Chapter 1

On my way home from work, I stopped at the roadside stall by the entrance of my community and bought a bowl of duck-leg noodles, just like always.

The woman who ran the duck-leg noodle stall had a kind face and a pitiful air about her, so as long as I got off work on time, I came by to give her my business almost every day.

Since she saw I bought so much, she'd often throw in some extra noodles.

But today I'd been out on fieldwork all day and was soaked through. To keep off the sun I'd bundled up until only my eyes showed, and my pant legs were splattered with water spots and mud. I looked like an absolute mess.

Even my own mother would've come by and cried out, "Where'd this beggar come from?"

The woman glanced at me and quoted a price. "Eight dollars!"

My hand froze mid-scan.

Didn't this place always sell duck-leg noodles for twenty-five dollars?

Section 1

I blinked and instinctively looked up at the stall's sign: Rachel's Duck-Leg Noodles.

I hadn't come to the wrong place, had I?

I was the one who helped put that sign up, and the line of brush-written characters along the bottom—"Honest goods, honest prices, fair to young and old"—I'd begged my grandfather to write when he came to visit me.

The old man is a well-known calligrapher. Plenty of his fans travel a thousand miles just for those words, only to eat a single bowl of duck-leg noodles.

I never told her, because I didn't want her to feel any pressure over it.

Even drenched in sweat from the heat, she never stopped working, looking just as honest and hardworking as she had three years ago.

Back then she'd just shown up and didn't even know how to set up a stall. She spread a newspaper on the ground, propped a pot up beside it, and started selling food—and got chased off pitifully by the city code enforcement officers.

I couldn't stand to watch, so I helped her rent a stall, get her supplies together, obtain a health permit, and register with the government. I walked her through every step until the stall was legal, compliant, and booming.

On opening day, she wept and grabbed my hand, practically ready to kneel down before me, saying she'd feed me noodles for free for the rest of my life.

I told her there was no need, that I'd just done it as a good deed.

The duck-leg noodles sold for twenty-three at first, and later twenty-five.

So where did this eight dollars come from?

I frowned and probed, "Duck-leg noodles this cheap—do you even make any money?"

She looked me over. "You look unfamiliar. First time here?"

I went along with it and nodded. "Just passing through on a business trip. I've got a train back in a little while."

A flicker of ease crossed her face. "My business is booming, honey. I don't make my money off this."

I asked, puzzled, "If the noodle stall isn't making its money from noodles, then where does the money come from?"

She lowered her voice and said furtively, "It's all about one price per person—reading a customer's spending power exactly. That's how you get repeat business!"

"This is a high-end community, full of rich folks! I've been here long enough that one look tells me whether a customer's got money or not. Different people, different meals—those with money ought to pay a little more!"

She wore a look of complete entitlement and made a couple of gestures with her right hand. "Starting price is fifteen, and the rich pay extra."

I sucked in a cold breath, a wave of dizziness washing over me.

When the duck-leg noodle stall first opened, I'd even helped spread the word around the neighborhood—and this heartless creature was what I'd promoted!

I forced a smile and asked, feigning curiosity, "And nobody's ever caught on?"

She spat out two sunflower-seed shells, which landed on the noodles beside her, and brushed them off without a thought. "These fat sheep care most about saving face. Talking money is beneath them—dead easy to handle! And the more you fleece them, the happier they are. It's what these young folks call feeling like they deserve it."

"I'm doing a good deed here. Sure, I take on the risk of setting the price, but the customer walks away satisfied! And I don't even make them bring me a banner of thanks!"

I let out a couple of cold laughs. This swindler's abacus really did click loud. I'd been cheated by her all this time, and I was supposed to be thanking her over and over?

She got more and more pleased with herself as she talked, waving me closer with delight. "You know who pays the highest price in this whole community?"

A sudden, ominous feeling rose up in me. "Who?"

She said mysteriously, "There's a young girl around here—soft as they come, does whatever I say. I just play the victim a little and she's hooked. Runs around handling everything for me. I don't have to worry about a thing."

Rage flared in my chest at once. Wasn't that a perfect description of me? I'd been so worried she didn't know how things worked that I even took a few days off just to walk her through the whole process. That woman cried her eyes out about how she'd met a kindhearted person—when she was a two-faced snake the whole time!

My voice went cold and hard. "Someone helped you that much—shouldn't you give them a discount?"

She waved a hand. "Oh, please, I would've, but that young thing's so high-minded she wouldn't take one! So I figured, fine, I'll just quote her a high price to make her feel good about it! Started her off at twenty-three, but the girl's a real spendthrift—doesn't have much money and loves to spend it, never misses a meal. So don't blame me for hiking the price."

"And every now and then I toss a few extra noodles onto her plate, and she's just so grateful for it!"

Grateful?

I was so furious I slapped my hand down on her stall and ripped off my face covering. "Give me my money back!"