Chapter 147

Wei Sheng hadn’t expected a fan to ask that question. He was caught off guard for a moment, but after thinking it over, he decided to briefly explain the plan he and Jiang Xiaoman had come up with.

It wasn’t until this recent trip to Langshan that Wei Sheng realized it wasn’t just Nine-Bend Slope—deep within the Hundred Thousand Great Mountains of Langshan, there were countless places even poorer and more underdeveloped than Langshan Village and Nine-Bend Slope.

According to Shanyan, a friend of Jiang Xiaoman’s, in some of the more remote mountain villages, all the young people had already left. Only the elderly remained, and there were no children. The villages were lifeless, eerily silent.

These elderly villagers, with no pensions to rely on, had to keep farming as long as they could still move. Many parts of the mountains weren’t suitable for growing rice, and crops like corn, potatoes, and sweet potatoes weren’t worth much. The old folks relied on raising two pigs and a dozen chickens each year. They’d save up some eggs to trade for salt, and at the end of the year, selling one pig would bring in two to three thousand yuan—that would be their biggest income for the whole year.

For these elderly people living alone, statistics like per capita annual income meant nothing. The money they earned each year was barely enough to survive.

Shanyan said that some of the elderly were so frugal they wouldn’t even buy rice or flour. Their daily meals consisted of what they grew themselves—potatoes, corn, sweet potatoes, konjac… anything starchy and free became their staple food.

Wei Sheng remembered being stunned for several minutes after hearing all this. He didn’t know what to say.

Growing up in the city, his understanding of poverty in remote areas came mostly from what he saw on TV. In recent years, although he had traveled with the production team to film in various poor villages, compared to the mountain folk Shanyan described—those who couldn’t even afford a bowl of rice all year—the places they had visited might not have been truly impoverished at all.

That was when Wei Sheng began thinking about whether there was something he could do to help these mountain villagers.

It just so happened that he and Xiaoman had been talking about opening a restaurant in J City. After some discussion, they decided to open a Langshan Flavor Local Cuisine Restaurant. But Wei Sheng wasn’t just aiming to earn a bit of money from the customers who came to eat.

Just like the specialty store he had opened for Hu Qianqian, the physical shop was more of a showcase. These days, the store’s online sales had already surpassed the in-store revenue by more than a hundredfold.

People in J City didn’t know much about Langshan’s local specialties or how to cook them? No problem. They just needed to visit the restaurant a few times. Once they tasted something delicious, they could scan the QR code on the table and buy the same ingredients from the online store. Place an order online, and the goods would be delivered straight to their doorstep—no need to carry anything home.

In simple terms, Wei Sheng and Jiang Xiaoman wanted to use one or even several Langshan Local Cuisine Restaurants as “offline experience stores” for Langshan’s specialty foods. Consumer habits needed to be cultivated. Relying solely on livestream sales wasn’t sustainable—some fans might buy once to show support, but if they didn’t know how to cook it, they wouldn’t buy again.

But foodies who knew how to eat were different! When they came across rare ingredients, they weren’t afraid to stock up. Wei Sheng had once met someone who loved bamboo shoots stewed with ham so much that they directly bought four large hams and two hundred jin of premium dried bamboo shoots from him. Most importantly, these customers had incredibly high repurchase rates! Not only did they keep buying, they also recommended the products to their fellow foodie friends.

With the steady promotion from the “offline experience stores” and the support of Jiang Xiaoman’s online shop, they could eventually set up collection points directly in the various village groups across Langshan.

Never underestimate how eager mountain villagers are to earn money.

If there was even a one-yuan profit per jin of dried bamboo shoots, someone would go into the mountains to collect them and resell them to Jiang Xiaoman’s Mountain Goods Collection Point.

Once this supply chain was established—from the villagers who foraged the mountain goods, to the peddlers who traveled to the villages to collect them, to Jiang Xiaoman and Wei Sheng, and the staff of the online shop and restaurant—every person involved in the process could make money from it.

In Wei Sheng’s view, this was the most effective and sustainable way to support rural development. Only when everyone in the chain could earn a living would they all work together toward the same goal, and only then could the root problem of poverty—people having no way to make money—be truly addressed.

At the dining table, the hot pot broth was already bubbling and the dishes had all been served, but no one had picked up their chopsticks yet.

After hearing Wei Sheng’s vision for the future of the local cuisine restaurant, the fans were already fired up with excitement.

Hot pot? Who cares about hot pot?

If they were going to spend money anyway, why give it to some random hot pot chain?

If they had known that Wei Sheng’s local cuisine restaurant was actually tied to the greater cause of helping the people of Langshan escape poverty, they would’ve waited outside for a table no matter how long it took, just to eat there and show their support.

Decision made! Starting tomorrow, whether it was a gathering with friends, a family dinner, a class reunion, or a company meal—everything would be arranged at “Xiaomange Local Cuisine Restaurant”!

Too bad the restaurant was so small. If it were bigger, they could even host weddings, baby celebrations, or birthday banquets for the elderly there in the future.

Wei Sheng hadn’t expected his fans to be even more imaginative than he was! His restaurant had only just opened, and they were already suggesting he rent a larger venue, set up a banquet hall, and become the go-to place for all their family celebrations… Wait a minute, were they seriously suggesting that on such joyous occasions, after receiving all those generous cash gifts, guests would want to eat rustic, crumbly peasant dishes?

“Why not? I actually love those countryside banquets. Big portions, hearty food, and you leave full!”

“Exactly! Every time I go to a hotel banquet, I leave half-hungry. The food just doesn’t have that rustic, firewood-cooked flavor…”

“You’re absolutely right. I worked a summer job in a hotel kitchen once, and I can tell you for sure—most hotels that host banquets nowadays use pre-made meal kits. Cold dishes, for example, are just unpacked and plated straight from the bag. Of course there’s no real flavor in that.”

The fans chimed in one after another, practically begging Wei Sheng to rent a venue right then and there and get the banquet hall up and running. Who cares about the location? What really matters is the food! After all, they’d given so much in red envelopes—how could they be served pre-packaged meals? That just wouldn’t do.

Wei Sheng: “…”

A banquet hall? Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Maybe when the restaurant gets so popular that people have to wait in line, then it’ll be time to think about that. Still, the fans’ unconditional trust and support moved Wei Sheng deeply. He picked up a bottle of beer, made the rounds to toast each table, then slipped downstairs to quietly pay the bill before hurrying back to the rustic restaurant.

After a full day of running around, Wei Sheng felt like his legs were about to fall off. But what he didn’t expect was that, even though today was just the opening banquet, when they tallied up the books that night, the day’s revenue had actually exceeded sixty thousand yuan!

“Wait, did you include the red envelope money in this?” Wei Sheng craned his neck to peek at the ledger in Hu Qianqian’s hands.

“Your mother hasn’t lost her mind yet. Red envelopes are red envelopes. This is your restaurant’s actual revenue. Take a look!” Hu Qianqian tossed the ledger to her son.

Wei Sheng flipped through a few pages and finally understood why, even though today was just the opening banquet, the numbers were so high.

Liang Yi, Zhou Mingxing, and a few other guests who ran their own businesses had all placed orders for corporate meals at the restaurant. With the online economy booming, there was no way Wei Sheng and Jiang Xiaoman would ignore digital channels.

In addition to dine-in service, the rustic restaurant also offered meal delivery. And on just the first day, they’d already received a surprising number of online orders. Sure, most of the customers were personal connections, but Wei Sheng didn’t find that shameful at all. In fact, networking and resources were essential intangible assets in any business venture.

Let’s be honest—China is a society built on relationships. Just like Grandpa Hu had taught him since he was a child: the more friends you have, the more paths you can take. All those carefully maintained connections? If you don’t use them now, when will you?

Watching his grandson grinning ear to ear while clutching the ledger like a little money-grubber, Grandpa Hu sipped his tea, thoroughly pleased with himself.

The Wei family might not cherish this child, but the Old Hu family certainly did!

Back when his daughter came home crying, saying her husband favored his nephew and treated his own son harshly, Grandpa Hu had been furious at first. But then he thought it through. He and his wife only had one daughter, Hu Qianqian. If Wei Zhiyong was so eager to push his own son away and break that father-son bond, wasn’t that just a blessing in disguise for them?

To outsiders, it looked like Hu Qianqian was being bullied by her in-laws and had to bring her child home every other day. But in truth, it was all with Grandpa Hu’s full knowledge and support.

So what if they spent their hard-earned money to feed and clothe their daughter and grandson? Hu Qianqian often brought Wei Sheng home, which gave Grandpa Hu the perfect opportunity to personally “brainwash” the boy. And now, after years of careful nurturing, the results were clear. At the very least, Wei Sheng’s emotional intelligence and financial savvy were exactly what you’d expect from a true grandson of the Old Hu family!

Grandpa Hu wasn’t like that muddle-headed Wei matriarch. He firmly believed in the saying, “The one who raises you is the one you’re closest to.” So what if Wei Sheng had the Wei family’s blood? Look at the kid—does he even bother with them?

On the second day after opening, the rustic restaurant officially began trial operations.

At 10:30 in the morning, just as the doors opened, a flood of fans who hadn’t made it to the banquet the day before poured in, instantly filling the entire first-floor dining hall. Three private rooms upstairs were opened as well.

But instead of ordering right away, the fans whipped out their phones, snapping photos here and there. Once they were done, they buried their heads in their screens, helping spread the word about the restaurant online.

The smiling store manager, Tang Siyou, came out to greet the guests: “???”

After hearing from the younger staff that this was called “checking in,” Tang Siyou was momentarily confused. But she quickly caught on. They were posting on their social media with the restaurant’s location tagged—essentially giving them free advertising. Her mood instantly brightened.

“Go check if Sister Caihua’s mugwort rice cakes are ready in the back. If they are, send a plate to every table. Tell the guests it’s on the house, a thank-you gift for helping promote our restaurant.”

In the kitchen, Lang Caihua had already made over three hundred mugwort rice cakes that morning. Since fresh mugwort wasn’t available in J City, all the mugwort, cured meat, and brown sugar used in the restaurant were shipped in from Langshan.

Fresh mugwort was washed and juiced, then mixed with flour and glutinous rice flour to form the dough. There were two types of filling: sweet, made with black sesame and brown sugar, and savory, made with cured meat, pickled mustard greens, and diced bamboo shoots. To tell them apart, Lang Caihua marked the sweet ones with a red five-petal flower using a natural dye unique to Langshan. The savory ones were left plain. It was obvious Sister Caihua had a sweet tooth—her bias was crystal clear.

When the steaming hot mugwort cakes were brought out, the fans were thrilled. They’d seen these in Wei Sheng’s livestreams before and had heard they were a specialty from Langshan. The green dough was colored with mugwort juice, and rumor had it that eating them regularly was good for your health too.

The freshly steamed mugwort rice cakes were still soft and floppy, making them hard to pick up. But after a short while, once the surface firmed up a bit, they were about the same consistency as a large tangyuan.

Switching to a savory one—wow! The filling of cured pork and pickled mustard greens was absolutely delicious! And those crunchy bits inside, were those diced bamboo shoots? So good!

Locals in J City clearly leaned toward savory flavors, but since the mugwort rice cakes were a complimentary dish from the manager—one plate per table, just two pieces per person—it was nowhere near enough.

“Boss! Another plate of those mugwort rice cakes!”

“We’ll take two plates, both with the cured pork and mustard greens filling!”

“Us too! Bring two plates for now, and then pack one for each of us to take home!”

Hearing the chorus of customers shouting for more in the dining hall, Tang Siyou rushed to the kitchen to personally oversee the situation. There was no other choice—Jiang Xiaoman and Wei Sheng had strictly forbidden the use of pre-made ingredients. Everything on the menu had to be freshly prepared each day. Still, maybe they could consider making more of the mugwort cakes and sticky rice balls the night before?

Judging by how eagerly people were ordering more, these unassuming, slightly squishy mugwort cakes had clearly hit the sweet spot for J City’s foodies.

In the back kitchen, Lang Caihua was dressed in a white apron, working so hard she looked like steam might start coming out of her head. Tang Siyou quickly washed up and jumped in to help. He used to make dumplings, so he picked up the technique for these cakes in no time.

“Caihua, the customers out front are all clamoring for more. One table even wants to pack some to go. Looks like your mugwort rice cakes are about to become our signature dish!”

Lang Caihua hadn’t expected that this humble snack, common in the countryside, would be such a hit in the city. But seeing the shop doing well finally put her mind at ease.

Heaven knows how nervous she’d been when Wei Sheng told her she didn’t need to do anything else at the shop—just make a few of her specialty snacks. Snacks like mugwort cakes and sticky rice balls were things that mountain folk rarely bought for themselves. Families would only splurge on one or two to appease a child’s sweet tooth during market days. Selling them in a shop? That had never even crossed her mind.

She’d been worried. What if the snacks didn’t sell? Would the boss let her go? It wouldn’t be the end of the world to return to her hometown—life would go on. But the constant stream of relatives trying to set her up with men who expected her to cook and clean for an entire household? Lang Caihua might not be educated, but she wasn’t stupid. She didn’t want that life. Yet staying single brought its own share of nasty gossip from nosy neighbors and relatives.

So when she came to the city with Wei Sheng and the others, she made up her mind: she was going to learn Mandarin, no matter what. Even if the shop didn’t need her in the future, she could still find work as a nanny or a street cleaner. But she was never going back to the village.

She had no house or land back home. Right now, her skills could support her. But what about when she got old?

Thank goodness the customers liked her mugwort rice cakes.

Lang Caihua pressed her lips together in a quiet smile. Tang Siyou knew she didn’t speak Mandarin, so he hadn’t expected a reply. But after a moment of hesitation, she managed to squeeze out a few words: “More! I can make more!”

Well, damn! The old girl had actually learned some Mandarin?

Tang Siyou raised his hand and gave her a big thumbs-up.

That night, after seeing off the last table of customers, the rest of the staff dragged their tired legs around as they cleaned up. In the kitchen, they were busy storing unused ingredients in the fridge and wiping down all the surfaces to get ready for the next day.

Out front, Tang Siyou yawned as he watched the cashier tally up the day’s sales. But the moment he saw the final number, his mouth froze mid-yawn.

“Holy crap! Seventy-eight thousand four hundred?”

He’d expected a good day—most tables had turned over once during lunch, and dinner had been even busier, with some tables turning over four times.

But nearly eighty thousand in a single day?

Did that mean if business stayed this hot, they could be pulling in over two million a month?

“Manager Tang, that’s just the dine-in sales. You forgot we haven’t even added the delivery orders yet,” the cashier reminded him in a low voice.

Tang Siyou: “…”

(End of Chapter)