pjbooks Chapter 84 [A makeshift troupe]
Chapter 84 [A makeshift troupe]
Chapter 84 [A makeshift troupe]
He now has his own partners.
Now, Liu Zhuohao no longer needs to handle affairs personally like he did in the early days of his business, exhausting himself like a spinning top.
"This supplier is at stall number 109 in the fresh food market. His surname is Zhang. Here is his phone number." Liu Zhuohao wrote the contact information and name stored in his phone on a sticky note and handed it to Li Zekai, who was standing next to him. "I tried some of his products a while ago. The quality is consistent and quite good."
"But I feel there's still room for negotiation on their offer. How much you can bring the price down depends on your skills."
Li Zekai scratched his newly cut hair with one hand, took the notepad with the other, his face showing a mixture of eagerness and nervousness, as if it were his first time negotiating a business deal: "Boss, what kinds of goods should we order? Do we have a rough estimate for the quantity? And what about the price ceiling?"
"The specific menu hasn't been finalized yet, and there's not even a chef in sight," Liu Zhuohao shook his head. "We're just discussing a preliminary cooperation agreement. As for logistics, distribution of responsibilities, and pricing flexibility, don't tell us what you want. Just see what they have on their stall and discuss that."
His gaze shifted to Huang Weixiong, Cheng Bing, and Yang Boran standing beside him.
These three are all professionally trained chefs. Although they graduated not long ago, their basic skills are already there.
"And the three of you—"
Liu Zhuohao tapped the table. "Don't just sit there. Starting tomorrow, in addition to setting up your stall at night, you should also make use of your daytime hours."
"Write down the dishes you've learned at school, the ones you've practiced on your own, and the ones you're best at, whether they're fancy dishes or everyday meals or dishes for entertaining guests."
He paused, looking at the three of them with somewhat bewildered expressions, and continued, "Then, based on the menu you wrote, go find the corresponding ingredients yourselves. You can go to the wholesale market with Ah Kai, or you can go by yourself."
"For the next period of time, each of you will be in charge of one day, taking turns to arrange our meals, including breakfast and lunch."
"Food costs will be reimbursed based on actual expenses, but there is a limit to the amount each of you can receive."
Liu Zhuohao emphasized, "If you're capable and your dishes pass my test—the taste, cooking time, and presentation are all up to par—then when our restaurant actually opens, you can try working in the kitchen."
Upon hearing this, Huang Weixiong, Cheng Bing, and Yang Boran were taken aback at first, then looked at each other with complex expressions on their faces. There was excitement and eagerness, but more than anything, there was a sudden pressure and a lack of confidence.
After all, based on what they learned in school, it would be one thing if it were just an ordinary street vendor.
To actually get into a restaurant, you have to start from the bottom, washing dishes, cleaning fish and chopping vegetables, and working your way up to the kitchen level. It takes several years of training from a master chef before you can get the hang of it.
Finally, Huang Weixiong, the older and most composed of the two, reluctantly spoke up under the urging of Cheng Bing and Yang Boran, his voice slightly hesitant: "Boss, this—what if the food isn't good, or doesn't suit your taste?"
"After all, the few of us—we only graduated from vocational school, so we didn't really learn any complicated dishes. At school, we just practiced basic skills like chopping, wok tossing, and broth making every day."
His voice trailed off as he spoke, clearly unsure of himself about the upcoming assessment.
Cheng Bing and Yang Boran nodded in agreement, their faces showing the same unease.
After entering the workforce, their vocational school diploma repeatedly caused them setbacks, making them very uneasy.
Seeing their expressions, Liu Zhuohao laughed, breaking the slightly tense atmosphere.
"Why are you all stammering and hesitating when you speak?"
He spoke casually, "This isn't asking you to switch careers and become coders. For a chef, having a proper vocational school diploma is already considered formal training," which is much better than many self-taught individuals who learn by trial and error.
Liu Zhuohao sat in the chair, his gaze sweeping over their young and somewhat immature faces: "Solid basic skills are actually enough."
"With this foundation, in my personal opinion, a chef's future path is more about personal improvement, going to different places to broaden his horizons, learning from different chefs, studying recipes on his own, and figuring out the timing and seasoning."
"And then there's taking all sorts of professional skills qualification exams, participating in various activities to build a reputation, and of course—"
Liu Zhuohao then changed the subject, "I definitely won't let you start working directly. I mean, let you try it out. Once the shop is open, I'll definitely need to hire a few experienced chefs to oversee things and take charge of the cooking."
"Other old restaurants follow a seniority system; that's their traditional way of passing down their traditions."
"We don't do that here. As long as you're really capable and get the master chef's approval, I'll let you take charge of the kitchen in a month or two. Whether you do well or not, the customers and the market will decide."
After these words were spoken, the solemn expressions on the three people's faces visibly relaxed, and they breathed a sigh of relief.
Liu Zhuohao was no stranger to this attitude.
The kitchen helpers in his shop used to be like that too.
It seems that the culinary profession is instilled with a strong sense of hierarchy and seniority from the moment one enters school.
You have to kill a certain number of fish, cut a certain number of vegetables, and do a certain number of odd jobs before you can even touch a spatula and learn real skills.
It seems that without this long period of arduous training, one cannot cook well.
This concept was repeatedly emphasized in schools, almost becoming an industry norm.
"Apart from these things."
Liu Zhuohao hesitated for a moment, then instructed Huang Weixiong, "I'll post an announcement in the fan group and on the account later, saying that the stall will be closed for a few days to cooperate with the regulatory authorities and the whistleblower for a joint clarification interview."
"Ah Wei, remember to put up a prominent sign at our stall when you come, and explain the situation to the regular customers who pass by."
Liu Zhuohao temporarily closed his stall.
From the perspective of a roadside stall owner, this arrangement is actually quite strange.
When he was reported, he had no business, but he still insisted on setting up his stall.
Now that things have been clarified, customer traffic is slowly recovering, business is picking up, and there's even a desire to do interviews and make the news again, but things have stopped.
If Mingming continues to set up shop, it will soon return to its peak customer traffic, and daily sales and profits will also increase.
But Liu Zhuohao still chose to stop.
After all, he is an internet celebrity.
"I urge all business operators to consciously abide by market order, fulfill their primary responsibilities, and jointly safeguard—"
'
The following day, in a simple meeting room of the regulatory department, Liu Zhuohao received a printed copy from a staff member.
After reading only the first few lines and reading them aloud, he felt a chill run down his spine and goosebumps rose on his skin.
He raised his head, looked at the comrades in front of him, dressed in crisp uniforms, their eyes filled with encouragement and expectation, and only wanted to say three words:
Am I worthy?
"That—leader."
He put down his manuscript, forcing a somewhat embarrassed smile. "I'm just a high school graduate who hasn't been out of school for long, and I've only been running this stall for about six months. Using the word 'appeal'... isn't that a bit... inappropriate?"
He unconsciously scratched his chin, trying to put it more tactfully: "And this sentence we should implement" — it sounded like he was reading a report, not like a small stall owner talking about his own business.
"
"If this were broadcast and netizens saw it, some might actually think I have some special background, otherwise how could I say such official things?"
The meeting room fell silent for a moment as soon as he finished speaking.
Several comrades from the regulatory, public security, and media departments exchanged glances, a subtle expression flashing across their faces.
The colleague who had handed over the manuscript earlier coughed lightly and reminded him, "Mr. Liu, you were originally—reading from a manuscript."
Among them, there were no high-ranking leaders, just ordinary grassroots supervisory staff and police officers.
"I know."
Liu Zhuohao nodded quickly, his tone becoming even more sincere, "It was precisely because I knew it was a read-from-a-script that I felt something was off."
"Isn't the purpose of this interview to make things seem more real and convincing? But when I read it aloud, it felt too fake, no, I mean too serious, not real enough."
"Netizens are very shrewd. They want to see a real person, someone who suffered a loss, sought justice, and spoke the truth, not a machine reading from a script, right?"
He paused, lowered his voice, but his meaning was clear: "Could we—put it another way? Let's just say what I really want to say, in plain language."
The group exchanged glances again.
"Why don't you write it down first?"
That's what some people said.
"Okay, I'll give it a try." Liu Zhuohao breathed a sigh of relief and immediately agreed.
It's better to write it yourself than to force yourself to read that cringe-worthy official jargon.
He had just picked up his pen and written the first word on the blank manuscript paper when a few clear knocks came from outside the meeting room.
"—Knock knock knock."
The door was pushed open a crack, and a staff member poked his head in, greeted him, and then stepped aside.
Immediately afterwards, a group of eight people filed in.
There were both men and women, and the age range was quite wide.
The young man looked at Ergan with an arrogant expression.
The older one was probably over fifty, with graying temples and shifty eyes.
They walked hesitantly, their expressions varied, but what they had in common was the obvious unpleasantness and tension on their faces.
Liu Zhuohao looked up, his gaze sweeping over the unfamiliar faces, each one filled with unease and gloom.
Suddenly, his gaze stopped on one of the faces.
It looks familiar.
After a moment's thought, he remembered that this was a staff member of the community service center to which their night market belonged.
A while ago, when he was holding a lucky draw and it almost caused chaos, this person came over to help maintain order. At that time, I casually offered him a cigarette, which he happily accepted.
Liu Zhuohao's gaze sharpened.
etc----
His gaze then fell upon another face.
He was a man around forty years old, slightly overweight, wearing a wrinkled short-sleeved shirt.
The moment their eyes met, the other person seemed to be burned, abruptly lowering their head, their neck almost shrinking into their shoulders.
"They are the people who reported you this time."
Beside him, the comrade responsible for communicating with him explained in a low voice, his tone calm, "There are quite a few people involved, especially that fat guy in the short-sleeved shirt, surnamed Liu, the same surname as you, who runs a fresh produce wholesale business at the North Gate Wholesale Market—"
Liu Zhuohao listened, but his eyes never left those faces.
He could sense that in those eyes that avoided his gaze, besides obvious fear and tension, there was also resentment, hatred, and even a bit of despair and anger.
I was both afraid and resentful.
The root of the problem, of course, lies in business.
The staff guided the group to sit on the other side of the conference table, opposite Liu Zhuohao, clearly separating them.
Liu Zhuohao's gaze finally settled steadily on the slightly overweight man who was looking down and avoiding eye contact.
A calm, even slightly bewildered smile appeared on his face. His voice wasn't loud, but it was clear enough for the person on the other end to hear him: "Boss, really—I didn't expect this."
There wasn't much anger in his tone; instead, there was a sense of "so that's how it is" in his voice: "When we were selecting products, we couldn't agree on the price, so we didn't buy from you. I felt a little embarrassed, but I didn't expect that I would offend you."
The wholesaler surnamed Liu, who was named, visibly stiffened, lowered his head even further, his face flushed red and then turned pale, his lips moved a couple of times, but he ultimately didn't dare to reply, only letting out a few awkward and indistinct dry laughs.
Liu Zhuohao's gaze, following the brief introduction by his comrade beside him, slowly shifted to a middle-aged couple sitting next to the wholesaler.
Both men were wearing old coats stained with oil, and their knuckles were large, indicating that they were people who did manual labor all year round.
"These two run a barbecue stall on Chengxi Road," the comrade said in a low voice. "They listened to what that boss Liu said and thought that street-side steak was a good business. They plan to switch to doing the same thing as you, and they've even started inquiring about equipment."
Oh, we almost became rivals.
Liu Zhuohao's gaze continued to move, landing on a young man next to the couple who had a buzz cut, a faint blue tattoo on his neck, and a defiant look in his eyes.
"This is the proprietress's younger brother." The comrade pointed at the man, his voice still steady. "According to the investigation and the statements of the parties involved, he was mainly responsible for contacting people outside and hiring them to line up and cause trouble in front of your stall."
"His idea is that your business is doing well because you are the only steakhouse in the city, and you have a head start."
"Once we get rid of you, the only one, the market will be cleared, and his sister and brother-in-law's business will definitely be successful."
He recounted the story slowly, as it snowballed.
The relative at the community service center who had a little power and could do some favors, the tattooed brother's friends from all walks of life, and other small business owners in the industry whom the wholesaler, Mr. Liu, knew who were dissatisfied or wanted a share of the pie—all sorts of people gathered together for profit.
Ultimately, what Liu Zhuohao was presented with was a crude yet quite effective scheme: malicious reporting, hiring people to disrupt and damage the reputation of the site, and using personal networks to spread rumors and completely destroy customer traffic.
A player who only takes leftovers.
Liu Zhuohao silently made up his mind, just as his cousin had predicted based on the details.
There's no sophisticated planning or strong connections, but there are a lot of people involved, and they're involved in all sorts of industries.
But it is precisely this kind of makeshift team that often causes the most headaches, and even fatal ones, for ordinary small business owners.
As an ordinary, common roadside vendor, how many people could withstand such a beating?
Most stalls simply cannot pass the regulatory hurdle, let alone spread rumors afterward.
It's even possible that in the end, when the business closes down, some people won't even know who was behind it.
"Oh, I see."
After listening to the retelling, Liu Zhuohao casually responded and lowered his head to continue writing his manuscript.
I don't care.