Chu Mingcheng carried his cooler ashore and set up in the same spot as the day before.

Opening the lid, he began selling fish again.

A crowd gathered quickly—perhaps word of yesterday’s sale had gotten around, because there were even more customers today.

The thirty-seven jin of fish sold out in less than half an hour.

Everyone who bought from him wanted his number, asking to be notified the next time he went out to sea.

Since Chu Mingcheng would soon be moving, he explained the situation. If they didn’t mind the shipping costs, he could send photos of future catches, and they could decide whether to place an order.

He also took the chance to warn the fishermen present about the dangers of spearfishing. If anyone still insisted on trying it after that, then whatever happened would be on them.

Hearing he was moving, some customers became even more proactive, eagerly exchanging contact details and saying that as long as the fish was fresh, shipping costs were no issue.

Seeing their enthusiasm, Chu Mingcheng created a group chat and added them all. Going forward, he’d simply post his catches there and let them choose what they wanted.

Unfortunately, the man who had stopped him yesterday did not show up again, which was a bit disappointing.

What Chu Mingcheng didn’t realize was that someone was watching from a distance—muttering curses under their breath.

It was the very man who had reported him.

He had no idea why Chu Mingcheng was perfectly fine and, feeling guilty and vaguely afraid his target might have powerful connections, he didn’t dare show his face for the time being.

After wrapping up sales, Chu Mingcheng returned to Zhao Jun’s boat, retrieved the hidden grouper, packed it in his cooler, and, after saying goodbye, left the pier.

Back home, he tallied up the day’s earnings.

There had been no standout catch today, so the total came to just 3,400 yuan—still respectable.

His savings now sat at 72,000.

He wondered if he could push it to 80,000 before leaving for Qiongzhou.

He rinsed all his gear with fresh water, cleaned his wetsuit, and hung it out to dry.

Only then did he head into the shower.

Afterwards, he locked up and drove into town.

The grouper remained chilled in the trunk—his parents had a freezer at their place, which was better for long-term storage.

An Xiuwen had been chatting with a friend when she got a call from her son, saying he had something good for her.

She rushed home.

Just as she arrived, she saw Chu Mingcheng standing at the door with the cooler at his feet.

“Son, what did you catch this time?” she asked curiously, unlocking the door.

“A grouper. Plans changed, and I’m heading out of town in a couple of days, so I didn’t sell it. I brought it back so we can have a nice family dinner.”

Chu Mingcheng carried the cooler inside, opened it, and—under An Xiuwen’s stunned gaze—placed the massive fish into the freezer.

“This grouper is huge! It must be worth several thousand, right?”

She snapped back to her senses and immediately grabbed his ear.

“You’re getting bold now, huh? You’re about to owe the family hundreds of thousands, and you have the nerve to bring back a fish like this?”

“Ow, ow, ow!”

Chu Mingcheng cried out dramatically, even though it didn’t hurt.

“Stop faking it—I barely used any force,” An Xiuwen said, letting go with an exasperated huff.

Chu Mingcheng grinned. “Mom, I just thought you and Dad had never had a grouper this good before, so I brought it back for you to try. Once I move, I’ll be catching more. Eating one ourselves—while a bit of a luxury—is reasonable, right?”

An Xiuwen rolled her eyes but responded fondly, “You always have an excuse.”

Still, the matter was settled.

“I’ll call your dad and have him pick up the seasonings on his way home from work. Even he’ll have to think carefully about how to cook a fish like this.”

A ten-jin grouper would require more than one cooking method—Old Chu would have to get creative.

But Chu Mingcheng stopped her. “No need, Mom. I’m not eating at home tonight. Chen Yang’s treating me to something called ‘Sea, Land, and Air.’ Just let Dad know when he gets home. I’ll be back tomorrow.”

“Alright,” An Xiuwen nodded. She didn’t mind—cooking it the next day would give them more time to prepare.

He stayed at home until about 5:30, when Chen Yang called.

Chu Mingcheng drove over to pick him up, and the group headed off for their so-called “Sea, Land, and Air” feast.

Chen Yang took them to a high-end restaurant styled like a private kitchen.

Looking around, Chu Mingcheng realized it was Western.

A waiter led the three of them to their table, where they ordered the “Sea, Land, and Air” special along with a few appetizers.

With his past spending habits, Chu Mingcheng would never have set foot in a place like this. A single meal here would have cost him at least ten days’ wages.

But with a tycoon treating today, it was the perfect chance to experience something new.

Before the appetizers arrived, four waiters brought out the main ingredients of the “Sea, Land, and Air” set for inspection—proof of freshness and a bit of showmanship.

For the “Sea” portion, there was even a choice.

One waiter held a tray with a live, six-jin Boston lobster.

Another carried a slightly smaller, four-jin Australian lobster.

Chen Yang asked, “A’Cheng, which one do you want?”

“The Australian lobster, obviously. Who eats Boston lobster?”

Its texture was the worst among all lobsters. With a better option right there, why settle?

Of course, the Australian lobster tasted better—but it was also more expensive. This one alone would run at least 1,200 yuan.

The “Land” portion was a tomahawk steak—no substitutions allowed.

The “Air” was also fixed: a farmed wild goose, complete with an official certificate of origin.

Once the main courses were decided, the appetizers began arriving.

The first was unexpectedly fancy: New Zealand scampi with sea urchin and finger lime.

Despite the elegant name, it was essentially scampi sashimi on a white plate, accompanied by dipping sauce.

Western cuisine was known for minimalist plating, so Chu Mingcheng wasn’t surprised.

Now that he was in the seafood business, he was genuinely curious about the flavor.

Scampi were also found in China’s East and Yellow Seas, but they lived at depths over 200 meters in sandy-mud seafloors—reachable only by large fishing boats.

Chu Mingcheng didn’t bother with the sauce and sampled the scampi directly.

It was sweet and fresh, with a light saltiness and a crisp, slightly chewy texture.

Anyone who enjoyed sashimi would be hooked.

The slight chewiness was likely due to flash-freezing. A live one would’ve been even springier.

But live New Zealand scampi were virtually unavailable domestically—keeping them alive was simply too expensive.

A frozen one already costs two to three hundred yuan per jin; a live one would be over a thousand.

More appetizers followed, such as foie gras with caviar—small portions, just enough for a taste.

After a long wait, the main dishes still hadn’t arrived.

Chu Mingcheng got up to use the restroom and passed by the restaurant’s ingredient display area. It was lively with customers admiring the fresh seafood.

Like many upscale restaurants, the seafood was openly displayed.

Lobsters and king crabs swam in oxygenated tanks, while other selections were laid out on crushed ice—shrimp, sea urchins, giant scallops, and all sorts of rare, high-end fish.

Among them, Chu Mingcheng spotted an unusually large grouper.

It looked extremely familiar—a seven-banded grouper.

It had to be at least 1.2 meters long and weighed no less than seventy or eighty jin—possibly a full hundred.

He was sure he hadn’t seen it when they first arrived.

A fish that size, in such a prominent display near the entrance, would’ve been impossible to miss.

So he asked a nearby waiter, “Excuse me, where did you get this grouper?”

“I’m not sure of the exact details,” the waiter replied, “but our restaurant has a dedicated buyer. I heard it was bought at a high price from an angler returning from the Nansha Islands.”

“I see. Thank you.”

Chu Mingcheng nodded and walked back to his table—lost in thought.