Xie Chong set off for Jingdezhen early the next morning and arrived at one in the afternoon.
Someone told him that the businessman surnamed Chen was slurping down spicy chicken feet at a small eatery next to the factory, so he went over to take a look.
The businessman Chen wore a pair of glasses and looked fairly presentable, appearing to be around the same age as Xie Chong, with a bit of a "West Coast" vibe. Before coming, Xie Chong had done his homework—this man was born in the Northeast, later lived in America, and had close ties with the local Chinese community. He had some dirty money behind him.
Who doesn't have dirty money?
Xie Chong turned around and headed to the factory.
The lawyer Wang Xianhe was already waiting at the factory gate—a woman around forty, with short hair, glasses, a shirt and trousers, and thin high heels. Very sharp and capable.
"Lawyer Wang, you're here quite early," Xie Chong said.
"I just saw you head to the little restaurant," Wang Xianhe said. She knew Xie Chong well—he had a childlike nature and an insatiable curiosity. That man surnamed Chen had gotten under his skin, so he'd gone to check out what the guy looked like. By now, he'd probably already torn the man down in his mind and gotten it out of his system.
"I won't say anything later. Lawyer Wang, just go ahead and negotiate the compensation directly," Xie Chong said, hands in his trouser pockets. After his "preparation" the night before, he was completely calm and composed. That young man surnamed Chen might be formidable, but his main business environment wasn't in China—unlike Xie Chong, who understood the domestic business landscape inside and out.
Lawyer Wang was very courteous, first discussing compensation with the factory manager, laying out the contract and the basis for the claim. In the current small-commodity export trade, there was a general consensus: whoever produced their goods first, and whose goods reached overseas first, would seize the advantage in subsequent procurement. That businessman surnamed Chen had probably calculated exactly that and deliberately came to steal Xie Chong's business.
The factory manager had a good attitude, admitting they'd delivered late and accepting liability for compensation.
At that point, Lawyer Wang added, "Good, accepting liability is fine. Then we also need some clarity on when our production will be scheduled—let's sign a supplementary agreement."
"That's only natural."
"Good."
Xie Chong remained silent throughout.
He absolutely needed this batch of goods to go out first, but he was also going to take the compensation. His mind worked fast—he was planning to corner and intercept that sly businessman Chen.
Once Lawyer Wang had finished negotiating, Xie Chong suddenly put on a stern expression.
"Do you still want to do business or not?" Xie Chong slammed the table. "Don't think you're the only one who can make this mold!"
"That's not it at all," the factory manager said apologetically. "Let me be honest with you, President Xie—this isn't really about money. I owe someone a favor, and right now I have to repay it first."
"I don't care about your excuses!" Xie Chong stood up and walked out. "You figure it out yourself!"
As he walked out the door, the man surnamed Chen had already finished his spicy chicken feet and was coming back, meeting Xie Chong face to face. Xie Chong pretended not to know him, cursing inwardly: Look at the state of you.
The man surnamed Chen also pretended not to recognize him. Both of them walked past with their chins raised.
Wang Xianhe asked Xie Chong, "You're really not going to talk to him about a win-win?"
"If I talk to him now, he'll get cocky and push his luck. Once I have the upper hand, I'll make him come to me."
"Alright then." Wang Xianhe glanced at her watch. "I still need to go elsewhere. How many days are you staying in Jingdezhen?"
"About three days."
"Good, stay in touch."
After seeing Wang Xianhe off, Xie Chong wandered around Jingdezhen. Foreigners loved Jingdezhen's goods—a set of tableware that sold for two or three hundred yuan domestically would fetch three to five times that overseas. Such items were purchased in bulk, shipped by long-haul truck plus sea freight, and would appear on foreign supermarket shelves about a month later.
He strolled through Jingdezhen on his own, in a very good mood. He hated business socializing—at those banquets, everyone told lies, everyone bragged about how impressive they were, and Xie Chong found it utterly disgusting.
When he was alone, he could do whatever he wanted, including sitting by the roadside soaking up the sun. Across from him, an old man was selling bowls. Xie Chong walked over to take a look—good heavens, those bowls were all one-of-a-kind pieces, hand-glazed and hand-painted.
The paintings were traditional Chinese gongbi style, and two bowls were the most beautiful: a little girl with her hair in a bun eating watermelon on the back of an ox, and a child in a summer bib fanning himself with a palm-leaf fan under a grape trellis on a summer night. The little girl bore a striking resemblance to that calf.
Xie Chong asked the old man, "How much for these two bowls?"
"Five hundred each."
"Will you sell both for five hundred?"
The old man shot him a glare and turned away. "No!"
"Selling or not?" Xie Chong asked again. "If not, I'm leaving."
"Not selling!"
"Oh, then wrap them up for me." He had no pride at all—he wouldn't even haggle one more time, afraid the old man would curse at him.
The old man let out a "hmph" and packed the bowls for Xie Chong. Though he seemed ill-tempered, he wrapped them very carefully. He treated those two bowls like his own treasures: first wrapping them in three layers of soft paper, placing them in a box, then adding a layer of foam. He gave it a shake—not a sound, not a movement—then turned to his small table holding teapots and calligraphy supplies and pulled out an aged-style name card, asking Xie Chong, "Giving as a gift or for personal use?"
"What do you mean?"
"If it's a gift, I'll write who it's for; if it's for personal use, I'll add your name as the owner."
This one stumped Xie Chong.
This little bowl—art is art, but for a grown man to use it, it looks a bit petty. As for giving it away, he didn't know who to give it to. Qian Song didn't eat at home, and Jiang Wu didn't like these little trinkets…
"Forget it, just write the piece name."
The old man shook his head and sighed. Xie Chong asked, "What are you sighing about?"
"Sighing that you're all alone with nothing to tie you down."
That was really unpleasant to hear. It made Xie Chong so angry he turned and walked away. "I don't want it!" But after a few steps, he couldn't bear to part with those two beautiful bowls, so he turned back, paid, and carried them off.
Jingdezhen really had so many good things.
He kept browsing around and around. A small plate with relief carving—pour a little water on it and it changed color, a lifelike little fish swimming inside. A slender blue-and-white porcelain vase, meant for a single lonely flower, free-spirited and cool. A fat-bellied piggy bank painted with a colorful little pixiu, festive and adorable…
The only problem was: Xie Chong had a discerning eye, and everything he liked was expensive. Handmade items were already pricey, and what he liked happened to be the top-tier pieces among handmade goods. In less than two hours, he'd spent nearly ten thousand yuan.
Clutching all those fun things in his arms, he decided to drop them off at the hotel first, then head out to browse again.
That evening, he went out for snails and ran into the old man again. The old man was drinking alone, still remembered Xie Chong, and teased him: "Here comes the lone wolf!"
Xie Chong retorted, "I'm not a lone wolf."
"You don't even know who to give things to," the old man said. "Even if a name flashed through your mind…"
"They don't deserve it," Xie Chong said. "Why must I give such good things away? I'll keep them for myself!"
Too lazy to deal with this chatty old man, he turned and left. Utterly baffling.
He had pitifully few friends, and as for giving them to clients as gifts, he felt those people were just philistines pretending to appreciate art—they didn't deserve them.
Just then his phone rang. The name displayed was "Yakeshi's Number One Warrior." He picked up and asked directly, "What's up?"
Mu Wen replied, "Our company will be hosting a client appreciation banquet at the China World Hotel, and we cordially invite Mr. Xie to attend."
"Your industry does appreciation banquets too?" Xie Chong said. "Trying to squeeze out repeat business?"
"We can!" Mu Wen said. "My mentor just said: other companies might not be good at it, but our clients all have real purchasing power—three or five properties is nothing. For example, Mr. Xie probably owns other properties too. What if you want to renovate someday? What if you get tired of living in Wanliu and want a big villa?"
"Why don't I just fly to the sky?" Xie Chong snorted. "When is it?"
"The evening after tomorrow."
"I'm not around the day after tomorrow," Xie Chong said. "Can't make it…"
"Oh…" Mu Wen sounded disappointed. The company said there would be rankings for the number of clients invited, and rankings for on-site conversions. The top three would get bonuses. She wanted that bonus.
Xie Chong could hear her disappointment and deliberately asked, "What's wrong?"
"It's just… we also have rankings… if you don't come… do you have any friends who could come?"
"No," Xie Chong said. "These banquets are the most boring things. None of us go. Can't help you. Goodbye."
"Goodbye." After Mu Wen hung up, she continued looking through the other client lists. The invitations clearly weren't going smoothly. The clients assigned to her weren't great—the good ones were all in the hands of the big-name designers. Xie Chong and four other clients were ones she'd helped Lin Weisen handle during her internship. Lin Weisen knew she was familiar with them, so he suggested assigning them to her.
Of those clients, two had explicitly said they had no time, two were undecided, and Xie Chong had flat-out refused.
Mu Wen refused to accept defeat. She was determined to call all fifty people on the list.
When Lin Weisen got off work, she was still on the phone. Lin Weisen told her to go home, saying that these appreciation banquets were really just an excuse to network, and she shouldn't take it too much to heart.
"Let me try a bit more." Mu Wen lowered her voice to Lin Weisen. "HR said this is related to the year-end Outstanding Newcomer Award. Mentor, I want to win that award. If I win Outstanding Newcomer, the company will assign me clients with large units and high budgets."
Mu Wen said ambitiously, "I have to be first at everything."
She had always been like this—never hiding her competitive drive. Because she wanted to win, she put in more effort than anyone else.
Lin Weisen said, "Then keep calling. I'm heading home." He made a cradling motion with his arms. "I'll be back just in time to put my little treasure to sleep."
"Go on then," Mu Wen said. "I'll finish all my calls before I leave."
Mu Wen was willing to put in real, painstaking effort. Others might not care about the numbers, but she did. If she'd put in the hard work and still lost, she'd accept it. But if she hadn't put in the hard work and lost, she'd regret it.
It was like the exam-prep drill tactics in her senior year of high school. Mu Wen was naturally smart and got good grades, but she never dared to slack off. She did mock exams—national ones, regional ones, Huanggang special editions—she did them all. After the first pass, she'd pick out the wrong questions and drill those specifically, then do a second pass. Back then, she barely participated in any entertainment activities. The moment she closed her eyes, it was math formulas, Chinese texts to recite, English vocabulary…
Her classmates all said she didn't need to push herself so hard, and her teachers worried that the tension would snap her like an overstretched string. Mu Wen only said: It won't.
As she piled on more and more practice problems, her fear of exams began to fade, and her confidence grew. It wasn't until after the college entrance exam ended that she finally asked Ge Yunqing for permission to go to the pastoral area.
That summer, she stayed in the grasslands.
She fed horses, herded sheep, and milked cows, filling every single day to the brim. The wind on the prairie was strong and the sun fierce—by the time she finished her vacation and reported to university, she had become a dark-skinned girl whose smile flashed a row of white teeth. It took a long time to get her complexion back.
But the hard work she put in on the grasslands paid off. It gave her a strong physique—she was already up and running before her classmates even opened their eyes. Jogging on the track, memorizing books, every day was so fulfilling.
The department head said of her: How rare it is to find someone both clever and willing to put in the unglamorous grind.
Her grind continued until ten at night—any later would be impolite. Then she would sit at her desk "reviewing" client files, determined to memorize every single client.
On the night of the banquet, she wore a white formal dress and a pair of stiletto heels. The outfit was borrowed from Chu Ling.
Chu Ling attended conferences regularly and kept several formal suits on hand. Mu Wen was taller than Chu Ling, so the long dress that fit Chu Ling revealed her slender ankles, and the stilettos lifted her up even more. Afraid she might wobble, she practiced at home for a long time the day before.
No one was there to back her up—she had to hold her own ground. She stood there like a slender white poplar tree, impossible to miss.
When receiving clients at the door and escorting them to their seats, she was the first to recognize her own clients, warmly calling them by name. She had also done her homework on conversation topics, so from the door to the table, there was never an awkward silence.
Mu Wen had learned in advance that a certain Mr. Liao had just purchased a luxury mansion. When he arrived, she hurried over to greet him from a distance. Mr. Liao felt as if a gentle breeze had blown his way—he hadn't expected the person who called to invite him to be someone like this.
Mu Wen could tell Mr. Liao didn't dislike her, so she offered that if he found the dinner boring, she could sit outside with him for a while. The ice cream outside was very good. Mr. Liao agreed.
Near the end of the check-in, she saw Xie Chong.
He pushed open the door and walked in, one hand in his trouser pocket, striding briskly up to Mu Wen. Mu Wen froze—she hadn't expected him to show up so suddenly.
Seeing her standing there dumbfounded, he asked, "Where do I check in?"
Only then did Mu Wen snap out of it: Xie Chong was here—her client count had just gone up by one, and now she was tied for first place!
In an instant, Mu Wen's face lit up with joy. Her gratitude toward Xie Chong was impossible to contain—she even wanted to kneel down and kowtow to him.
At that moment, she liked Xie Chong even more. She felt he was like the invincible hero from the movies. Her heart was bursting with happiness!
"You came back early?" Mu Wen asked with a beaming smile, her tone softer than usual.
"Yeah, wrapped things up ahead of schedule." Xie Chong picked up the pen and signed—his bold, forceful handwriting stood out beautifully among the deliberately practiced business signatures. Even the colleague in charge of check-in couldn't help but praise: "What fine handwriting."
"Thanks. Where's the check-in gift?" Xie Chong asked.
"We have extras!" Mu Wen said, bending down to get one. It was only then that Xie Chong took in her outfit for the day—she looked like a different person, poised and graceful. Except for the bloody marks rubbed raw on her heels.
He averted his gaze, took the gift bag, and asked again: "Got any more? Give me another set. A friend of mine is coming by later."
Mu Wen's eyes went wide, and the smile had already flown out of them, radiating in every direction. Xie Chong noticed she was always like this—whenever something happy happened to her, she let her joy fly out and fill the whole world with it.
"Thank you, Mr. Xie, for signing in on behalf of your friend." Mu Wen handed him the sign-in book, her manner somewhat eager and ingratiating. Xie Chong signed for Qian Song, glanced at Mu Wen once more, and turned to leave.
When Qian Song arrived, he complained to Xie Chong in a low voice: "That damn Guomao traffic is a nightmare. I said I didn't want to come, but you insisted."
"We'll grab a drink nearby later," Xie Chong said.
Qian Song shut his mouth immediately. Mr. Xie was treating—drinks in Guomao, where land was worth its weight in gold.
Mu Wen had disappeared.
Xie Chong had something he wanted to tell her, but she was nowhere to be seen. His gaze swept the room, searching for that white poplar. Qian Song asked who he was looking for. He said he wasn't looking for anyone—just scouting for business opportunities.
Qian Song said, "Bullshit. If you were scouting for business here, you'd already be going table to table toasting. You'd never be standing here craning your neck like that!"
Mu Wen's boss brought the company's renowned designer to toast the guests—naturally, a newcomer like her wasn't invited to tag along. Lin Weisen made the introductions, and the boss raised a glass to Xie Chong and Qian Song, full of humble pleasantries: "You two truly have extraordinary bearing—so young."
"So striking."
The two of them sat there, living, breathing billboards for that slice of Beijing's young aristocrats who hadn't been spoiled rotten.
Yes, the boss has met quite a few people. Among the "second generation" in Beijing, some have been raised crooked, some haven't. Someone sitting here with such upright bearing and commanding presence is not a common sight anymore.
Xie Chong didn't say much either, just clinked glasses with the boss.
After the pleasantries were done, he wanted to leave, but felt he should say hello to Mu Wen. He called her, but she didn't pick up, so he had to go look for her. Qian Song asked where he was going, and he said, "I've had too much to drink, I'm going to go throw up. Wait for me here."
He searched through the hotel for a long time, all the way down to the lobby on the first floor.
In the hotel's western-style bar, he caught sight of Mu Wen's back.
She was sitting across from a man, smiling and chatting with him. Her body leaned slightly forward, as if she had some kind of interest in him.
The man was dressed modestly, but his bearing was far from ordinary. He wore a pair of glasses, looked about thirty, refined and scholarly. Mu Wen was saying something, gesturing animatedly, and the man nodded in agreement.
Xie Chong felt that Mu Wen's manner carried a hint of eager, calculating flattery, and he didn't think she needed to stoop to that. He walked over behind the tall potted plant near them and listened for a moment. Mu Wen was asking:
"Mr. Liao, when are you planning to start the renovation? How about we sign a letter of intent today?"
"Sure." The man surnamed Liao agreed readily. "Can I designate you as my designer?"
Mu Wen was overjoyed inside. She rubbed her palms together and nodded: "Yes! This will be the first standalone villa I've ever designed independently!"
Her first time. A standalone villa.
In Beijing, there's always someone better, always a higher mountain.
Everyone understands this principle.
In that instant, Xie Chong understood that Mu Wen only needed him to fill a seat at the table, not to bring her new business. She had already locked onto someone, done her homework in advance, and while others were toasting and drinking, she seized the moment to pull the client aside.
Mu Wen never did anything without purpose. She was truly clever, knowing exactly when to put in what kind of effort. He was just extra effort on her part.
He wasn't surprised by her behavior.
He turned and walked away.
By the time Mu Wen finished with Mr. Liao and returned to the banquet, Xie Chong had already left. She called him, but he hung up.
Then she sent him a message: "Mr. Xie, I really didn't expect you to come today, and to bring a friend along. I'm truly grateful, really. This time, first place comes with a bonus—may I be bold enough to treat you to a meal? As a token of thanks."
Every sentence was polite, perfectly within bounds. It was a message she had drafted and redrafted until it was just right.
Strangely, Xie Chong didn't reply.
She made her way home from the banquet, feeling like something was weighing on her mind, checking her phone again and again. While washing her face, she kept her phone nearby. When it lit up, she snatched it up immediately—it was Chu Ling asking if things had gone smoothly. She dried her hands, replied to Chu Ling, then set the phone down.
When she took a shower, the hot water hit her ankle, and the pain made her flinch. She looked down at her sorry feet—blisters had formed on her toes, and her heels were bloody. She whimpered in self-pity, hopping on one leg back to the bed.
She checked her phone again and again, but Xie Chong never replied.