The Bronze Fish Wept Blood,I Shut Down My Million-Dollar Restaurant

After our new hotpot restaurant started pulling in over two million a month, the Serpent-Brow Bronze Fish that my family had enshrined for three generations suddenly wept tears of blood.

I didn't hesitate. I laid off every employee on the spot and announced we were shutting down.

My business partner hurled his glass against the wall and told me I'd lost my mind.

My wife dropped to her knees, begging me not to go.

I held the sandalwood box containing the bronze fish and walked toward the door without looking back：

“We have to close. If we don't, the consequences will be unthinkable.”

My wife grabbed my arm：“If you walk out that door today, I'm taking our daughter and going back to my parents'. I'll file for divorce!”

My steps faltered. I drew a long breath：

“Do what you have to.”

“But today, everyone leaves this building.”

“When the Serpent-Brow Bronze Fish weeps blood, a catastrophe is coming.”

——

“Jesse Henson, what exactly are you saying?”

“I put money into this place right alongside you. We finally clawed our way to profitability, and now you want to shut it all down over some beat-up fish?”

I looked at Clement Henson, whose face had gone ashen, and kept my voice level：

“Which matters more, money or people's lives?”

“The Henson family has enshrined this Serpent-Brow Bronze Fish for three generations. It can sense fortune and disaster. When it weeps blood, it means a catastrophe is about to strike this place.”

“If you don't want blood on your hands and a criminal case on your record, listen to me. Shut the restaurant down now. Get everyone out.”

His wife, Ramona Lambert, let out a cold laugh and planted herself in the middle of the dining hall, hands on her hips：

“This isn't just your restaurant. Who gave you the right to close it whenever you feel like it?”

“'A catastrophe is coming'? I think you're the catastrophe. You've lost your mind!”

“If you're sick, go see a doctor! Don't stand here costing us money!”

Employees crowded around us, along with a handful of passersby who had stopped to watch.

“Is this guy insane? Shutting down a restaurant that's pulling in two million a month?”

“I heard it's some superstition thing. Something they keep in the restaurant started crying……”

“Turning down money like that, the guy's an idiot.”

A few others muttered under their breath：

“But what if something really does happen? What if he actually knows something we don't?”

I had no interest in explaining myself. I held the sandalwood box tight and turned toward the exit.

Serena Abbott rushed up and reached for the box in my arms：

“Honey, it's just the humidity in here. The moisture condensed on the bronze and it looked like tears. Just wipe it off and it's fine!”

“We barely broke even on this place. If we close now, how are we going to pay for Melanie Henson's medical bills?”

I smiled bitterly and stepped out of her reach.

“Serena, the Serpent-Brow Bronze Fish is made from a special alloy. Humidity changes can't make it weep.”

“Melanie's medical bills, I'll figure something out……”

Before I could finish, Clement slammed his fist on the checkout counter：

“Enough! Cut the martyr act!”

He yanked a document from the drawer and threw it down in front of me：

“You want to leave? Leave. I'm not stopping you.”

“But this restaurant belongs to both of us. If you want out, you sign this voluntary share-transfer agreement first.”

“After that, this place has nothing to do with you. I'll run it myself. I'll keep every cent.”

Ramona chimed in from the side, dripping with sarcasm：

“Didn't you say a catastrophe was coming? Then sign. We'll take the hit for you.”

“Go on. Sign it.”

She wasn't wrong. The moment my name hit that paper, the restaurant could blow sky-high and none of it would fall on me.

But lives were at stake. I still couldn't stop myself from giving one last warning：

“If you insist on staying open, fine. But at least get a full inspection done. Wiring, gas lines, fire exits, all of it.”

“And the ingredients. Do everything you can to minimize the risk.”

Clement scoffed：

“Save it. Just sign.”

I picked up the pen and signed my name on the last page of the agreement.

Serena ran out in tears.