four Young Lords of Wushi—famous within certain circles.

“Who are you? I don’t know you,” Tang Chengli replied with feigned surprise, pretending not to recognize them.

“Watch carefully now—don’t let any riffraff in, or you’ll lose your pay,” Tang Chengli said with a sly grin, patting the staff member’s shoulder.

“Absolutely, Young Master Li. I won’t let in a single unauthorized person!” the staff member replied obsequiously. Though he worked for Imperial Group, there wasn’t a soul in Wushi unfamiliar with the Four Young Lords.

“Tang Chengli! You’re despicable!” Jiang Yingying spat, gritting her teeth.

“Exactly! Even if you win because we can’t compete, there’s no glory in it!” Shen Xiaoqing fumed.

“My dear Xiaoqing, you seem to have grown since I last saw you,” Tang Chengli leered openly at her chest, his intentions barely disguised.

Shen Xiaoqing quickly crossed her arms, well aware that Tang Chengli was the most lecherous of the four.

Qin Tian frowned, stepped sideways, and shielded Shen Xiaoqing from Tang Chengli’s gaze.

“And who are you, you little bastard?” Tang Chengli snapped, annoyed by the interruption.

“Bastard? With your three streaks of green hair and that perm, are you sure your mother didn’t have an affair with a green-haired turtle?” Qin Tian replied, feigning astonishment and gesturing at Tang Chengli’s hair.

Huang Yuquan and Deng Taihe burst into laughter. “This kid’s got talent!”

“What are you laughing at?” Tang Chengli grumbled. His hairstyle—a permed, green-tinted look—was all the rage among playboys, and he was quite proud of it.

Jiang Yingying and Shen Xiaoqing couldn’t help but giggle as well. Qin Tian’s comparison was just too… outrageously sharp.

“Kid, you must have a death wish,” Tang Chengli threatened, his face darkening.

“Sorry, I may only have a middle school degree, but I do know how to write the word ‘death,’” Qin Tian flashed a grin.