Chen Wan drove an inconspicuous Volkswagen slowly onto the airport overpass.
It was the first day the No. 8 storm signal had made landfall in Hai City. The tropical depression had climbed to 117 Pa.
Along both sides of Airport Avenue, the palms and bauhinia trees had been battered into disarray by the passing typhoon. He switched the wipers on several times, scraping rain from the windshield until the road ahead was barely visible.
The weather was abysmal. Inside Terminal 2, the meteorological report played on a loop.
“This year’s seventh typhoon, Xianlu, made landfall along our city’s coast at 11:36 a.m. today and is moving westward from the southeast.”
“Affected by convective cloud bands, maximum winds near the outer ring of the typhoon eye have reached Force Eight. Heavy rainfall is expected over the next six hours, accompanied by severe lightning. An orange rainstorm warning has been issued to all departments and relevant units. Please take all necessary precautions…”
The announcement repeated once each in Mandarin, English, and Cantonese.
Chen Wan glanced at his watch, took a wide turn into B3, and found an unremarkable place to park. He leaned back against the seat, one hand resting on the steering wheel, the other propped along the window. His posture looked relaxed enough, but his eyes were fixed tightly ahead.
Wind and rain raged outside. It was terrible weather for flying. Now and then, passengers hurrying to catch flights or coming in from arrivals passed by, but none of them was the person Chen Wan was waiting for.
He lit a cigarette to clear his head. He had barely slept the night before, and this morning he had rushed to the airport before the typhoon made landfall, afraid of getting trapped in traffic.
A faint orange-red glow kindled in the gloom, soft and blurred with warmth.
A Hong Kong radio station cut in with an old Cantonese hit. Against the hiss of rain outside, the song had an almost hypnotic effect.
Chen Wan changed the channel.
“TNB reporting for you… Minglong recently completed… mergers and acquisitions…”
“The Commerce Association… leadership election… Legislative Council vetoed by one vote…”
His phone vibrated. Zhuo Zhixuan was asking how preparations for the welcome-home dinner were going.
With the heir apparent returning to the country, even Zhuo Zhixuan did not dare treat it lightly.
Chen Wan sent over a few photos and wrote, “A mountainside villa restaurant in the Bay Area.”
Zhuo Zhixuan looked them over and was quite satisfied. Chen Wan had always been reliable. He inspired confidence.
Once the serious business was done, Zhuo Zhixuan shifted into gossip. “I heard he’s coming back with Miss Xu.”
“No.” Chen Wan stubbed out his cigarette, shifted gears neatly, and stepped on the accelerator, correcting his friend. “He came back alone.”
“…” Zhuo Zhixuan snapped awake at once. He pushed aside the warm, fragrant body in his arms and sat up. “Did you go follow him?”
Chen Wan kept his gaze locked on the tall figure emerging from the B3 exit. Only after the man stepped into a black Maybach did he spare enough attention to answer.
“I’m not following him. I’m picking him up.”
Unilaterally.
“…” Zhuo Zhixuan fell silent for a long while. Then, as if he had grown used to this sort of thing, he finally let out a soft, helpless sentence. “You really do have a death wish, don’t you, Chen Wan?”
Chen Wan followed the Maybach from a measured distance. After a moment of silence, he said, “I couldn’t feel at ease.”
Hai City had not been peaceful lately. The Commerce Association’s board election was imminent, and the forces from Pearl Island, the Lower Dragon Quarter, and Saigon Gate were all beginning to stir.
Starting around last month, hijackings and air disasters had been reported across the archipelago with unsettling frequency.
And that man’s recent series of ruthless, hardline overseas acquisitions had caused yet another uproar…
The attack from several years ago was still vivid in his mind. For the past few days, Chen Wan had been unable to settle.
This was the first day the No. 8 storm signal had made landfall. Flying conditions were exceptionally poor. He guessed the other man would return on that Dassault Falcon 900 private jet.
The Falcon was a powerful aircraft, strong enough to withstand a 500 Pa storm, but its landings were hard. He did not know whether it might be forced into an emergency landing.
Zhuo Zhixuan was speechless for a second, then laughed in exasperation. “Since when is it your turn to worry about him? Worry about yourself first.”
Chen Wan smiled good-naturedly and said nothing.
They had been classmates for more than a decade, and Zhuo Zhixuan knew him inside and out. Chen Wan had always spoken and acted with perfect propriety, advancing and retreating with flawless measure. But if he suddenly crossed a line, it had to be over something serious.
Zhuo Zhixuan did not understand. “How did you know where he’d come out?”
Aoyu Airport was a transit hub for many international flights, and several hidden exits had been newly added. Some political figures and important guests left through unpredictable gates.
Chen Wan was quiet for a moment before saying vaguely, “I have my ways.”
“…”
They were both adults standing at the center of the storm. Zhuo Zhixuan did not try to persuade him any further. He merely informed him, objectively, “Push this any further, and even I may not be able to pull you out.”
Chen Wan’s voice remained gentle and calm. “I won’t. I’m not planning to do anything.”
That was the truth.
The bed partner in Zhuo Zhixuan’s arms was clinging too tightly. Zhuo gave him a few more reminders about the important points for the banquet, then hung up.
Chen Wan stayed behind the black Maybach the entire way, only turning the wheel after he saw it pass safely through the undersea tunnel. He slipped into the left lane, overtook cleanly, and left the car far behind.
The sky had grown even darker. The radio was playing The Foolish Old Man Moves the Mountains.
Chen Wan turned the stereo off.
Only the white noise of rain hammering against the glass remained. Along both sides of Bay Avenue, the rows of palms and bauhinia trees leaned and twisted in the storm.
A few days later, at the mountainside villa restaurant in the Bay Area.
Little Pool Mountain was surrounded by the sea on three sides. On a typhoon night, even after dark there was no moonlight. The sea tower had lit up, and at the foot of the mountain, white waves roared in low, furious surges against the shore.
Outside, the wind was raw and the rain was black. Inside, glasses clinked beneath warm light.
The dinner looked dazzling on the surface, but in truth it was no different from the night sea beyond the windows—treacherous waves above, dark currents below.
Zhao Shengge arrived neither early nor late. Shen Zongnian and Tan Youming followed behind him. Even Zhuo Zhixuan had to stand a little farther back. Ahead of him was the youngest son of a stock-market king and the grandson of a former justice secretary. Zhuo, for all his airs, was only the wastrel heir of an offshore-oil family. He could not push past them.
Chen Wan had arrived long ago.
He stood in an unobtrusive corner, quietly going over tonight’s dishes and wines with the manager. In a low voice, he reminded the staff to lower the temperature a little, move the orchids beneath the crystal chandelier, and not decant the wine fully—seventy percent would be enough.
He looked like a careful director making final checks before the curtain rose.
There were not many guests. Most were young people of the same generation from Hai City’s prominent families, but Chen Wan knew perfectly well that none of them truly belonged to Zhao Shengge’s innermost circle.
In recent years, Zhao Shengge had become increasingly low-profile and elusive, appearing and vanishing like a dragon glimpsed through clouds. His circle was private and heavily guarded. At the very top of the pyramid of wealth and influence, it had always been the same handful of people from childhood to adulthood.
Someone like Chen Wan—the illegitimate son of a second-rate tycoon’s fourth mistress—was a man standing at the bottom of a ravine, looking up at a tower. He could not even touch its shadow.
The only reason he had any connection at all was Zhuo Zhixuan, who had been his classmate for more than a decade. And in any circle of rich young heirs, there was always a role for someone who arranged food, drinks, entertainment, and errands.
Chen Wan knew how to handle people from every direction. He was reliable, capable, neither servile nor arrogant. That was how he had earned a few glances from that group of young masters.
It had to be admitted that many occasions needed someone like Chen Wan.
He was deft, tactful, and always knew when to advance and when to step back. Wherever he was, everyone felt comfortable. Everyone thought he was quite good, and so they treated him as half a friend.
Chen Wan looked composed, but in truth he was busy the entire evening. Only after everyone had finally taken their seats did he get the chance to properly look at the man in the place of honor.
Zhao Shengge was even more striking than before.
His features had grown sharper, more handsome—fierce and beautiful in a way that made the eyes linger. Yet his bearing had become looser, more at ease.
To be fair, Zhao Shengge had never behaved particularly high and mighty. He could even be called approachable.
Perhaps true strength and authority did not need to announce themselves through deliberate coldness or arrogance. Beneath his mild, restrained surface, there was still a presence and dignity that placed him far beyond anyone’s reach.
Zhao Shengge’s whereabouts were difficult to predict. On ordinary days, catching even one glimpse of him was harder than climbing to heaven, so many people took advantage of tonight to come forward and toast him.
Men and women alike looked at him with reverence, eagerness, and naked desire.
Even in his school days, this man had been a favored son of heaven, the target over which wealthy young men and women competed.
When his peers were still obsessed with yachts, gold, and luxury goods, Zhao Shengge had already become the only operator in the past two years capable of prying open foreign capital and drawing it in. In Hai City’s sluggish financial landscape and declining industrial market, he had turned the tide almost single-handedly.
In recent years, the authorities had repeatedly invited him to the mainland to attend official conferences beneath red-letter banners.
In Hai City’s withering foreign-trade economy, the name Zhao Shengge had come to represent a certain kind of hope. A certain kind of belief.
Zhao Shengge.
Zhao Shengge of the Zhao family.
Zhao Shengge of Minglong.
And more than that, Zhao Shengge of Hai City.
He leaned back in his chair, listening to people exchange pleasantries, occasionally nodding, giving nothing away.
He had little interest in this sort of socializing. But this was not overseas. Here, relationships and worldly etiquette still mattered. After years abroad, there were occasions where he had to show his face.
These past few days, every faction and circle had treated the chance to host Zhao Shengge’s welcome-home dinner as a matter of pride. Zhao had declined some and attended some, but none had been as comfortable as tonight.
The music, the seating, the surroundings—he could not pinpoint exactly what felt pleasant. Yet even the humidity in the air seemed unusually right. After several days of nonstop obligations since returning home, Zhao Shengge had not expected to find even a moment of ease at an event like this.
Tan Youming noticed his chopsticks reaching out several times, and his wine glass emptying as well. “The food suits you?”
Other people might not know Zhao Shengge, but Tan Youming did.
Since when did the crown prince seriously eat at occasions like this?
He had been picky since childhood. If the ingredients were not fresh enough, if the heat was slightly off, if even the plating displeased him, he would not touch another bite.
But Zhao Shengge never said anything. He never made demands. He would simply set down his chopsticks in silence, his likes and dislikes invisible on his face, leaving others unable to tell what he genuinely enjoyed.
Zhao Shengge, with his Chinese stomach worn down by too much foreign rubbish, found local food soothing enough after all. He gave a faint hum.
Tan Youming: “…”
Zhuo Zhixuan, seated third from the head of the table, could not hear what the two of them were saying. Tan Youming and Zhao Shengge had grown up together and had always been closer than Zhuo was to Zhao.
But seeing that Zhao Shengge seemed to be in a decent mood, Zhuo shot Chen Wan a look from across the room.
He meant for Chen Wan to hurry up and offer a toast too. After working so hard all night, he should not end up doing all the labor only for someone else to reap the benefit.
Zhuo did not approve of Chen Wan doing sneaky things like following people or keeping watch on them. But good water should not be allowed to flow into outsiders’ fields. If there was a proper, aboveboard chance to build a connection with the crown prince, they could not simply hand it to someone else.
The round table was large. Chen Wan’s seat was far from Zhuo Zhixuan, and even farther from Zhao Shengge. Between them were fine wine, elaborate dishes, and the roar of conversation. Perhaps it was not quite outer space, but it was at least a whole galaxy.
Chen Wan smiled reassuringly at Zhuo Zhixuan but did not move. He lowered his head and drank his tea, continuing to listen as the others talked about the storms of Victoria Harbour and the hidden stories of Victoria Peak.
When Chen Wan had said, “I’m not planning to do anything,” he had meant it.
It was just that Zhuo Zhixuan never seemed to believe him.