14
I Have Many Tricks: I Must Do My Own Business
Wang Xiao had zero interest in shopping malls.
Compared to loving beauty, she loved money more.
Spending nine hours daily at the research institute was already maddening enough—how could she possibly waste precious after-work hours on anything unrelated to earning money?
So the moment her shift ended, she rushed out of the research institute’s gates, only to spot her father again.
Comrade Wang Tiejun, instead of properly contributing his skills and passion as an eighth-grade fitter at the steel plant, had turned into a parent waiting to pick up their child after school.
The child being picked up felt no gratitude, only resignation: “Dad, I really won’t skip work and run away from home.Wang Tiejun felt slightly awkward and forcefully saved face: “Nonsense!” Your mother thinks you need a couple of new outfits and asked me to pick you up to go shopping.”
Wang Xiao had no interest in parent-child activities, and besides, she wasn’t lacking clothes.
Although the old Wang couple strongly opposed her marrying Ruan Rui, the child born from one’s own flesh is always cherished—they had prepared plenty of new clothes for Wang Xiao. That trunk was full of solid, quality outfits enough to last until next spring without needing new additions.
In this regard, the old saying “spoiling a child is like killing them” held true. A naive, sheltered fool constantly indulged by their parents would only grow increasingly foolish and selfish.
Later, the original host used her parents’ money after marriage to enroll her stepdaughter in expensive tutoring classes, pay exorbitant school selection fees, buy high-end nutritional supplements for her mother-in-law, and regularly schedule physiotherapy sessions. Yet when her own parents fell ill, she had no money for their surgeries, leaving them to rely on medication until they died in poverty—it was hard to say they bore no responsibility themselves.
Tsk tsk, no comment.
Right now, she was only eager to earn money.
“No need, I have enough clothes.” Wang Xiao didn’t even look back, striding forward. “I’m going to sell my chicken feet recipe.”
Wang Tiejun hurried after his daughter: “Wait, Dad will go with you. I know people at the braised food shop.”
Wang Xiao glanced back skeptically.
Old Wang puffed out his chest and emphasized: “Have you forgotten? Uncle Fat at the Dongzhimen braised food shop—Dad always took you there to buy braised food when you were little. He’s the manager and can make decisions.”
Wang Xiao considered that they were still in the era where workers held high status, and an eighth-grade fitter commanded considerable social respect. She reluctantly nodded: “Fine, let’s go home and get the chicken feet first.”
Having connections made things easier. After all, this involved food—even if people in 1990 were more trusting, they wouldn’t casually eat something from strangers, given the risk of poisoning.
Wang Tiejun started to blame himself again: “It’s all my fault—I should have brought them directly to you instead of making our Xiao Xiao make an extra trip.””
Wang Xiao shuddered, utterly unaccustomed to this father-daughter dynamic.
Mainly because, before transmigrating into this book, her biological father had never admitted fault in front of her—it was always her mistake. Even when his beloved son suffered severe constipation requiring hospitalization, he blamed her, whom he hadn’t seen in ages.
For Old Wang, a grown man, to be so clingy felt really awkward.
She quickly stressed: “This is my matter, how could it be your fault? Okay, let’s hurry home.”
Fortunately, they were in a rush to get to the braised food shop—otherwise, Wang Xiao truly wouldn’t know how to handle this overly doting father.
Father and daughter carried ten lunchboxes of chicken feet straight to the Dongzhimen braised food shop. When Wang Xiao saw the “fat uncle” her father Wang Tiejun had mentioned, she strongly suspected he actually meant “Uncle Pang.”
Although the man sold braised food, he was genuinely thin—bony and dried up, looking remarkably like packaged beef jerky.
Uncle Pang showed great respect for his old friend, specially using clean chopsticks to take one chicken foot from each lunchbox to taste. After sampling them, he gave high praise: “Very good, these ten varieties of chicken feet each have their own unique flavor and distinctive characteristics.”
But before Wang Xiao could happily quote prices, he poured cold water on her enthusiasm by declaring he wouldn’t buy a single recipe.
Wang Tiejun grew anxious. “Pang, what do you mean? Are you playing with us? If you didn’t want them, why did you eat them? You even ate ten chicken feet in a row!”
He felt Uncle Pang was deliberately making him lose face in front of his daughter.
Uncle Pang quickly emphasized: “It’s just professional habit—when I see new products, I have to try them. It’s not that I don’t want to support you, but your timing is off. Look, tomorrow marks the beginning of winter, and there’s already frost outside. Never mind adding new items—our braised food shop isn’t getting much business at all right now.”
Wang Xiao glanced at the hanging roasted ducks and the hardened pig head meat and pig ears, understanding the situation. In cold weather, braised food indeed didn’t sell well. When meat oils frost over, the texture of braised food deteriorates significantly. Though it was dinner preparation time when people got off work, there were hardly any customers, confirming the poor business.
Still, Wang Xiao wondered—did people stop eating braised food just because it was cold? Half the appeal of braised food was for occasional treats and convenience. Could cooking in cold weather really be easier?
If customers disliked cold braised food, why not serve it hot?
But this was a state-owned store, not a private business. It was frustrating to see them so unconcerned about such poor sales.
Wang Xiao’s eyes shifted thoughtfully before she proactively asked, “Uncle Pang, does the shop’s performance affect your income?”
She added an explanation, “If it does, I might have a way to make braised food sell better. If not, then forget it.”
Uncle Pang chuckled, “What method could you have? Your chicken feet really aren’t suitable for this weather.”
“Not the chicken feet,” Wang Xiao said, putting away the lunchboxes. “I have other braised food recipes I could sell to the shop—guaranteed to be popular. And those unsold roasted ducks don’t matter either; I have ways to handle them that will make them delicious. Today might be too rushed without materials or tools, but tomorrow—yes, tomorrow I’ll bring everything over. Oh, Uncle, what time do you close?”
Hearing they closed at seven, she immediately decided, “Uncle, first, give me one roasted duck.”
Uncle Pang couldn’t stay idle any longer.
Truth be told, those ten lunchboxes of chicken feet had genuinely impressed him.
Having sold braised food his entire life, he considered himself at least half an expert, yet he had never seen chicken feet prepared like this.
It wasn’t that current masters lacked innovation, but because chickens, as poultry, had primarily been kept for egg-laying over the past few decades. Hens were known as housewives’ “butt banks.”
But anyone who had seen egg-laying chickens’ feet knew they were small with thin skin—not even presentable as fried bones. For centuries, they could only be used as scrap ingredients for soup.
It wasn’t until the mid-1970s that a Hong Kong restaurant owner, while on a business trip to the United States, unexpectedly discovered that American broiler chicken feet were remarkably large, plump, and dirt cheap. Inspired by a sudden idea, he decided to make use of them and innovatively created dishes like steamed chicken feet, Baiyun chicken feet, and crystal chicken feet.
By the time these dishes spread to mainland China, the history of large-scale broiler chicken farming was still less than ten years old.
Under these circumstances, chicken feet remained by-products in the market. The only braised chicken feet dishes sold separately were Tiger Skin Phoenix Claws and steamed chicken feet with black bean sauce, both of which were Cantonese dishes. Just a couple of years ago, he had read in the newspaper that Hong Kong had a huge demand for chicken feet, urging meat processing plants and canneries to develop chicken feet processing techniques to boost exports and earn foreign exchange.
He never imagined that chicken feet, in the hands of this young girl, could be transformed in such a way—and the resulting flavor was quite impressive.
Honestly, if she had come just six months earlier, or even three months earlier, he would have tried to persuade the food company (the braised food shop was its subsidiary) to buy the Secret Recipe Chicken Claws formula.
Any braised dish that could win over a seasoned foodie like him was bound to be popular.
Wang Xiao said she could come up with new varieties, and he believed her. Someone who could turn by-products into banquet-worthy dishes must have the knowledge to do so. College students were college students—they had access to vast and varied knowledge, and anything was possible.
However, he was skeptical about reprocessing roast duck.
Ducks were different from old geese. With salted goose, reheating it after it cooled down wasn’t a big issue—at most, the meat would become mushy and the texture would suffer. But ducks had a natural gamy odor. Seriously, if you bought a cold roast duck and tried to cook it again at home, that gamy smell would really affect the taste.
He emphasized, “Don’t tell me you’re planning to cook it with Chinese cabbage. That won’t do. We’re selling braised food here, not running a restaurant.”
Wang Xiao laughed. “Don’t worry, it’s definitely not just cabbage cooked directly with it. I promise the final product will be no worse than the chicken feet. Uncle, just wait. Tomorrow, I’ll have my dad bring it over. Whether it’s good or not, you’ll know as soon as you taste it.”
Uncle Pang couldn’t wait. “Why wait until tomorrow? Let’s go tonight. I’ll come with you right now. You can prepare it, and your dad and I can have a drink tonight.”
However, Wang Xiao showed a troubled expression. “I’m busy tonight. I need to sell the chicken feet recipe.”
Uncle Pang frowned. “Girl, listen to your uncle’s advice. You really can’t sell it now—it’s getting cold.”
“I’m not selling it to the braised food shop.” Wang Xiao felt there was no need to keep it a secret. “I plan to sell it to restaurants. Banquets still need cold dishes, and my chicken feet are the perfect cold dish.”
Uncle Pang was taken aback at first, then chuckled and gave Wang Tiejun a thumbs-up. “Your daughter truly lives up to being a college student. She’s sharp.”
In the south, without centralized heating, people lost interest in braised food during winter. But restaurants were different. High-end restaurants could maintain spring-like temperatures year-round. Even ordinary restaurants without heating were warm inside, and cold dishes were still in demand. Her chicken feet definitely had a market.
Uncle Pang untied his apron, took off his white cap, and instructed the shop employees to hold down the fort while he left early. “Let’s go. I’m familiar with restaurants. I’ll take you there. After you sell it, I’ll get to taste your cooking and see exactly how you plan to handle the roast duck.”
Wang Tiejun was surprised. “Oh, you’re familiar with restaurants? Does that mean even Jinning Grand Hotel sources from your braised food shop?”
Uncle Pang walked half a step ahead: “What’s the matter? Restaurants frequently buy our shop’s braised food. Take Jinning Grand Hotel—they make their own braised dishes, yet I still have connections there. No matter how prestigious the establishment, they still fall under the Food Company’s management. I’d rather be a rooster’s head than a phoenix’s tail—I can’t be bothered with strict regulations, otherwise I’d have joined Jinning Grand Hotel long ago.”
To prove he wasn’t boasting, his first stop was to bring the father-daughter pair to Jinning Grand Hotel. Of course, it might simply have been the nearest major hotel.
Uncle Pang navigated the place with familiarity, leading the Wangs to his acquaintance in the catering department, who also specialized in braised food. The master’s brine-soaked goose was hailed as Jinning’s unique specialty, praised even by foreign guests.
Wang Xiao placed the lunchbox before him, and this Master Fang directly picked up a clean pair of chopsticks, selecting one piece to taste carefully.
After each flavor, he rinsed his mouth, took a few sips of water, then tried the next.
Yet after sampling all the phoenix claws, Master Fang’s decision was to shake his head: “No good. The flavor is decent, but it’s not suitable for Jinning Grand Hotel.”
Uncle Pang didn’t like hearing that.
“Oh, your hotel is so high-class, looking down on street food now? I refuse to believe that shredded braised dried tofu made from bean curd strips can make the cut, but chicken feet can’t grace your elegant halls?”
“What nonsense are you spouting?” Master Fang retorted irritably. “It’s not about the phoenix claws—we also serve black bean sauce phoenix claws and tiger skin phoenix claws. The issue is the flavor. Ours is a foreign-oriented hotel, mainly serving international guests. Have you seen what cuisine we feature? Huaiyang cuisine! Why? Because it’s light and mild, tolerable for foreign palates. Can your phoenix claws manage that? My mouth can’t handle the spiciness—if foreign guests eat it, it could lead to an international incident. Old Pang, diplomacy brooks no carelessness!”
Uncle Pang was stumped; he knew Master Fang was speaking the truth.
Foreigners really couldn’t handle spicy food. Last time their braised food shop tried innovating with a Sichuan dish, “Couple’s Lung Slices,” a foreigner who ate it ended up hospitalized, giving them a real scare.
He turned to Wang Xiao with a troubled expression: “Well, maybe we should try another place. Old Fang approves of your skills, so they must be decent.”
But Wang Xiao smiled faintly: “No need to change venues. I believe Jinning Grand Hotel is quite suitable for my phoenix claws right now.”
Why? Because it was 1990, and the aftermath of last year’s turmoil lingered, with international tensions running high. Even the Asian Games held in September faced significant international calls for boycott.
“Master Fang, what’s the current ratio of foreign to domestic customers at Jinning Grand Hotel? I think a hotel, being a business, should cater to whoever is spending money.”
Why focus on foreign guests now? Better take advantage of the reduced foreign reception duties to build up local clientele first.
With the cold weather, eating something spicy is just the thing to ward off the chill.