On the third day of the Boston Fisheries Show—a seven-day event similar in structure to the national beef cattle competition Jiang Hai had previously attended—the energy in the exhibition hall was steadily ramping up.
The first five days were for exhibitions; the final two days were reserved for judging and awards. Although Jiang Hai had already locked in the gold medal for quality, the formal procedures still had to be completed.
That morning, his booth experienced a small surge of visitors, primarily due to the buzz generated by the restaurant L'Espalier the day before. As the first high-end venue to serve Jiang Hai's seafood, the restaurant had taken a chance—and it paid off spectacularly. Even on a non-holiday weekday, when no special events were scheduled, their turnover had tripled compared to usual.
In the restaurant industry, there are no real secrets. Everyone knew, at least roughly, how much each establishment was making. A sudden spike like that was impossible to miss. By noon, L'Espalier's seafood sales had nearly doubled; by evening, they were out of stock entirely.
In fact, their buyer had returned to Jiang Hai's booth before closing and bought up everything that remained—including the promotional stock Edward Anderson had brought to attract attention. When they returned to their kitchen, they were hauling nothing but empty containers. Of course, more stock had been caught later that night.
Early that morning, Jiang Hai once again drove the F-750 to deliver a fresh batch of seafood to the restaurant. The moment he unloaded the catch, the buyer handed him $80,000 without a word. This was the payment for the day's delivery, which included American redfish, jade groupers, giant groupers, salmon, tiger prawns, two lobsters, and three king crabs.
Since the transaction wasn't a private sale, there was no rounding—every dollar and cent was accounted for.
After confirming the payment, Jiang Hai drove back to the dock, only to find a sizable crowd gathering outside his booth. Their identities were obvious: they were all buyers.
"If we buy the American redfish in bulk, can we get a discount?"
"What's your daily catch on salmon?"
"How long can the lobsters stay alive? And if we buy them, will you offer a better price on the fish?"
Edward Anderson was nearly overwhelmed. He wasn't a salesman—he was a buyer, accustomed to evaluating and acquiring stock, not haggling with eager restaurateurs. He and Jiang Hai had already agreed on pricing, with some room for minor adjustments. But this full-on sales pressure? It was outside his wheelhouse.
Fortunately, Jiang Hai arrived just in time. Edward let out a deep sigh of relief as the buyers turned their attention toward him.
"Boss, they're all here to make deals. You talk to them—I can't handle this," Edward said, chuckling wearily as he moved to hide behind Jiang Hai.
Jiang Hai was caught off guard by the sudden attention. The moment the buyers learned he was the owner, their eyes lit up, and they surged toward him—only to be blocked immediately by the towering Connorson Peters.
"If you've got something to say, get in line and take it one at a time," Jiang Hai called out firmly. Grumbling a little, the buyers nonetheless backed off and began to queue, wary of tangling with someone of Peters' size.
The first buyer stepped forward. "I'm from XX Seafood Restaurant. We're interested in purchasing your products. How do you price them?"
"The prices are posted outside," Jiang Hai replied coolly, pointing to the large sign.
"Well, we're open to a long-term supply contract—provided your product quality is stable. In that case, could we perhaps get… an internal price?" the buyer said, lowering his voice confidentially.
"Sorry, no special pricing. What's posted is wholesale—non-negotiable. If you want to buy, tell me what you're taking. If you're unsure, don't block the line," Jiang Hai responded sharply.
That was the nature of monopoly and scarcity.
The buyer frowned at the curt reply. In this business, buyers wielded real influence—they were gatekeepers who often received "incentives" from suppliers, such as commissions disguised as discounts. Officially, the restaurant might pay $9 per kilo for redfish, but the buyer could pocket a hidden cut—say, twenty cents per kilo—if the supplier quietly marked down the price.
This was the "internal rate" the man had hinted at. But Jiang Hai wasn't playing that game.
His products sold themselves. This wasn't like beef, which aged and depreciated over time. With fish, bigger often meant better and more valuable. Jiang Hai was in no rush.
Seeing the growing line behind him and remembering his boss's instructions, the buyer reluctantly placed a modest order.
He ordered 150 kg of American redfish for $7,000, 100 kg of grouper for $6,000, 100 kg of giant grouper for $6,500, and 50 kg of salmon for $5,000. Total: $24,500. With some additional bream and tiger prawns, the full order reached $31,000—for a single day's supply, locked in for a month.
Others followed his lead. Skipping the small talk, they placed similar month-long orders, with clauses allowing for cancellation or scaling up with a day's notice.
Jiang Hai welcomed the straightforwardness. He believed in his product. No one could match the quality of his fish—simple as that.
Boston was home to countless seafood restaurants, including many high-end establishments. Within an hour, Jiang Hai had taken orders from over a dozen restaurants.
Each restaurant ordered an average of $37,000 worth of seafood per day. Some ordered as little as $30,000, others as much as $50,000. With L'Espalier's order included, Jiang Hai now had 15 active restaurant clients.
That equated to $555,000 in daily sales. After deducting taxes, wages, and diesel costs, net profit still sat around $300,000 per day.
That's $10 million per month, or $120 million per year—just from Boston's restaurant scene alone.
Factoring in bulk sales to Pra Walton and Haishang Supermarket (Qi Li's chain), Jiang Hai's annual income from fish reached $1 billion USD, after tax. Without tax? His fish alone generated over $2 billion—a figure higher than even his beef revenue.
And that was just the beginning.
In time, once his high-value species like large yellow croaker, Yangtze River croaker, and yellow-lip croaker matured, the Chinese market would become another goldmine. These fish could command high prices in China, unlike salmon, which Chinese consumers didn't distinguish much by origin.
When that market opened, Jiang Hai expected an additional $500–600 million annually. This wasn't just profit—it was the result of two-way monetization across domestic and foreign markets.
In short, Jiang Hai's empire was expanding fast.
"Boss, we hit the jackpot this time," Edward Anderson grinned as he handed over the stack of order receipts. After watching the ranch workers rake in steady profits, it felt good to finally see success on the seafood side too.
"Yeah, both the fishery and beef divisions are finally on solid ground. But now we've got another issue—we're short on fishermen and ranch hands," Jiang Hai replied as he reviewed the paperwork.
"There's definitely a shortage of fishermen. Two or three more should help balance things out," Edward agreed. With only five crew members working nonstop, fatigue was inevitable.
To run a fishing boat properly, you needed a captain, someone to handle sonar, another for crane operations, and several to sort and process the catch. The more hands, the faster the turnaround. Their current team could manage short bursts of activity—but not sustained work.
A few more people would allow proper rotation—two days on, one day off—and that would keep everyone fresh.
Driving the boat wasn't an issue. Not many fishermen could fly planes, but plenty could handle boats with skill.
"Alright. I'll move Aphra and the others into my main villa. That'll free up four small villas, each with four rooms. We can house up to 16 people—8, if we give each person their own floor," Jiang Hai calculated. "Once we're back, talk to Robbins-Garcia. Let's figure out how many ranchers and fishermen we need to hire."
Edward nodded. "Don't worry about that. Robbins and I have been here long enough. We won't hire gamblers, drunks, or troublemakers. The economy's still down. There's no shortage of solid workers."
Everyone knew what it was like to work at Jiang Hai's manor—and everyone wanted in. A salary over a million dollars a year? That was life-changing. Demand far exceeded supply.
"Just spread the word that we're hiring, and they'll be lining up," Edward said confidently.
Jiang Hai smiled. He wasn't the kind of boss people came across every day. His employees dined on premium beef, earned doctor-level salaries, and worked in a system that rewarded dedication.
Of course, he wasn't running a charity. He expected effort and loyalty in return—and wouldn't hesitate to cut ties with anyone who betrayed that trust.
"Alright. After the expo wraps up, let's start the recruitment drive," Jiang Hai said.
Edward's eyes sparkled with anticipation.