Xia Xiao Lan hadn’t been greedy then, sensing something suspicious.

Senior Brother Wan’s dozens of radios coincided with a market price crash!

He’d bought them at 140 yuan each, but within days they became hard to sell. Yangcheng’s market suddenly flooded with suspiciously sourced, cheap radios selling for around 120 yuan retail. When Senior Brother Wan tried selling to wholesalers… what fool would buy his stock at 150 yuan?

Even at 100 yuan per unit, wholesalers wouldn’t touch them. How could they sell stock when retail prices were 120 yuan? They needed to sell below 100 yuan themselves.

After years of planned economy, prices had been extremely stable.

Unfamiliar with the market economy’s rapid changes, Senior Brother Wan took a hard fall.

At 140 yuan per unit, he’d been set up as the final buyer. With thousands of yuan in radios sitting unsold, his wife fought with him, and he couldn’t sleep at night.

Finally, he painfully sold them to wholesalers at 85 yuan each. Though they reluctantly accepted, he lost all his previous radio trading profits and capital. Recovering less than 3,000 yuan wasn’t enough to repay his debts. With no more work from Xia Xiao Lan, he had to swallow his pride and seek help from his junior martial sister Zhen Zhu Bai in Shenzhen.

Zhen Zhu Bai didn’t abandon him.

She let him raise money and set up a small stall in the market beside her.

With almost no capital, much of his inventory was on credit from Zhen Zhu Bai.

Seeing the well-dressed Dong Liang Li, Senior Brother Wan felt ashamed. He should have stayed Xia Xiao Lan’s bodyguard – a steady income beat losing money in business. In business, few were truly kind; people profited by exploiting others. Not everyone aimed for long-term growth; some just wanted quick profits through deception.

Overconfident yet unskilled, Senior Brother Wan borrowed several times his profits to gamble, nearly losing everything.

Even selling identical goods from the same source at the same prices in the market, his stall performed far worse than Zhen Zhu Bai’s. The same products yielded different results in different hands – he had much to learn about business!

“That’s how it is. As fellow disciples, I can only help him run a stall for now.”

Zhen Zhu Bai was generous, overlooking minor troubles – something even Xia Xiao Lan could learn from. In her position, Xia Xiao Lan would have distanced herself after seeing how Senior Brother Wan operated. Zhen Zhu Bai’s ability to cooperate despite past grievances made her more trustworthy.

Xia Xiao Lan came to ask about the storefront, but Zhen Zhu Bai was deeply troubled.

Though fearless in confronting market vendors, she didn’t know how to negotiate with officials. The storefront Xia Xiao Lan wanted wasn’t available for rent, despite clear ownership.

Indeed, keeping property empty rather than renting it was unimaginable in the future but common in 1984.

Like Blue Phoenix’s storefront – National Cotton Factory No. 3 preferred leaving the building empty to avoid trouble with Grandmother Yu, letting no one benefit. State-owned enterprises faced no bankruptcy risk; often the issue wasn’t rent but whether they were willing to lease at all.

Zhen Zhu Bai hadn’t approached it correctly.

Xia Xiao Lan considered intervening but held back.

Having entrusted this to Zhen Zhu Bai, she needed to trust her partner. She couldn’t handle all the preliminary work alone. The business belonged to everyone, not just her – doing everything would exhaust her.

She needed to delegate whatever work she could.

In her previous life, Xia Xiao Lan hadn’t remained a low-level salesperson but reached an executive position, focusing on strategic decisions. Tasks were delegated down the chain, with different people executing her decisions. While she worked hands-on to accumulate initial capital, she hired staff once established. Of course, while she could trust Feng Mei Li or her mother with sourcing goods, she’d never send Ma Wei to Yangcheng.

Unable to deliver her gifts to Hong En Tang, Xia Xiao Lan decided to wait a few days in Shenzhen.

Liu Fen had never seen the ocean, so in the Special Zone, Xia Xiao Lan could take her mother to the seaside.

Though undeveloped, the small fishing village’s beach made for nice walks. Lack of development had benefits – less advanced infrastructure meant less pollution. Without plastic waste dumping, even soft drink bottles were recycled, and plastic bottles were rare. Same with plastic bags – people used baskets and cloth bags for shopping, many not knowing what plastic bags were.

Breakfast takeout required bringing your containers; flatbread sellers might give you paper at most.

Usually, old newspapers or cut-up used notebooks – just two sheets under hot flatbread. Take more and the seller might scold you… People calculated the usage of all resources precisely. Dead battery? Bite it to squeeze out more use! Everything was used to its absolute limit. Industrial goods were precious then – who had waste to throw away when it could be sold or recycled?

Though not modern, the fishing village wasn’t polluted.

Rolling up pants legs, wearing plastic sandals, and walking on soft sand with waves washing against calves and feet felt quite nice.

Liu Fen had never experienced this.

She felt her life was complete – leaving the Xia family truly began a new life. No woman in Da He Village had seen the ocean. Blue sky, blue sea – though watching the waves too long made her eyes blur and her head spin.

Xia Xiao Lan chose a spot away from factories where fishermen’s catch was still edible. These people were half-hearted about their ancestral livelihood, pretending to fish while mainly receiving smuggled goods from Hong Kong at sea. Surprised even this small village was involved, Xia Xiao Lan bought some seafood and found a dock restaurant to cook it.

With Dong Liang Li present, Xia Xiao Lan dared wander this unfamiliar place. After eating, they wanted to leave, but darkness fell quickly and heavy rain began.

Sea winds howled, nearly capsizing docked boats. In this weather, they couldn’t return.

Without even a guesthouse nearby, Xia Xiao Lan could only ask the restaurant owner about spare rooms.

“We’ll stay here tonight.”

Tourism hadn’t developed yet – only fish traders and smugglers’ contacts came to this fishing village, and the dock restaurant served these customers. Xia Xiao Lan’s group fit neither category. Playing in the sand all afternoon, then buying seafood from fishing boats?

The owner agreed to provide two rooms.

The weather changed quickly; all village homes were tightly shut, only the restaurant’s lights still burning. In the storm, two figures struggled to move toward them.