“Everyone listen up. Starting today, my uncle is no longer the manager of Fumanlou. From now on, even if he comes here to eat, he’s no different from any other customer—well, he can get a 20% discount. If he tries to skip out on the bill, don’t let him in next time.” Henry Clark said.

“Yes.” The staff hesitated for a moment, then nodded one after another. After all, Henry Clark was their real boss.

“Are you all trying to rebel?” Charles Foster shouted. He had managed the restaurant for a full ten years and had built up a lot of authority. His outburst immediately made the staff lower their heads.

But Henry Clark simply waved his hand and said, “The restaurant isn’t open for business yet. No unauthorized people are allowed inside. Please escort my uncle out.”

“You wouldn’t dare.” Charles Foster was furious and humiliated. If he was really thrown out, how could he save face?

Henry Clark just swept his gaze over the staff, his expression calm and composed.

After a while, two staff members stepped forward, ready to pull Charles Foster away.

“Bastards, I can walk out myself.” Charles Foster said angrily, knowing the outcome couldn’t be changed. He pointed angrily at Henry Clark and said, “Idiot, within ten days, you’ll come crawling to beg me to come back.”

How could an idiot possibly manage a restaurant? Does he think he can just sit and wait for business to come? With competition so fierce and the loss of the noble title, what does Fumanlou have left to offer?

Although he had embezzled a lot of the restaurant’s profits, there had to be profits for him to take in the first place, which actually proved his ability to make money.

Just wait and see—he was sure he’d make a grand return.

“You’ll definitely beg me to come back, you ungrateful little brat!” Charles Foster emphasized.

“Then you just wait.” Henry Clark said. He felt nothing for this uncle who only ever harmed his own family—in his mind, he and Charles Foster were as good as strangers.

After Charles Foster left, Henry Clark smiled and said, “Starting this month, everyone’s salary will be doubled.”

As soon as he said this, the staff all looked delighted, and their goodwill toward Henry Clark soared. This young master was certainly generous.

However, after the staff happily went downstairs, Robert Hughes could only smile wryly. Anyone can win people over, but with Henry Clark making such a big promise, it was the Chu family’s interests that would suffer.

Could this young master really run a business?

Henry Clark noticed Robert Hughes’s concern and said, “Robert Hughes, I want to renovate the restaurant a bit. Take notes, and have people start as soon as possible.” His main focus was martial arts, and he didn’t have much energy to spend on management.

“Alright.” Robert Hughes could only agree. He’d listen for now, but if the young master really messed things up, he’d swallow his pride and invite Charles Foster back, at least to keep the Chu family’s business running.

Henry Clark just smiled and said, “Give each of the three floors a name: the first floor will be called Yinmanlou, the second floor Jinmanlou, and the third floor Guimanlou. Starting today, the restaurant will close for a month for renovations, but we’ll still take reservations.”

“From now on, no more ordering dishes. Yinmanlou will be ten taels of silver per table, Jinmanlou one hundred taels per table, and Guimanlou one thousand taels per table.”

Robert Hughes nearly jumped up—just one meal would cost ten taels of silver, enough to support an ordinary family of four for a month. Who would come to eat here? Only a fool.

“Young master, with prices this high, no one will come to eat.” Robert Hughes reminded him.

“There will be.” Henry Clark smiled. There are always rich fools everywhere. How many big restaurants on Earth serve food that’s not even as good as street stalls, yet a single meal costs as much as a regular family’s monthly or even yearly income?

Of course, the key is to build a brand—otherwise, you’re just treating people like idiots.

There are plenty of rich people in this world, but what they lack is a sense of belonging. In each city, there are only nine nobles; no matter how rich the others are, they’re still commoners. What these wealthy people crave is social recognition, and to elevate their “status,” they don’t mind spending a little money.

“Also, have some cards made—one set in silver, one in gold, and one in purple gold. Print ‘Fumanlou’ on both sides. They don’t need to be big—the thinner the better—so they can be worn as pendants and easily recognized at a glance.”

“Anyone who dines at Yinmanlou gets a silver card, at Jinmanlou a gold card, and at Guimanlou a purple gold card.”

“Hire some people to promote Fumanlou around the city—the more exaggerated, the better.”

“And, Yinmanlou will only accept fifty reservations per day, Jinmanlou ten per day, and Guimanlou only three per day.”

“I’ll also provide some recipes. They may not taste amazing, but they’ll definitely be dishes no one’s seen before.”

Henry Clark laid out all his ideas. He wanted to make Fumanlou a symbol of status.

To boost business, you can either improve the taste of the food or use marketing strategies. He couldn’t cook, and even if he could, he wouldn’t spend his time in the restaurant, so marketing was the only way.

Promotion and hype—to make Fumanlou a symbol of status.