Before long, the manager quietly came to Chen Wan’s side, apologizing profusely. “Mr. Chen, I’m very sorry. The kitchen says the mangoes from the Vietnam border shipment have been delayed by the typhoon, so we can’t make the mango pomelo sago or the pudding crêpes. Would red bean soup be all right for dessert instead?”
They were all very classic Cantonese desserts. Chen Wan thought for a moment, then murmured a few instructions. The manager nodded and hurried away.
As the dinner neared its end, Zhuo Zhixuan still saw no movement from Chen Wan. Exasperated by his lack of ambition, he personally picked up his wine glass, walked over, and patted Chen Wan on the shoulder.
Sometimes he thought Chen Wan was very clever. Other times, painfully stupid. He had worked himself to the bone behind the scenes, arranging every last detail of an entire production, when all of it was less useful than simply stepping into the light and saying, I’ve long admired you.
The people nearby all turned to look, eagerly greeting Zhuo Zhixuan. Since Zhuo did not leave, Chen Wan had no choice but to pick up his glass and stand, following him over.
The distance Chen Wan had thought of as a galaxy turned out to be only a few short steps.
When Zhuo Zhixuan led him over, Zhao Shengge was still speaking with Shen Zongnian.
The Shen family dominated Hai City’s gambling industry, and their ties with the Zhao family were tangled and deep.
Only after their conversation ended did Zhuo Zhixuan say, “Shengge, this is Chen Wan.”
Zhao Shengge had heard far too many introductions like this tonight—one polished face after another, each backed by a similarly prominent family, each wearing the same eager, respectful smile.
Without much interest, he lifted his eyes and looked at Chen Wan once. Then he raised his glass with formal courtesy, acknowledging him.
His gaze was calm. It did not linger for even a second.
Chen Wan was not surprised. He raised his own stemmed glass as well and greeted him politely and humbly with a single, “Mr. Zhao.” After that, he said nothing more. He did not even add an unnecessary self-introduction.
It was not that he felt especially disappointed. Zhao Shengge had seen too many people. Chen Wan was not the best-looking among them, nor was he the most special.
Back when they were still in school, many people had written love letters to Zhao Shengge. Of course Zhao Shengge had never torn them up or thrown them away like the protagonist of some brainless novel. His upbringing and manners would not allow it.
On the contrary, as far as Chen Wan knew, Zhao Shengge was actually an exceedingly polite person. But he had very strong boundaries. He would properly thank you, and then refuse.
Those people—most likely, he remembered none of them.
Compared with whether he could leave any special impression on Zhao Shengge, Chen Wan cared more about the cup of herbal tea at his hand.
It had already been emptied.
That meant it suited him well enough.
That was enough.
Hai City lay in the tropics, steeped in summer all year round, its climate dry and hot. Since dessert had fallen through, Chen Wan had asked the manager to go to an old herbal tea shop tucked into a nearby alley and buy pennywort and rehmannia tea—cooling, calming, and good for clearing heat from the body. Unexpectedly, it proved popular.
The ladies all assumed it was a new item from the restaurant and called for refills several times.
Chen Wan had no desire to stay long, but Tan Youming, seated on Zhao Shengge’s right, spoke to him casually. “Ah Wan, let’s go bowling tomorrow. I’m taking Shengge to see the Pearl Bridge anyway.”
Pearl Bridge was a landmark of Hai City, the city’s first cross-sea bridge, connecting Aoyu and Xiang Island—land worth its weight in gold.
The project had been tendered under an official mainland directive. The Zhao and Tan families had worked together to bring in capital, and both families had always maintained close ties with the mainland.
It was a hard bone the Hai City authorities had never been able to gnaw through. Back then, it had been Zhao Shengge himself who led the negotiation team.
At the time, the market in the special administrative region had been trapped in a deadlock under the impact of the financial crisis. Economic exchanges with the mainland had fallen to their lowest point in nearly a decade.
The launch of Pearl Bridge was the first project responding to the mainland’s preferential support policy for stimulating domestic demand. After that, exchanges between the two regions gradually warmed again, and Hai City’s economy began to recover. For that reason, Pearl Bridge carried not only economic significance, but political weight as well.
It was a symbol.
However, after the project was successfully settled through three rounds of mediation and negotiation, Zhao Shengge immediately flew overseas. The follow-up was handed to the Tan family, and even on the auspicious day when the bridge was completed, opened, and ribbon-cut, Zhao Shengge did not attend.
Chen Wan smiled as he answered Tan Youming. “Holly Residence happens to be across the bridge. Once the typhoon passes the day after tomorrow, we can go over there for bowling and camping along the way. The scenery is beautiful.”
“Oh, right. This damned weather.” Tan Youming cursed under his breath. “You really do think of everything.”
Chen Wan only smiled and said nothing.
The young masters were responsible for whims. He was responsible for planning and cleaning up after them. Weather, geography, everyone’s preferences—he kept all of it in mind.
There was nothing more to say. Chen Wan did not want to linger here long enough to become annoying, so he lifted his glass slightly toward the others. “I’ll ask the manager to bring more tea. Please take your time.”
Zhuo Zhixuan was once again exasperated beyond words. A man who was usually so deft in every social situation had, at the one moment when it truly counted, failed to conduct even a shred of effective networking.
Chen Wan was the kind of person who could make someone like him very easily—if he wanted to.
But Zhao Shengge was not included in that.
Zhao Shengge looked at the herbal tea in his cup, then glanced at Tan Youming, who was waving goodbye to Chen Wan. He said nothing.
Tan Youming’s eyes turned helpless. In a low voice, he said, “There’s nothing wrong with him.”
Zhao Shengge leaned back in his chair and took a sip of tea, noncommittal.
Tan Youming had known him for so many years, yet there were still times when he could not fully read him. Even as a boy, Zhao Shengge had been old for his age, aloof and taciturn. Over the years, he had only become more inscrutable.
Hai City was full of factions, and their circle had indeed admitted almost no one from childhood to adulthood. But Chen Wan truly was a decent person—capable, good-natured, and sound in character. Tan Youming could only look to Shen Zongnian beside him for help.
Shen Zongnian, who rarely opened his precious mouth, also said quietly, “He’s fine.”
His tone carried no particular emotion.
Zhao Shengge had only been asking and questioning out of instinct. But for Tan Youming and Shen Zongnian to both jump out and vouch for this person at once—that was not simple.
Still, Zhao Shengge did not particularly care. He merely raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t say anything.”
Tan Youming: “…”
After all these years, it was a miracle he had not been angered to death by talking to Zhao Shengge.
When the gathering ended, Chen Wan had already arranged for the cars to be brought to the entrance.
Once outside, the roar of the waves at the foot of the mountain became much clearer. Rain streamed in rows from the eaves. The sea wind was fierce at night, blowing down many of the white azaleas and bellflowers blooming in the mountains.
Chen Wan had come out without his jacket. The sea wind tugged his shirt loose around him, revealing a narrow waist and straight, slender shoulders. He looked like a stalk of bamboo in the rainy night.
Someone came out behind him.
He did not need to turn around. His nose and ears could tell him who it was.
Chen Wan’s back straightened slightly. He lowered his head by half an inch and stepped aside, almost melting into the night.
Zhao Shengge did not see him. He walked straight past, jacket hooked over one arm, phone in his other hand as he spoke into it, his voice very low.
The doorman handed the keys to the drivers. Chen Wan heard Tan Youming call to his assistant, “Go straight to Guilan Fang.”
The largest den of extravagance in Hai City.
Zhao Shengge had already hung up. He said something in a low voice, but Chen Wan did not catch it.
It was as if an ant had stepped on a nerve at the tip of his heart. A faint, aching softness spread there, just a little. Not much.
He quietly held his umbrella and watched them leave.
Tan Youming stuck his head out from the car window and invited Chen Wan to come along and have some fun. Chen Wan smiled gently, like a warm lamp in the deep wind and rain.
“Next time, Young Master Tan. There are still many guests who haven’t left.”
Tan Youming let him be.
Chen Wan stood perfectly straight as the black Maybach, surrounded by the Cayennes and Bentleys around it, sped away, vanishing into the thunder and lightning beneath the black clouds.
Chen Wan blinked. Then, with a soft snap, he closed his long-handled black umbrella, turned, and stepped back into the brilliantly lit arena of wealth and influence.
Typhoon Xianlu did not linger long. By the third day, the clouds had begun to clear and the rain showed signs of stopping. Early in the morning, Chen Wan was summoned back to the old residence.
It had been two months since he last went there. Add to that his absent mind, and he took a wrong turn at the foot of the hill. It was nearly eleven by the time he arrived.
The second and third households were all there, along with cousins’ children, clan relatives, maternal grand-uncles—a dense crowd of people gathered around Madam Chen to play mahjong. There were also two tables of bridge going on nearby. It was very lively.
Chen Wan swept a glance around and did not see Song Qingmiao, so he went straight up toward the side room on the third floor.
In the main seat, Chen Bingxin’s face darkened. He tapped his cane against the floor. “Forgot to greet people?”
Chen Wan stopped. He turned toward the people below and gave them a very calm nod. In Cantonese, he said, “Good morning.”
Only then did the people at the card tables notice him.
The illegitimate son from the fourth household had always had the least presence.
Now he stood halfway up the redwood spiral staircase, looking down from above while wearing a lowered-brow, obedient expression. The contrast had something faintly strange about it.
But Chen Wan had been ill-omened since childhood. Even the feng shui master had said his fate was the most vicious among three generations, one that cut against the family root. And then there had been that incident. The Chen family had locked him in a psychiatric hospital until he was twelve before finally letting him out.
Everyone continued drawing tiles. No one answered him.
So Chen Wan simply lifted his foot and went upstairs.
The side room on the third floor was very narrow. Because it was on the top floor, and because Hai City was damp all year round, the white walls were already mottled and peeling, with stains from water seepage.
Almost all the actual masters of the Chen family lived on the second floor. Only Song Qingmiao lived up here.
Because she had not been “properly married” into the family. After drifting through the hands of many Hai City tycoons, she had used certain methods to keep Chen Wan, and only when Chen Bingxin could no longer shake her off did he bring her back.
Chen Wan knocked on the door. A rustling came from inside.
“Who is it?”
“Me.”
The lock opened. A head peeked out from behind the door.
“Baby.”
Chen Wan was used to it. He gave a soft hum and slipped inside.
The long-neglected wooden floor creaked underfoot. It had probably not been cleaned for several days. A layer of dust had settled over it, and the edges had begun to curl.
Because of the weather and the poor lighting, the room was very dark. The pendant lamp overhead gave off a pale, miserable glow, casting the face of the Guanyin statue in the peeling shrine into something strange and distorted.
Several empty jewelry boxes lay openly scattered across the dressing table.
Chen Wan remembered that when he had taken her out to eat last week, he had brought her a Tiffany set—an unreleased auction piece he had asked someone to bid on, since the auction house had not even sent him an invitation.
And every two weeks, whenever he took her out to dinner, he transferred money to her. The amount was never small.
Chen Wan lowered his eyes slightly to the pile of jewelry boxes. He pressed his lips together, then said softly, “Didn’t you say you wouldn’t go anymore?”
Song Qingmiao fidgeted helplessly for a moment. Then she picked up the slim cigarette resting on the ashtray, put it between her lips, and began smoking right there in front of the golden Buddha statue, unafraid of divine blame.
The ashtray was almost overflowing with cigarette butts. No one had cleaned it.
“Cao Zhi deducted my dividends,” she said. “And Liao Liu cheated at cards and swindled me out of a Bulgari set. I was so angry I nearly went mad. I wanted to kill someone.”
She was not from Hai City. She had been sold here, and her speech had always carried the soft, lilting accent of the Jiangnan region. Even when speaking to her son, there was a kind of girlish innocence and coquettishness in her voice.
Song Qingmiao looked terribly vexed. She set her elbow on the dressing table and propped up her head. The oval bronze mirror with its painted floral frame reflected her thin, graceful figure.
Her bone structure was the sort that barely showed age: almond eyes, pearl-white teeth, full Cupid’s-bow lips, charming yet pure and refined. Even at her age, her long, straight black hair did not look out of place at all.