Chapter 125:

Among Lin Yining’s twins, the elder sister Wang Yushan was more decisive and had a firmer purpose. Before starting university, she had already mapped out a plan for her future.

The younger sister, Wang Yuyan, was more of a go-with-the-flow type. Though she did well in university, she hadn’t settled on a clear path for herself. Seeing her sister take the civil service exam, she followed suit—only to realize it wasn’t for her.

For four years in undergrad and two in graduate school, both sisters lived relatively carefree lives. Academics came easily to them. Beyond studies, their university lives were vibrant—filled with new friends and fresh experiences.

Their investments had mixed results. Each sold a property for cash: the elder sister invested in a project led by her senior classmates, while the younger sister put her money into a TV drama.

Second-generation elites had their own circles. In this world, the Wang sisters were seen as well-behaved girls. Some inherited their family businesses young, destined for greatness; others were aimless heirs with no ambition; and then there were those without morals, indulging in every vice. The sisters naturally aspired to be the first type.

When an acquaintance approached Wang Yuyan about investing in a web series, she reviewed the script, asked about the cast, and decided to chip in. Compared to other investments that ran into the millions, this was small change. She wasn’t afraid of being laughed at—everyone knew each other well anyway. Her family kept her on a tight leash, so her cash reserves weren’t vast.

*”Those big projects of yours? I’d love to, but I just don’t have the means right now. I’m still getting my feet wet—let me start small.”*

The low-budget web series required only a few million in total investment. Wang Yuyan put in a hundred thousand. The final product? She wouldn’t even click to the next episode. Disappointing, though not without some merits. In the end, she lost a little over ten thousand—her first failed investment.

For her second attempt, she dabbled in stocks, buying three shares: one rose, one fell, and one stayed flat. She ended up with a tiny four-digit profit, but factoring in her time, it was still a loss.

Wang Yuyan withdrew and decided to stick with TV dramas. If she lucked into a hit, the returns could double. This time, she learned her lesson: she read the script first, ensured it was compelling, and became the lead investor to avoid meddling from others.

Her first web series had kept the main leads but altered the daughter’s role. Had she seen the revised script beforehand, she wouldn’t have invested.

This time, luck was on her side—profits doubled.

Experience made all the difference. The first time, she’d been too lax, trusting a friend without due diligence. That “friend” had pushed for a particular supporting actress. Lesson learned: in business, never let guard down.

Over time, Wang Yuyan dabbled in other investments—some short-term, some long—but all were minor ventures she didn’t pour much energy into. She was still a student, after all, pursuing a double degree.

Later, she pursued a master’s, only to confirm she disliked the field. Following her sister’s lead, she took the civil service exam. But within a year, she quit—it wasn’t her path.

Though many coveted such stability, she had the privilege of choice.

After a break at home, she turned to her grandmother: *”Grandma, I want to try business. Let’s see if this suits me.”*

Unlike her mother, who could practice calligraphy for decades, Wang Yuyan lacked any standout hobbies. But she refused to idle away as a pampered heiress. She wasn’t wildly ambitious, but she wouldn’t be a parasite either.

So she proposed a trial period in her grandmother’s company. If it didn’t work out, she’d try something else. And if that failed? She’d keep experimenting. Before thirty, she had time to explore.

Her grandmother agreed instantly, assigning her to the beauty division’s sales team.

The brand was prestigious in China, with her grandmother as the living advertisement—her flawless skin putting many youngsters to shame. Their flagship lines? Anti-aging and brightening, both premium-priced.

Starting as a sales associate wasn’t what Wang Yuyan expected. She’d assumed a managerial role, even if nominal. Her sister and mother shared the same guess—their grandmother wasn’t one for nepotistic shortcuts.

After the initial surprise, Wang Yuyan embraced the grind.

Early on, she struggled with pitching customers, defaulting to polite smiles. But her own glowing skin became her best sales tool—curious shoppers often ended up buying.

Success bred confidence. Once committed, she aimed for excellence. Proactive selling, once daunting, became second nature. Her keen eye for fashion and accessories helped too; she could gauge a customer’s spending power at a glance.

Four months in, she topped the sales charts. Then came her epiphany: *Why shouldn’t her friends shop here?*

*”Come on, place your orders!”*

Friendship was put to the test. Once word spread of her role, purchases poured in—loyalty trumped expiry dates. Her performance skyrocketed, earning her a promotion to district manager overseeing a dozen counters.

But her rapid rise bred resentment, especially from the deputy manager who’d waited years for the role.

*”What does she have that we don’t?”*

Wang Yuyan faced a challenge: mishandle this, and she’d be sidelined.

Though undeniably a “nepo hire,” she kept it quiet. Revealing her ties might attract sycophants, but not genuine respect.

Her grandmother, Yu Xiang’an, monitored her progress closely. Leaving civil service was fine—but Yu wanted her to understand: no path was easy. Shortcuts might exist, but not forever.

Wang Yuyan’s career shift sparked whispers. With the family’s vast empire, was this a power play?

Oddly, among her affluent peers, her family stood out for their low-key lifestyle. While others flaunted mansions and yachts, her clan lived modestly—*”like we’re on the brink of bankruptcy,”* joked a friend.

News reached Xu Zhenzhen, Lin Yihong’s wife. The messenger’s barely concealed glee didn’t escape her.

Calmly, Xu responded, *”If the girl’s interested in the business, let her learn. It’s their family’s—no harm in gaining experience.”*

Alone, Xu pondered. She’d met Lin Yihong as his military doctor when he was injured. Their son, now in military college, would follow his father’s path—leaving the family business out of reach.

*What then of the grandparents’ fortune?*

When they married, she hadn’t known his parents’ wealth. Though her own family had military roots, this was next-level.

She wasn’t immune to envy. Who wouldn’t want such wealth—earned cleanly, spent freely?

With the grandparents still healthy, succession plans were unclear. Were the granddaughters the heirs? What about their side?

That evening, she broached the topic with Lin Yihong.

*”Someone mentioned Yuyan joining the family business today. Do you know your parents’ plans? Will they hand it to her? Or hire professionals?”*

Lin had asked his mother years ago, when their son chose the military. Her reply stung:

*”Your father and I are in excellent health. Frankly, given our family’s longevity genes, we might outlive you if you neglect yours. This empire is ours to dispose of. When we’re gone, it’ll go to you and your sister equally. If neither wants to manage it, we’ll appoint professionals and set up a trust. But if any descendant shows capability, they’ll get a shot.”*

The jab about outliving him hit hard—with their great-grandfather’s lifespan as precedent, it wasn’t impossible.

Lin and his sister had little involvement in the business. When their parents donated vast sums—building schools, roads—they often learned after the fact. The scale dwarfed their own inheritances.

At university, their parents had set them up with properties and separate households. Upon marriage, they received lump sums with a warning:

*”This is for your new life. Consider it your ‘branching out.’ We may or may not supplement later—spend wisely.”*

The windfall ensured comfort. On a military salary, affording a Beijing home would’ve been a lifetime struggle. Yet Lin lived simply, wary of luxury eroding his discipline.

The money sat invested until needed—helping struggling comrades, funding orphans’ educations. Its very existence fortified him against corruption.

*”It’s my safety net,”* he’d say. *”When bribes come, I can laugh and walk away.”*

Money? Is he short of money?

When it comes to principles, no amount of money can change them!

As for not favoring sons over daughters, he’s long been used to it. Since childhood, his parents always prepared everything in pairs, almost identical.

Now, hearing his wife’s tone, it’s clear she has some thoughts on the matter.

Lin Yihong knew that while gender equality is preached, in most families, if there’s no son, it’s one thing, but if there is one, the family business goes to him.

But not in his family. In fact, his sister has spent the most time with their parents, and she and his niece have been the most filial. So, if the family business goes mostly to his sister, he has no objections.

He doesn’t feel strongly about getting his share because receiving it would mean his parents have passed away—turning it into an inheritance. He absolutely doesn’t wish for that. Isn’t the money he already has enough for him?

Lin Yihong recounted his mother’s words: “Don’t overthink it. Have you been working overtime lately? If you don’t take care of your health, you’ll age quickly. Think about how long my great-grandfather lived. My parents are even healthier than he was—they hardly ever get sick, in peak condition. Our family isn’t short on money. Beyond a certain point, money is just a number. If we don’t take care of ourselves, we might as well think about how to pass it on to our son efficiently, maybe even transfer it early to save on inheritance taxes.”

Xu Zhenzhen took a deep breath, reacting just as Lin Yihong had when he first heard Yu Xiang’an say those words—it stung.

If they don’t take care of themselves, they might not outlive their parents-in-law. And then, what would any of it matter? They’d be gone.

Thinking this way, Xu Zhenzhen realized she must have been too exhausted from overtime lately—otherwise, how could she have forgotten this?

Wasn’t this just unnecessary worry?!

—

To subdue the two deputy managers, Wang Yuyan put in a lot of effort. She refused to let anyone look down on her.

Even if she was parachuted into the position, she was a capable parachute!

Performance would speak for itself!

Once she had her subordinates in line, Yu Xiang’an took a democratic approach, asking, “Where would you like to go next?”

Wang Yuyan hesitated. “Grandma, where do you think I should go? Actually, why don’t you decide for me? Not knowing where I’ll end up adds excitement—I’m looking forward to it. I’ll follow your lead!”

Yu Xiang’an: “Alright!”

And so, Yu Xiang’an sent her to the food court, where Wang Yuyan became an inspector.

Her job was to check hygiene, licenses, and whether vendors were exploiting customers—all sorts of miscellaneous tasks.

For this, she underwent additional training. Without it, she wouldn’t even have known what to inspect.

It was necessary. If a vendor’s hygiene was severely substandard or even hazardous, they’d be implicated too.

Random inspections were a safeguard for both sides.

Here, Wang Yuyan’s pace slowed dramatically. She’d wander from one shop to another. After a month, she’d gained three pounds.

The number on the scale shocked her—just one month!

She knew she’d been sampling a lot during inspections, but this was ridiculous!

She’d been trying to restrain herself!

Staring at the extra padding around her waist, Wang Yuyan felt like crying in the bathroom.

No more. Starting tomorrow, she absolutely had to stop eating like this!

A bite here, a bite there—it didn’t seem like much, but it added up.

Reflecting on her habits, she sought advice from colleagues, only for them to pat their own bellies and say, “What’s there to ask? Look at this—doesn’t it explain everything?”

Wang Yuyan: “…”

Too real. And terrifying.

Not a single one of her colleagues was thin. This was horrifying! She couldn’t let this continue.

When Yu Xiang’an later asked how she was doing, Wang Yuyan lamented, “Grandma, I never knew my self-control was this weak. I’ll start exercising properly!” For the sake of her waistline, she’d fight!

Though it might’ve been a little mean…

Yu Xiang’an: “Hahahaha!”

She couldn’t help laughing.

“Aside from the extra weight, any other takeaways?”

Well, yes.

Compared to the high-pressure sales department at Meiyan, life here was leisurely, and her colleagues were incredibly friendly. While the sales team had cutthroat competition, this place was practically retirement.

Her job required little beyond sticking to principles and being meticulous.

But she wasn’t going to be an inspector forever. Wang Yuyan also observed other aspects—foot traffic, customer preferences, and so on.

Every city had multiple food courts, some government-run. After seeing many, she realized they were all similar—stinky tofu, spicy skewers, barbecue, cold noodles, hotpot, sushi, chicken wings, pig trotters… a hodgepodge of the same offerings.

With everyone serving the same things, standing out wasn’t easy. The advantage then came down to taste and price. The food court with better flavors and more affordable prices drew bigger crowds.

Her grandmother’s food court had one edge: longevity. It had built a loyal customer base over time.

Rent was also relatively reasonable, allowing vendors to keep prices slightly lower. And that small difference mattered—many would walk an extra kilometer to save a dollar.

Another advantage was the mature surrounding infrastructure. Beyond food, people could shop for clothes, shoes, and more. With such synergy, it’d be unnatural for business to struggle.

That said, there were flaws.

Wang Yuyan often overheard regulars complaining about menus lacking new items. Many shops weren’t innovating.

Plenty of people loved trying new things—even if it turned out bad, they’d at least give it a shot. Maybe they’d discover a hidden gem?

Wang Yuyan herself felt this way.

Yu Xiang’an asked, “If it were up to you, how would you improve this? You’ve seen it—the struggling vendors can’t last long with high rents, and new ones will replace them. The successful ones, with steady customers, don’t feel pressured to innovate. Their existing offerings already bring in enough.”

Wang Yuyan pondered. In a way, the market self-regulated. The poorly performing vendors would fold, while the popular ones thrived. Those doing well had little incentive to gamble on unproven new items, while the struggling ones would desperately innovate to survive.

In that case, wasn’t novelty already being naturally introduced?

Yu Xiang’an: “Stay two more months.”

Over those months, Wang Yuyan noticed menus weren’t entirely static.

Seasonal items were added.

Her earlier observations weren’t wrong, but most customers were satisfied.

Expecting weekly new dishes was unrealistic—few had the time, energy, or funds for that.

Once her three-month trial ended, Wang Yuyan resigned.

Again, Yu Xiang’an asked where she wanted to go next, and again, Wang Yuyan left it to her grandmother.

Each new workplace exposed her to fresh challenges, deepening her understanding.

The novelty was exhilarating.

—

Next, Wang Yuyan was assigned to a coastal resort hotel’s logistics team.

Before starting, her grandmother posed a question: Could she handle organizing a wedding banquet for over a thousand people?

She had a month to answer.

In less than a month, Wang Yuyan submitted her response: No.

The hotel had the space for such an event, but it was a massive undertaking—rarely attempted.

Tables, chairs, decor, emcees, food, drinks, service… every aspect was a challenge.

Two weeks in, she assisted with a 600-700 guest wedding. It nearly broke her.

The bride had endless demands. As the customer was king, they had to accommodate her every whim alongside the wedding planners.

Wang Yuyan understood the desire for perfection—it was a once-in-a-lifetime event. But this was exhausting!

The floral arrangements alone were revised over a dozen times!

Unmarried herself, Wang Yuyan now felt wedding fatigue.

And the hotel wasn’t even the primary target of the bride’s nitpicking—the wedding planners bore the brunt. Still, the menu changes, theme adjustments, even chair fabric choices… it was madness!

The service industry was no joke.

Dealing with reasonable clients was fine, but the difficult ones drained your soul.

Lin Chuanbai, watching his granddaughter’s exhaustion, smirked at Yu Xiang’an. “You did this on purpose?”

Yu Xiang’an didn’t deny it.

This client was notoriously hard to please. She’d originally booked another hotel but canceled despite losing the deposit—money was no object.

Such clients were tough but invaluable for training.

Lin Chuanbai wondered: After this experience, would she develop a phobia of weddings?