One thousand ballpoint pens cost three hundred yuan, and one thousand bags of pen refills cost six hundred yuan. Wang Peng took out nine hundred yuan to pay the bill.
"Great! I'll give you twenty more." Zhao Delai gave a thumbs-up.
A thousand pens sounds like a lot, but it only filled two boxes: one for the pen barrels and one for the refills.
The three left Zhao Delai's stationery factory and took a bus back to their residential compound. Chen Qingshu went directly to his parents' house.
"Pengdi, are you out of money?" Li Fang asked softly.
When Wang Peng paid the bill, he only had a hundred-yuan bill and a few dozen yuan in change left in his wallet.
“Yeah, I’m broke,” Wang Peng joked with her. “If the business of selling ballpoint pens fails, I’ll go bankrupt.”
Li Fang looked distressed and complained softly, "I told you to buy some beforehand, but you wouldn't listen."
Wang Peng laughed and said, "How about you work to support me after I go bankrupt?"
"Fine." Li Fang rolled her eyes. "You're a grown man, and you still want to live off your cousin? How can you be so shameless?"
"What's there to be embarrassed about?" Wang Peng said pretentiously. "I have a poor appetite, and the doctor suggested that I live off women."
"Stop joking around, don't play with your health." Li Fang said helplessly.
Then, the siblings chatted and laughed non-stop.
A dozen minutes later, Wang Peng went to the study and randomly picked up a book, wanting to test how many words a pen refill could write.
As he wrote, a wave of drowsiness washed over him, so he closed the book and lay down on the bed to sleep.
At 11 a.m., Li Fang quietly went out.
While riding the bus, she noticed a mutton soup and noodle shop nearby and decided to treat her cousin to mutton soup out of her own pocket.
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