I've been reborn, I'm definitely going to become an internet celebrity!

Chapter 5: [Be Cautious in Speech and Action]

At four o'clock in the morning, half a month later, it was still dark.

When Liu Zhuohao woke up, he was stunned when he opened the door—the living room light was on, and his father, dressed neatly, was sitting on the sofa, as if waiting for something.

"Go wash up," the father said first. "Breakfast is on the table. I'll take you home after you've eaten."

These words made Liu Zhuohao pause for a moment before replying:

"I run a breakfast stall myself, and I can ride my bike there. What time is it? You should go to sleep."

Regarding the transportation issue, the only thing he could think of for the time being was using a bicycle. Fortunately, it was just a pancake stall, so he only needed to attach a basket to the back of the bicycle.

But you could also buy a motorcycle, since these days, smaller cities aren't as strict about checking documents.

Anyway, I can ride a motorcycle and have more than ten years of driving experience, so driving without a license is nothing.

However, he cannot afford a motorcycle as a means of transportation at the moment.

"What kind of behavior is it to ride a bicycle?" his father interrupted, his tone carrying an unyielding insistence. "If you're going to do something, then do it properly. Didn't I take you to and from school when you were a kid?"

Just two weeks ago, his father was pointing his finger at him and scolding him for being "ambitious but incompetent," but at the very end, he was still willing to send him to set up a stall.

Just like in my past life, as long as I'm resolute enough, they will actually support me.

"If you can really keep doing this," the father paused, "then after you get your driver's license, your mother and I will talk to you about buying you a motorcycle."

Liu Zhuohao looked at him, turned around and rubbed his slightly sore nose, then didn't refuse anymore.

Both father and son were stubborn, and he knew that talking wouldn't work.

As the motorcycles set off, the sky was just beginning to lighten with the first hint of dawn.

The car drove through familiar old streets—roads that will be repeatedly renovated in the coming years, dug up and filled in, filled in and dug up again.

But now, they still retain the simple appearance they had 14 years ago.

Speechless all the way.

Except when there is a real reason, the father and son rarely speak to each other.

It's not that we don't care about each other, it's just...

Liu Zhuohao is difficult to describe.

When they arrived at the wholesale market, Liu Zhuohao skillfully carried a basket inside, ready to pick up the goods.

His father followed behind him; this was the first time his father had come with him.

"Boss, it's time to pick up the goods. I called you before..."

Liu Zhuohao stood in front of the vegetable vendor's stall he had arranged, and familiarly took out a cigarette case from his pocket and handed it to him.

"Of course I remember you. Everyone in this wholesale market knows you these days. You've been hanging around at every stall. How come you, a breakfast stall owner, are eyeing the prices of beef and pork?"

The boss took the cigarette, got up, and took out a bag of vegetables that had been pre-packed. "I've already picked them for you, but you still need to wash them, understand?"

"Understood, thanks."

Liu Zhuohao took it and paid the balance.

As we walked out of the vegetable stall, the father couldn't help but ask, "He even helped you pick the vegetables?"

"Wholesale vegetables are categorized by quality. For example, there are bulk or packaged vegetables, which means you are given a basket of vegetables and you can't choose them. You have to pick out the good ones yourself when you get home."

Liu Zhuohao led him toward the frozen section. "There's another type of vegetable, which can be called premium quality. He helps remove the bad and wilted ones, washes them, and cuts them once. They can usually be used directly, but it's best to wash them again."

As he spoke, he mentioned bacon, chicken cutlet, and ham. "Some are pure meat, while others are composites, which means they have a lot of starch added. The price difference between the two is huge, but in reality, they are just added as toppings in the crust, and ordinary people can't tell the difference."

The father was silent for a moment: "...Where did you learn all this?"

I saw it online.

Father: "Again, online?"

"If you can learn cooking skills, bargaining skills, and jargon online, then what's the point of having schools?"

"Times have changed so fast. Back then, these things were other people's secrets to making money, and they couldn't just be revealed to others so easily."

"Online again?" The father shook his head. "Back in our day, these kinds of skills were essential for making a living. Who would just tell others about them?"

Liu Zhuohao did not respond.

He knew that in a few years, these "tricks" would flood the internet again—tutorials, some real and some fake, selling for anywhere from tens to thousands of dollars.

The tide of the information age is changing everything.

But at the same time, the future society is terrifyingly complex.

Everyone holds the "wealth code," and everyone has the potential to succeed, which means that no one is truly successful.

After preparing the goods, his father drove him to the stall.

He was stunned when he saw the location.

—At the school gate!

His food cart had already been set up in front of the bookstore and was locked to the roller shutter door with an iron chain.

Nearby, the owners of rice noodle roll stalls and soy milk stalls were busy boiling water and preparing ingredients; everyone was very busy.

"How much is your rent?"

The father looked at the food truck parked in front of the school bookstore, his voice trembling slightly, "How much would this location cost?"

"one thousand."

"One thousand?!" The father exclaimed in disbelief. "So cheap?"

"It's not cheap." Liu Zhuohao pointed to the street vendors in the distance. "Those selling milk tea, handicrafts, and silkworms under the trees probably don't have to pay a penny. This thousand is for the bookstore owner's venue fee—with this, I don't have to run away when the city management comes."

That's the charm of "mobile vendors".

Especially in a small city, before the crackdown in 14, you could buy a food cart and sell your wares all over the streets if you wanted.

If it weren't for the special circumstances surrounding the school, he wouldn't have needed to spend that thousand yuan.

After more than a decade of intense competition, Liu Zhuohao's return to the present day feels like a simplified version of the old model.

The father stared blankly at him as he spoke eloquently, then wanted to roll up his sleeves and help.

"Need not."

Liu Zhuohao waved his hand, took the key and opened the small door on the bookstore's roller shutter door, deftly opened the side door of the bookstore to connect the water pipe, rinsed the food cart, prepared the ingredients, washed the vegetables... his movements were so skilled that it seemed like he had repeated them thousands of times.

The father stood aside, not knowing how to help.

"You should go back now; you can get some sleep if you go back."

Liu Zhuohao waved his hand, urging his father to leave quickly.

My father stood in the dim morning light, his motorcycle still running, the sputtering sound particularly clear in the early morning.

He opened his mouth, but in the end he just nodded: "...Then you keep an eye on the time."

The motorcycle turned around, its taillights flashing at the alley entrance before disappearing around the corner.

Liu Zhuohao continued his work, rinsing the vegetable leaves with a rush of water, the morning breeze carrying a slight chill.

He knew that his father hadn't gone far and was probably watching him from the shadows.

The rushing water washed the lettuce, and the morning breeze carried a cool breeze.

Liu Zhuohao carefully arranged the vegetable leaves one by one, his movements unhurried and deliberate.

Some things don't need to be said out loud.

Just as a father wouldn't admit he was worried, he wouldn't expose that awkward companionship.

Once the stall was ready to open, the owner of a rice noodle roll stall next door came over with a smile and asked, "Was that your dad just now?"

"...Yeah, my dad brought me here." Liu Zhuohao glanced at the stall owner who had come over; he was a middle-aged man with thinning hair. He then offered him a cigarette.

"Are you planning to make pancakes?"

The shopkeeper took the cigarette but didn't smoke it, instead tucking it behind his ear. "How old are you to be setting up a stall? This business isn't easy."

Liu Zhuohao lit one for himself as well, squatted on the steps at the entrance of the bookstore, and casually replied, "Eighteen, what can I do? I got into university but my family doesn't have much money, so I thought I'd set up a stall to help out."

As he spoke, he exhaled a puff of smoke, suppressing his anxiety.

The boss paused, his scrutiny lessened, and nodded without pressing further.

These days, many people go out to study and earn a living so their families can make a living; he probably has children too.

But is Liu Zhuohao's family really that poor?

No.

Liu Zhuohao was just making things up on the spot; feigning pitifulness, feigning poverty, and so on... are essential lessons for doing business.

Especially at my age, using this can save me a lot of trouble.

Of course, this trick won't work on the vendors in the wholesale market; if they play the victim, they'll only get ripped off even more.

However, there is a limit to this.

The things you say must be at least nine-tenths true.

It's nine parts truth, mixed with one part exaggeration, so that even if it's mentioned again in the future, it won't make me feel ashamed.

You absolutely cannot fabricate a persona that is completely inconsistent with yourself.

"What if I become famous in the future, and the media finds out I said something inappropriate?"

Yes, although he is not famous yet and has not become an internet celebrity, Liu Zhuohao has already begun to carefully avoid the troubles he may encounter after becoming famous in the future.

The future needs to be considered, but right now, Liu Zhuohao is 90% sure whether his business will be a success, but there is still a 10% uncertainty.

"My post only had a dozen or so scattered replies, but at least someone saw it."

"If this were 25 years ago, nobody would even click on this kind of 'give up' post."

Of those dozen or so people who replied, if even one...

He flicked a wad of cigarette ash and stared blankly at the rising embers.

Around 5 or 6 o'clock, the area around the school came alive—soy milk and fried dough sticks, rice noodle rolls, steamed buns... the aromas mingled, creating a lively atmosphere.

Liu Zhuohao changed into a white chef's uniform and put on a black mask. The most eye-catching thing was the small camera recording on his forehead.

The camera was steadily pointed at the food cart, reflecting the morning light and recording every movement.

"...Senior?"

Other stalls already had a few scattered customers, and Liu Zhuohao's stall was no exception. Several girls walked over together, asking cautiously, probably because they were boarding students.

As soon as they arrived, they called out "Senior," having come to support him after seeing his post on the school's online forum.

Upon hearing the voice, Liu Zhuohao looked up, the faint unease in his eyes finally dissipating. His eyebrows, visible above the mask, curved slightly, appearing very gentle: "It's me."

Then, he casually followed up, "How about a few scallion pancakes?"

"...Then, shall we have five?"

The girls looked at each other, then one of them took out the school badge.

"Okay, I'll add some sausage for you."

Liu Zhuohao calmly replied, "I want the standard version, right?"

As he spoke, he cracked an egg with one hand and deftly fried it on the griddle, glancing at the vocabulary book one of the men was holding. "Hey, so diligent, memorizing words even while waiting for your pancakes?"

Do you know Teacher Liu?

"She used to teach me English."

Several girls started talking as he spoke.

"Yes, the standard configuration is fine."

"We weren't taught by Ms. Liu, but we've heard of her. She's teaching Class 5 now and is their homeroom teacher."

"Isn't it stuffy wearing a mask, senior?"

Liu Zhuohao: "It's a bit stuffy, mainly because I'm standing close by and I'm afraid of spitting when I talk."

The girls nodded, their expressions noticeably more relaxed.

Just then, a few boys playing basketball rushed over: "Senior! Full set! Egg, sausage, bacon, and enoki mushrooms!"

"Wow, are you guys treating scallion pancakes like a buffet?" Liu Zhuohao replied with a smile, already starting to eat.

As he worked efficiently, he chatted familiarly with the students, and a small queue gradually formed in front of his stall.

Sweat trickled down Liu Zhuohao's forehead and temples, but his hands moved as steadily as a rock.