But after she finished, Chen Ping didn't look scared at all; instead, he burst out laughing:
"Hahaha, that's AIDS, Sui Sui. Why are you so dumb?"
Qi Sui pouted, "I don't know about AIDS or anything; I didn't study well. I just know Brother Chen Ping should change jobs—this isn't a good place!"
Chen Ping reached out and gently touched her head as he used to, but his tone seemed like a different person:
"Sui Sui, do you know how much your Brother Chen Ping earns in a month here?"
Qi Sui shook her head discontentedly, shaking off the hand trying to control her thoughts, and asked sullenly:
"How much? At most two thousand."
She said two thousand because her father had sold a year's worth of grain for that much—it was their family's total annual income. In Qi Sui's mind, that was the absolute maximum. There couldn't be more money in the world.
Chen Ping didn't answer but pulled her closer, letting her see a small pocket sewn inside his clothes, containing five banknotes printed with "100." Qi Sui hadn't been good at school, but she could count.
She stared at the crisp, white five hundred-yuan notes, speechless for a moment.
Chen Ping laughed smugly, "That's just one night! Sui Sui, your Brother Chen Ping is going to make big money. I'll make those who looked down on me in the village kneel and polish my shoes."
Qi Sui was at a loss for words.
She could only ask blankly, "And me? Do I polish your shoes too?"
Chen Ping rolled his eyes but kept a gentle expression. He patted Qi Sui's shoulder and said he had to go back to work, telling her not to worry.
Before leaving, he stuffed a ten-yuan note into her hand, telling her to buy whatever she wanted to eat.
Qi Sui clutched the crumpled ten-yuan note, looking at it again and again, feeling sweet.
She thought of the five crisp bills in Chen Ping's pocket and already knew what she wanted to buy. Colorful new dresses, pretty little leather shoes, maybe even a spacious, comfortable house like city people.
This feeling was like uncontrollable lava, flooding her heart, making it burn with passion.
But when she looked up again, she saw the two security guards at the entrance of Wan Zi Qian Hong.
They were still watching every passerby with wary eyes, as if everyone was a "village girl" like her.
This sight instantly cooled Qi Sui's heart.
She did want to earn money, but she also knew that one reaps what one sows. In this terrifyingly large entertainment venue, what could one do in a single night to earn as much as her family made in a quarter?
That ten-yuan note was wrinkled and seemed to have sticky fingerprints on it. Qi Sui held it up to the sunlight, examining it repeatedly, confirming it wasn't money Chen Ping had earned in the city. It must have been money he brought with him—in other words—
This ten-yuan note was still the blood and sweat money of Chen Ping's farmer father, earned by swinging a hoe in the fields.
Her heart instantly cooled.
The dry bun seemed stuck in her throat, refusing to go down no matter how she swallowed.
She glanced once more at Wan Zi Qian Hong, then slowly walked back to the bus stop where she had gotten off, intending to take the same bus back.
On the other side, Chen Ping strode cheerfully into the break room, planning to redo his tie—tidy and neat, pleasing to the eye!
He casually tossed the two buns, now no longer warm, onto a long bench, bent down, and changed into shiny pointed-toe leather shoes.
The scent of rouge mixed with heavy cigarette smoke brushed his nose. A woman's fair arm draped over his shoulder, and she giggled:
"Yo, Brother Ping, where'd these buns come from?"
Chen Ping lifted his eyelids, glancing at the two pale buns, and said indifferently:
"Someone gave them to me. You hungry? Eat them."
"That nice? Then I'll take them."
He finished changing his shoes, stood up, took a few steps, and ensured he looked radiant in the mirror before smiling.
"Eat up, they're just buns. If you're still hungry, I'll buy you more."
Someone poked their head into the break room:
"Xiao Mei, Brother Wang is selecting a table. Come over after you eat."
The newcomer glanced at Chen Ping and added, "Oh, and Chen Ping, you come too. There are a few 'young masters' in the private room; go keep them company."
Chen Ping smiled.
"Young master" was an inside term at Wan Zi Qian Hong.
No matter the guest—male or female—anyone rich or noble was called a "young master." So as soon as a waiter heard "young master," they knew they'd make a good amount that night.
Whether it was playing cards, selling drinks, or doing something else—who cared? Money was boss, after all.
In the top-floor private room of Wan Zi Qian Hong, a mix of men and women were mingling. A man with yellow teeth looked up, holding a woman with a powdered face. Though his expression was a smile, it carried a hint of ruthlessness:
"Where's the little young master Lin? Not scared off, is he?"
This man, surnamed Huang, given name Zhentian, came from a family running a chemical plant. After the reforms, his family had made good money, but still couldn't compare to the Lin family.
He was full of resentment but restrained by the elders' authority, only daring to call the Lin kid "little young master" privately as a dig.
The woman in his arms let out a delicate, coquettish sound, then poked Huang Zhentian's chest with her fingertip, her voice soft and seductive:
"Young Master Lin seems to have gone out for a smoke. He looked unhappy when he left just now."
"Pfft..." Huang Zhentian had long been fed up with him. A little young master born after five tries—the Lin family had been fined over ten thousand yuan for exceeding the birth limit.