Inside Zone 3, Mo City’s biggest Wine Shop, which had barely escaped seizure, finally reopened after being shut down for restructuring for three months. Once the credibility collapses, losing regular custors, and with new ones reluctant to co, the unscrupulous owner had to be in constant fear of imprisonnt while forcibly maintaining his spirits and making rounds everywhere. Decades of reputation are difficult to build but can collapse easily.
"The several major hotels in the city that have long-term partnerships with us have all canceled their orders," one employee said.
"Those newly opened ones say they dare not use our alcohol," another employee added.
"However, there are a few supermarkets that say they can try to sell our alcoholic products," finally so good news, "it’s just that they are demanding a 40 percent shelving fee."
"What? Isn’t that extortion?" The unscrupulous owner could no longer muster a smile; these past months, he’s been stretched to his limits. The smuggled goods had been completely exposed, leading to significant losses. The victim in the hospital insisted and wouldn’t let go; unless he paid the full compensation, they threatened to reveal his unlicensed driving. Every issue was burning money, and just on the brink of this critical mont, those damn supermarkets were also ddling. Normally speaking, shelving fees should only be a few percent, at most ten percent.
"Boss," an employee, holding a phone, called out, "Soone’s looking for you, they said... they want to inquire about taking over the shop?"
This was undoubtedly good news falling from the sky. After the incident, the unscrupulous owner had the intention to sell the Wine Shop. Initially, considering the Wine Shop was in a busy area of Zone 3 and had been in business for over a decade, with quite an inventory left in the shop, plus a neat decoration and ready staff, he expected to sell it for a good price.
But after broadcasting the news, there was no interest for three whole months. A good Wine Shop had beco an untouchable hot potato, unsellable, leaving no option but to grit teeth and continue running it.
Despite the Wine Shop’s dire circumstances, the unscrupulous owner, still an old hand, put on a hearty and happy face and waited in a coffee shop in Zone 3.
In the coffee shop during the afternoon, there were many patrons. In the main hall, a date-colored piano was placed, and the pianist’s skill was indeed proficient. As soon as the unscrupulous owner entered, he heard the familiar lody of "The Blue Danube."
The unscrupulous owner, harsh to his employees, deceitful to his custors, was actually a good father. His youngest daughter, who also started learning the piano this year, used to listen to his fourteen-year-old daughter play piano after dinner when the Wine Shop was problem-free—sothing he loved most.
The lodious and relaxing music allowed the unscrupulous owner to let his anxious heart settle a little, and under the gentle winter sun, he quickly dozed off; the prospective buyer who had made an appointnt was running late.
The call was from a young woman, and dealing with such people, the unscrupulous owner was best at playing dumb to catch the cunning. He could surely negotiate a good price, he thought. After so more ti, once everything was settled, he could listen to his daughter play the piano again.
The piano music suddenly changed to "The Turkish March," like galloping horse hooves, loud and piercing. The unscrupulous owner abruptly woke up to find soone seated in front of him, brimming with a youthful smile, not much older than his daughter.
"Miss Su Ziceng," the unscrupulous owner was startled at first, then beca more resolute, thinking that Su Ziceng buying the Wine Shop would be like a lamb entering a tiger’s den.
"One million," after hearing Su Ziceng’s offer, the unscrupulous owner’s face imdiately darkened, "Miss Su, are you just toying with ? Such a price might be fine in Zone 5, but what you’re buying now is an old shop as old as you, with inventory of hundreds of types of alcohol and over forty employees."
"Yes, one million, the storefront and real estate, all clear." Su Ziceng ordered a lemon soda. She didn’t drink it but instead played with the green straw, stirring the fresh lemons inside.
The piano piece continued, and after being under the warm sunshine for a long ti, it started to feel hot. The unscrupulous owner’s face, either from the sunlight or anger fueled by Su Ziceng’s words, shone bright like a red candle. "Su Ziceng, don’t push too hard, for a nouveau riche second generation like you, knowing only how to indulge and play, even if I die poor or starve to death, I won’t sell the Wine Shop to soone like you."
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