In all the days he’d known him, this was the first time Qiao Ning had heard Lin Chengxuan call him Senior Schoolmate.
For two extra jin of blueberries, the guy had started climbing the family tree.
Qiao Ning didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Fortunately, he’d kept one box in reserve, and the guy HAD originally ordered fifty jin, so he agreed.
“Fine. I’ll add two jin for you in a bit,” Qiao Ning said.
Lin Chengxuan’s eyes lit up. So there was still stock?
“Actually, a bit more works too.” He hurried on. “How much do you have left? I’ll take it all.”
Qiao Ning waved his hands rapidly. “Nothing. Genuinely nothing.”
Lin Chengxuan set down the empty fruit plate. Having played the sentiment card, he attempted temptation: “Senior Schoolmate, you’re selling this fruit far too cheap. People are bullying you for not knowing the market. We’re schoolmates, so let me be honest with you—blueberries of this quality should go for one to two thousand a jin, minimum.”
The money his mom gave him for fruit had been budgeted at two thousand a jin. Not that Lin Chengxuan would embezzle it—but it left room for a markup, see. If he voluntarily raised Qiao Ning’s price a bit, maybe Qiao Ning would be willing to sell him more.
A thousand–plus a jin?
Qiao Ning wondered if he’d misheard. He blinked and said nothing.
The landlady’s scalp went tight. This pitch was aimed at HER!
Not that she thought it expensive—well, a little expensive—but she could still afford it.
Yet she’d JUST told Little Qiao that anything under five hundred was a loss, and this kid opens his mouth and jacks it up that high.
And listen to him—who was “bullying Little Qiao for not knowing prices”? Aside from the two of them, there were no other buyers here. Who else could he mean but her?
They were both Little Qiao’s customers—how dare he throw mud at her face in person?
The landlady hastened to declare: “True enough. Little Qiao, your blueberries are worth that price.”
Qiao Ning had no idea how much mental drama the landlady was having. He was already doing mental math on what this batch was worth.
Even at only a thousand a jin, that was… that was a hundred thousand!
Qiao Ning felt slightly dizzy. A hundred thousand wasn’t an especially large sum—before his rebirth, Qiao Ning had just been promoted, earning several hundred thousand a year.
But this hundred thousand had come too easily.
He’d casually sold a batch of blueberries, that was all. Aside from the Spirit Spring Water, labor and costs were practically nil.
But thinking it through—the Spirit Spring Water was precisely what made the blueberries this delicious, worth such prices.
And Spirit Spring Water was the rarest, most one-of-a-kind thing of all.
Fast money like this could only be made a few times. A few more rounds, and people would start wondering about his supply source—and his source could NOT withstand scrutiny.
He said nothing, and the landlady grew more anxious, kicking herself for not paying first just now.
“Little Qiao…”
“Senior Schoolmate—we’re schoolmates. You think of me when you find something good, and I won’t let you lose out.”
Lin Chengxuan cut off the landlady, saying earnestly, “Two thousand a jin. Whatever you have, I’ll buy. Deal?”
He’d even planned it out: buy extra for his older brother to taste. If his brother liked it, he might just buy him that sports car he’d been coveting forever.
“There aren’t any more.” Qiao Ning came back to himself—soul still swaying over Spirit Spring blueberry prices—and regrettably refused Lin Chengxuan. “Out of stock.”
The landlady exhaled in relief and hastily took out her phone. “Little Qiao, let me transfer the money first.”
Two thousand a jin, was it? Not like she couldn’t afford it.
Before Qiao Ning could speak, WeChat showed a transfer of a hundred and ten thousand. The landlady had bought nine boxes, fifty-four jin total—and she’d overpaid by two thousand.
Qiao Ning hurried to say, “You transferred too much.”
“Not at all,” the landlady said. “Each of your boxes runs a few liang heavy. Add it up—that’s more than a jin right there.”
Qiao Ning was about to transfer it back when Lin Chengxuan suddenly said, “Senior Schoolmate, your WeChat transfer hit its daily limit. Send me your bank card number—I’ll transfer straight to your bank.”
Both of them were alarmingly eager to hand over money. Qiao Ning had no choice but to send his card number, and soon his phone buzzed with a bank SMS: one hundred thousand received.
Even back at his own apartment, Qiao Ning still felt like it wasn’t quite real.
He checked his bank card and WeChat balance again. No mistake—he’d struck it rich in one wave.
Two hundred thousand–plus. How long could he Lying Flat on that! Not total financial freedom, but not far off either.
The excitement hit him belatedly. Qiao Ning flung himself onto the bed and rolled around, then sprawled out flat, limbs spread. From now on, THIS was how he lived—lying down and spending money!
There was still a box and a bit of blueberries at home. Qiao Ning first opened the Regular Customers Group Chat and posted: Same-quality fresh blueberries now in stock. Only four jin left. Two thousand yuan a jin. Buy promptly while stocks last.
After posting, without reading the replies, he opened the Dorm Group Chat and told his roommates to come pick up their blueberries.
Lu Zeyu and the other two, having tasted the good stuff, cried out “Foster Father!” and responded enthusiastically—already tidying up and heading his way.
Qiao Ning couldn’t help laughing, traded a few jokes with his dear sons in the group, then backed out to check everyone else’s messages.
After his post, the Regular Customers Group was first flooded with “?”, though this time no one badmouthed him. There were cries of “expensive,” but more were curious—just how delicious did these blueberries have to be to dare sell at that price?
More people privately messaged him this time, though—clearly having learned their lesson from last round, knowing that when he said quantities were limited, he MEANT limited.
Qiao Ning opened the private chats one by one. Two old acquaintances: one “A Devoted Foodie Heart,” and the young man who’d bought strawberries last time and left without trying the cherry tomatoes, pressed for time.
“Joyful Family” didn’t appear—either hadn’t seen the group message or found it too expensive.
The strawberry buyer messaged privately asking if there were more strawberries—said he wanted strawberries.
Qiao Ning said no. The guy stopped replying, and Qiao Ning assumed he didn’t want blueberries—then four thousand yuan came through, for two jin of blueberries.
Qiao Ning accepted the transfer and arranged delivery time and place.
In just this little while, “A Devoted Foodie Heart” had already sent twenty-plus messages—first shouting “expensive” while transferring money. When Qiao Ning didn’t accept, the panic set in: sold out already?!
Only after Qiao Ning accepted the payment did “A Devoted Foodie Heart” calm down. The delivery address was the same as last time—not far.
Other private chats: some haggling, some asking about strawberries and cherry tomatoes. Strawberry questions were the most—everyone still haunted by those first strawberries.
Qiao Ning wanted to eat them himself too. He’d already planned it: back home, he’d plant a bit of every fruit he loved—enough for himself. Planting too much was exhausting.
That last jin went quickly to a buyer. Qiao Ning replied to the few who tried to haggle: sold out.
He posted in the group as well: blueberries sold out.
Well, now—no more complaints about the price, no more haggling.
Qiao Ning figured he probably wouldn’t sell fruit again for a while, and considered disbanding the group. But since he rarely spoke in it, the members were all genuine foodies—non-foodies wouldn’t buy premium fruit—and they often chatted about food. Rather congenial.
In that case, keeping the group cost nothing.
With time on his hands, Qiao Ning went out to deliver the blueberries. The paper boxes his roommates had helped him carry last time were still around—perfect for portioning blueberries.
Just as he finished packing, private messages poured in from the landlady’s circle of friends: why weren’t they notified directly when there were blueberries? Plus complaints that the landlady was stingy, sharing only a tiny bit.
But they more or less knew the landlady had intercepted, so they urged Qiao Ning, over and over: next time, whatever she said, DON’T listen—contact them directly.
Qiao Ning agreed to every “sure.” Who knew when next time would even be.
A round of blueberry deliveries, and everyone who received them sent feedback almost immediately—clearly everyone was dying to know what a two-thousand-a-jin blueberry tasted like.
Unsurprisingly, after eating, not a single person called it expensive anymore.
[A Devoted Foodie Heart: ABSOLUTE. So delicious I could explode! From this day I join the Blueberry Cult and worship you as Cult Leader!]
Qiao Ning: Politely declined, ha. No feudal superstitions here.
[39.8 Degrees: Brother, your fruit quality is rock solid. Nothing to say.]
That was the young man. Qiao Ning replied with a courteous “handshake.jpg.”
[Humble as a Valley: The blueberries are exquisite. A true delicacy.]
That was the customer who’d bought the last jin—a middle-aged uncle.
Qiao Ning sent another “handshake.jpg,” then watched as “Humble as a Valley” posted a full review in the group, making the empty-handed even more curious.
Because Qiao Ning’s two batches had both been tiny, few people got any—and the lucky ones didn’t want to say too much in the group, fearing more competitors next time.
But once “Humble as a Valley” broke the ice, no one could bring themselves to call the blueberries bad. Seeing group members question them, they all stepped up to defend the blueberry’s honor.
“A Devoted Foodie Heart” wrote the blueberries a whole essay, praising their deliciousness to the skies—how did she even type that much that fast?
Qiao Ning read it all with a contented glow. Why else did he bust his chops selling retail, if not for this feedback?
At this point “Joyful Family” finally appeared and discovered that in her absence, the Group Admin had sold blueberries. She was beside herself with regret.
She looked at the price and ached. She hadn’t gotten any, and it hurt.
She’d rather have suffered the price pain—at least then she’d have eaten them.
