"Xiao Yan, the restaurant did pretty well this year. Here's your share of the profits—twenty thousand. Go on, take it!" A slick man in a suit pushed two stacks of cash toward Hong Yan.
"Third Brother, what's this supposed to mean? When we opened last year, we agreed I'd own half the business. You made at least two million this year. You paid off your debts and even opened two branches—" Hong Yan frowned. Something was wrong.
"Don't push your luck! Ask around Sea City. A chef makes five thousand a month. A-Feng pays you seven thousand because you're family, and he's giving you a bonus on top of that. Otherwise, you'd still be farming out in the countryside!"
A gaudily dressed woman beside them snapped at Hong Yan.
A year ago, Hong Feng had been desperate and deep in debt. He had turned to his cousin Hong Yan, who had exceptional cooking skills. A major hotel had offered Hong Yan a head chef position at an annual salary of a million, but Hong Feng had begged him, even dropping to his knees. He had offered Hong Yan a share of the profits, too, so Hong Yan had agreed.
Back then, Hong Feng had worn rags. Now that he was back on his feet, he dressed respectably and even kept a "secretary" on the side.
"Xiao Li, Xiao Yan is my brother. You don't have to be so blunt." Hong Feng waited until she had finished before stopping her.
"Xiao Yan, I know your family needs money lately. How about this—you write me an IOU, and I'll lend you another twenty thousand." Hong Feng gestured as he spoke.
"Hong Feng, are you saying you won't give me my share of the profits?" Hong Yan demanded.
"Heh. Nobody in Sea City