"Sir, could you repeat what you just said? I didn't quite catch it!"
Mu Dalang doubted his ears, he could hardly believe it.
Now that his uncle had returned and become a county magistrate, the family shouldn't be short of money. So why was there a need to withhold his meat earnings?
Mu Dalang's business had just started; every day he worked himself to the bone, yet earned barely enough for his and Bita's three meals a day.
Besides, he thought of what Shuangshuang suggested, to first establish his brand.
That's why his pork sold cheaper than other butchers', and its quality was the finest.
Yet, despite such hard work, it only amounted to barely surviving.
He could go hungry, but he couldn't let Bita starve!
Mr. Mu's face darkened, he thought Dalang was unwilling to lend him credit.
So he said, "It's not that I'm not giving you money, but your uncle just got back and hasn't rested enough yet.
If I ask for money right away, what if it irritates him? How would we handle that?"
