Chapter 84 Only Because I Can See Through the Mist

A week passed in the blink of an eye. The number of customers signing up for membership cards at the restaurant had dwindled, but the place was still bustling, mostly with repeat patrons who had already registered. Chen Huajiang had hired two more chefs. One was an old cook who had retired from the Salt Bureau; forced back into work because his son, addicted to gambling, refused to pull his weight. The other was his apprentice. In this era, it was common practice for chefs to mentor one or two trainees—one year learning the craft, two years working, and only in the third year would one be considered fully trained.

The old chef, Guang Dajun, had hair and beard streaked with gray and was already sixty-two, but his movements remained spry. The apprentice's name was Zeng Lei, a young man of eighteen or nineteen, with a simple, honest face—a farmer from Xingpai Village under Nanming City. His family had pulled some strings; his father had once taken a temporary job at the Salt Company, helping to transport salt sacks, and during meals in the canteen, had struck up a friendship with Guang Dajun, which paved the way for his son.

In those days, the divide between city and countryside was stark, and few professions could bridge it. Academic success was the preferred route—if a rural child got into college or technical school and then stayed in a city job, the divide could be broken. But such cases were rare. For most, the path from countryside to city was through a skill. Two trades could break this barrier: driving and cooking.

Driving was a high-level skill at the time, given the scarcity of vehicles; naturally, few could drive. Cooking, on the other hand, was more common—everyone needs to eat, whether urban or rural.

"Chef Wang, are you really not considering staying?" Chen Huajiang made one last attempt to persuade him. "I promise I’ll help you keep your post at the Nantian Hotel."

Now that Chef Wang had handed over all procedures to Chef Guang, he was preparing to leave. Chen Huajiang was sincerely trying to retain him. Though Wang was hot-tempered, his skills were unparalleled. In fact, Chen Huajiang thought Wang was overqualified for the fast-food restaurant—a man who, in the future, would be head chef at a five-star hotel.

"Money isn’t an issue. Chef Wang, say the word, and as long as it’s not unreasonable, I can meet your terms." Chen Huajiang’s sincerity was plain.

In the kitchen, everyone watched the two. Wang’s departure was expected, but the boss’s earnest efforts to keep him surprised them. Cooks, throughout history, were never considered high-status—even royal chefs were seen as simply cooking for the emperor.

The young apprentices, especially Zhao Xuebing—Wang’s own student—were especially conflicted. He almost spoke up to help Chen Huajiang persuade Wang to stay. For the young, a secure post wasn’t as important; if the pay was good, lack of official status wasn’t a deal-breaker.

"Boss Chen, say no more." Wang replied. "I appreciate your regard and understand your kindness. But I’ve always been a farm boy; when the Bald-Headed Party conscripted men, I nearly died. My life belongs to the state—it taught me to read, it taught me my trade. A few more years and I’ll retire. I believe you could help me keep my post, but I won’t do anything underhanded."

His words were firm, with no hint of wavering.

Seeing it was hopeless, Chen Huajiang could only shake his hand and said, "Tomorrow night, let’s have a meal together to see you off. Surely you’ll grant us that honor?"

"Alright," Wang nodded and patted Chen Huajiang’s shoulder, his expression hesitant.

"If you have something to say, just speak." Chen Huajiang saw his hesitation and asked directly.

"You’re a capable man, Boss Chen, but you should proceed with caution. Otherwise, you might end up with nothing—who knows what the future holds? I advise you to be clear-eyed about the situation and decide how to make money accordingly."

With that, he turned and walked out.

Wang’s words made the other chefs tense and nervous. Chen Huajiang smiled, nodding to them, and said, "You’re all assistants—whatever the economy, you’re workers."

With that, the chefs relaxed and resumed their tasks.

Wang’s meaning was clear: the current situation was uncertain, and he sensed Chen Huajiang was not one to sit idle, but destined to grow. One store would become two, two would become four, eventually crossing the threshold from small-scale to larger enterprise. At the time, the customary rule was fewer than ten employees counted as small-scale; above ten, one could be labeled a capitalist.

In any era, the country had its share of clever people. Even in the decadent Qing Dynasty, there were international magnates and merchant princes, not to mention regional giants like the Shanxi and Anhui merchant guilds.

So why were there so few entrepreneurs in this era? Because the situation was unclear.

But for Chen Huajiang, this was a minor concern. He could see the future as plainly as a map in a game, and the uncertainties that troubled others were nothing to him.

"Boss, are you still hiring waitresses? My cousin just arrived to stay with me and is looking for work."

Wang Ning had just stepped out when Zhang Hong hurried over, a bit nervous.

"How old is your cousin? I’ll be clear: don’t try to fool me. If she’s under sixteen, you’d be putting me in danger." Chen Huajiang’s tone was serious. Zhang Hong was obviously anxious, hiding something.

Especially now, enforcement was strict. Hiring child labor was asking for trouble, something only heartless capitalists would do.

"No, my cousin’s seventeen and has a birth certificate." Zhang Hong relaxed a little, speaking quickly.

"Then what are you hiding?"

Now Chen Huajiang was curious. Waitressing wasn’t a technical job—the only requirement at his restaurant was polite smiles.

"Is she disabled?" Chen Huajiang guessed.

"No, no, she’s not disabled at all. It’s just—she looks like a fairy, and I’m afraid of gossip." Zhang Hong hurriedly shook her head, stammering out the problem.

A fairy? Chen Huajiang was baffled. Did she mean her cousin was ugly?

If that was the case, she really couldn’t be a waitress—she might scare the customers.

"Bring her over and let me see. I don’t judge people by looks. As long as it’s not too extreme, I don’t think it’s a problem. Even if she can’t be a waitress, she can help in the kitchen. Heaven won’t let a blind sparrow starve."

After all, Zhang Hong was among the first batch of employees, and Chen Huajiang couldn’t refuse her outright. She and Wang Cuihua had chosen to stay on as waitresses rather than return to Nantian Hotel, so he had to show some consideration.