The landlady took a full five jin of strawberries. Had her home not been empty of family at the moment, she’d have bought even more.
“Such a shame strawberries don’t keep—and yours are so ripe, they won’t last. Otherwise I’d take them all.”
The landlady transferred Qiao Ning five hundred yuan on the spot and happily carried a plateful off to wash, unable to wait another second before devouring them.
Qiao Ning thought of his blueberries and cherry tomatoes. Those two kept far better than strawberries.
Still an open question, though, so he didn’t mention it to her.
Five hundred earned before the stall even opened—a terrific omen. Qiao Ning felt cheerful. Who knew—if he sold everything he grew, he might even earn back his contract breach penalty.
He carried the big basin of strawberries and the two foam boxes downstairs, loaded them into the Tricycle’s cargo bed, rode to the community gate, and stopped to buy containers at the corner store for portioning strawberries out—he couldn’t exactly have customers cupping them in their hands.
After a lap around the store, Qiao Ning picked through and bought two stacks of disposable paper bowls and a pack of plastic bags.
A full paper bowl held about half a jin, so he wouldn’t need a scale—fifty yuan a bowl.
The strawberries’ incredible flavor and the landlady’s reaction had given Qiao Ning confidence. His Spirit Spring strawberry was worth that price—if anything, it was underpriced.
If customers thought it too expensive and it didn’t sell, so be it—he’d take it home and make jam. That should be tasty too. He’d eaten so much at noon without tiring of it, still wanted more.
Containers bought, Qiao Ning pedaled the Tricycle toward the subway entrance, selling strawberries while waiting for Sixth Brother.
He’d bought the pots to test the Spirit Spring—never expected a windfall. In high spirits, Qiao Ning even hummed an off-key tune as he pedaled.
When he realized he was humming, he froze—then couldn’t help smiling, the smile growing wider and wider.
His nerves had been wound so tight for so long, he’d forgotten what relaxing even felt like.
Even after rebirth, even having decided to lie flat, he’d never fully let go.
Now his Golden Finger had earned him his first money. Not much—but it had come so easily.
Suddenly there was this feeling—luck granting a bonus, disbelief mixed with flattered humility.
Honestly, he could sense the Spirit Spring was something good. The only reason he kept running this experiment and that test was that he’d been unlucky for so long, he couldn’t believe good fortune would actually land on him. Hence all the verifying.
The subway exit faced the bike lane—the very spot where, pre-rebirth, Qiao Ning had been launched by a car. Mercifully, no lingering trauma.
There were already stalls set up by the exit. Only two: one selling little plush keychains, and one with two insulated boxes, lids closed. Only when Qiao Ning wheeled closer could he read the sign—rice balls and sandwiches.
He parked near them and began portioning strawberries.
He’d forgotten to buy gloves, so he just pulled a disposable plastic bag over his hand. It wasn’t delicate work anyway.
The plush-stall owner kept her head down in her phone, but the sandwich-stall owner kept glancing over at Qiao Ning. Seeing he was selling strawberries, he quietly breathed a sigh of relief.
After filling a few bowls, Qiao Ning stopped, setting them on the rack board beside the cargo bed—just wide enough for paper bowls.
If they sold, he’d keep filling. If not, no wasting bowls.
No customers at the moment, so the sandwich seller came over to chat: “Little brother, those strawberries of yours look great.”
Qiao Ning smiled. “Mm, a new variety shipped in from elsewhere. Delicious. Thought I’d try selling them.”
The plush stall owner sniffed the air, finally willing to drag her eyes off her phone. She looked around—where was that strawberry smell coming from? Her mouth was practically watering.
The sandwich seller was about to keep chatting when people came down the escalator and out of the subway exit. He instantly swallowed his words, nudging his handwritten sign somewhere more conspicuous.
Mid-afternoon—not rush hour, so foot traffic was thin. But this station was a transfer hub, and this wave of passengers gradually produced a dozen or so people.
Most hurried past—heads in phones, or talking with companions—their gazes brushing over the first two stalls without pausing.
The plush seller was used to it. The sandwich seller watched the passersby nervously.
But these people stopped beside Qiao Ning’s Tricycle.
Couldn’t be helped—the strawberries were dazzlingly red. Just looking at them, you could imagine the sweet-tart juiciness on your tongue—never mind that walking closer brought that rich strawberry fragrance right up your nose.
“Handsome, are the strawberries for sale?” A short-haired girl asked, arm in arm with her friend.
Qiao Ning nodded. “Fifty a bowl.”
“I’ll take o—how much?”
Qiao Ning repeated, expression unchanged: “Fifty.”
The auntie who’d been reaching into the basin to pick strawberries yanked her hand back, staring at him in shock.
A guy said, “Dude, what variety are these, charging that much?”
Qiao Ning had already repeated this line several times today—well-practiced by now: “New variety. You won’t have heard of it. It’s just delicious—extremely delicious. That’s why it’s expensive.”
The strawberry scent in the air, the short-haired girl swallowed hard and asked, “How delicious? Any samples?”
Her friend kept tugging her away: “Don’t! The second you taste it, you won’t be able to not buy.”
She glared hard at Qiao Ning, looking at him like a pushy swindler.
Samples… Qiao Ning had confidence in his strawberries, but they were big. A round of samples for this whole crowd and a bowl would be gone.
He thought about it and asked, “Would it work if I cut them small for sampling?”
The short-haired girl braced both feet against the ground, nearly settling into a horse stance to keep her friend from dragging her off, nodding rapidly: “Yes.”
Qiao Ning looked down. He had no knife.
A fruit knife silently appeared beside him—along with toothpicks.
Sandwich stall owner: “I’ve got them.”
Qiao Ning thanked him, cut two large strawberries into a bowl, and handed samples to the interested customers.
Fifty yuan for a small bowl of strawberries—even those who hadn’t planned to buy, watching others sample, grabbed a toothpick, speared a piece, and popped it in their mouths.
One bite, and everyone shut up, expressions shifting subtly.
Hard to describe how good this strawberry was. It had no peculiar flavor—it was just strawberry—but it pushed the strawberry’s taste and texture to the absolute limit.
“I’ll take o—no, I want two bowls.” The short-haired girl already had her phone out to pay.
Too delicious. How could a strawberry taste this good? No wonder it cost so much.
The price wasn’t the strawberry’s fault. It was that good. It was her fault. Her fault for being too poor.
Her friend still tried to stop her, but the girl moved fast—speared the last sample piece with her toothpick and fed it to her friend, meanwhile glaring at the auntie angling for a second free sample.
With a strawberry stuffed in her mouth, the friend had to swallow before she could speak.
And with that swallow, the objections went down too.
“I’ll take a bowl too,” she said quietly.
The short-haired girl said: “No need, I’m buying two—we’ll split.”
Her friend looked at her and said flatly, “One bowl won’t be enough for you. When you finish it, you’ll regret not buying more.”
Short-haired girl: “…”
She scanned payment to Qiao Ning, picked out two bowls herself, and popped a whole strawberry into her mouth.
Qiao Ning, busy filling bowls, called out hastily: “Unwashed!”
The sample-sized bite was one thing—these hadn’t been washed at all!
“It’s fine, just this one.” The girl bit into the strawberry, face full of satisfaction, words mumbled.
Qiao Ning could only keep filling his bowls. Seven samplers in total—six decided to buy after tasting. The one holdout tried to haggle with Qiao Ning, got refused, and stomped off to buy rice balls from the next stall, eyes still glued to this side.
Of the six buyers, some took one bowl; the auntie took the most—six bowls.
“I’m buying six bowls—no freebies?” The auntie didn’t haggle on price. She wanted freebies.
Qiao Ning smiled wryly. “Auntie, I really don’t have any freebies.”
Auntie: “Then pack me a couple extra strawberries.”
That he could do.
The bowls were full—any more and they’d roll out. Once the bowls went into plastic bags, Qiao Ning added a few loose berries.
The auntie was deeply satisfied. She’d meant to pick her own, but it turned out Qiao Ning’s quick grabbing from the top made no difference—the strawberries underneath were just as gorgeous. Every one was a good berry; there were no bad ones. She let him pack freely.
The filled bowls sold too. Qiao Ning hadn’t set up a payment QR code—he just opened his phone’s receive-money screen.
The auntie asked, “Young man, add me on WeChat. If you’re ever selling strawberries of this quality again, send me a message.”
A promising long-term customer! Naturally, Qiao Ning wouldn’t refuse.
Seeing this, the other customers all added him on WeChat too.
The short-haired girl’s two bowls—down to one and a half already.
That wave alone: thirteen bowls sold, six hundred fifty yuan in.
Once that crowd left, the subway exit went quiet again. The sandwich seller gushed: “Your business is incredible.”
Qiao Ning bagged some strawberries for him: “Thanks for lending me the fruit knife and toothpicks, big bro.”
“Pfft, that’s nothing.” The sandwich seller waved it off. “Toothpicks are worth pennies. Your strawberries are the pricey thing.”
Qiao Ning set the strawberries on his insulated box with a smile. That wasn’t how you counted it. The toothpicks were indeed worth little, but a kindness freely offered when he needed it couldn’t go unrewarded—and pricing it would have been gauche.
The sandwich seller picked up the strawberries and smiled sheepishly at Qiao Ning: “Let me find out what fifty-yuan strawberries taste like.”
He’d been dying of curiosity. Those customers had all scoffed at the price at first, then after tasting, stopped complaining and happily bought. It had to be the taste.
But he hadn’t expected this.
He gave a thumbs-up: “Genuinely delicious. Worth every yuan of that price.”
He didn’t keep eating the rest—set them aside instead. Qiao Ning assumed he’d wash them before finishing later.
It was the plush-stall owner who came over, curious. She skipped sampling entirely—bought one box outright, ate one, and bought a second box.
Qiao Ning hadn’t expected to make money off fellow vendors too.
“Your competitive power is terrifying.” The plush seller said in mock solemnity, “Good thing we sell different stuff, or the contrast would be brutal.”
Qiao Ning just smiled and said nothing. His were Spirit Spring strawberries, after all. Golden Finger buffed.
