Song Que stayed at Li Shishan’s place until 10:30 PM before leaving.
The restaurant, both inside and out, was packed with people. Li Shishan was so busy that he was carrying three plates in one hand, shouting to Song Que as he passed by, “Let’s meet up again next time!”
Song Que nodded.
After struggling to drive away from the crowded area, Song Que arrived home, showered, and changed into comfortable pajamas. The bedroom lighting was soft. The young man leaned against the headboard, his eyes bright, shimmering with a faint, fragmented light.
He first opened WeChat and carefully read through his chat history with Qin Wangye. Then, he turned to the side, pulled open the top drawer of his nightstand, and took out an ordinary notebook.
The corners were slightly yellowed, and the pure blue cover had faded somewhat.
He opened the first page. A line of awkward, childish handwriting was solemnly written there: “Wishing you a limitless future! Best regards, Li Shishan!”
The following pages contained similar well-wishes of varying lengths. It was clearly a school autograph book. Song Que had no money back in his senior year of high school; he had bitten the bullet and bought this notebook at the last minute. Because of the impending separation, his long-barren spiritual world had found the courage to ask different people for their blessings, all just to make his true purpose seem less obvious.
Turning to the very last page, a line of elegant, powerful handwriting, like a sturdy pine tree, appeared before his eyes: “Wishing classmate Song Que, peace and happiness.”
The signature was Qin Wangye’s.
The surroundings were silent, and Song Que allowed a certain emotion to grow and overflow within him.
Perhaps even Qin Wangye himself would be shaken if he saw the pure and dense atmosphere surrounding this moment.
Before long, the lights went out, and Song Que lay down, his mind at peace.
He had not taken the disturbance from Song Hongfang to heart, but he did not expect that the very next day, Bian Jirou would also call him.
The marriage between Bian Jirou and Song Hongfang had only lasted two years.
Filled with anger, accusations, and mutual attacks, their explosive marriage finally reached its end. Since the two families no longer needed to be bound by shared interests, they had been eager to obtain their divorce certificates.
Bian Jirou remarried someone she loved and even had a son named Ji Yangle, meaning “sunny, cheerful, safe, and joyful.”
In contrast, Song Que’s name seemed more like a cold curse carved out by the two of them acting out of spite.
“Xiao Que, how have you been lately?” Bian Jirou’s voice was gentle and soft, carrying the comfort and extravagance of someone raised in a life of wealth.
Song Que was in good spirits, so he got straight to the point: “Just say it. What do you want?”
There was a two-second silence on Bian Jirou’s end. Her breathing deepened slightly, as if she were suppressing something, before she continued in a soft voice, “Has your father reached out to you?”
Bian Jirou was not just satisfied with the divorce; she particularly could not stand seeing Song Hongfang live well, and she was terrified that Song Que might soften his heart and let Song Hongfang plot something.
However, Song Que was not soft-hearted toward Song Hongfang, and he was not toward her, either.
“He did. I did not answer.” Song Que pressed his temples. Unlike those hysterical domestic environments, the background noise of Song Que’s upbringing was filled with vast stretches of deathly silence. Still, that did not prevent the surging impatience and disgust he felt after being approached by Song Hongfang and Bian Jirou in succession.
“I am very busy,” Song Que said coldly.
Bian Jirou’s breathing became much heavier this time. “Xiao Que, why have you become like this? I am your mother, after all.”
Song Que gave a light chuckle.
Bian Jirou felt as if she had been slapped across the face from a distance. Her carefully constructed gentleness crumbled, and her face instantly flushed red as she raised her voice, “What are you laughing at?”
Song Que replied, “I am hanging up.”
“Don’t! Wait!” Bian Jirou hurriedly tried to stop him, truly afraid that Song Que would hang up, so she spoke exceptionally fast: “Xiao Que, Yangle is going to Zhaocheng for a shoot soon. Could you please look after him?”
“Ji Yangle is an adult and has his own professional team. He does not need me.”
“And also, that development project of yours, can you really manage it alone? How about this: find an opportunity to have a meal with your Uncle Ji. Let your Uncle Ji help you look at it. Your Uncle Ji is very smart.”
“He lost three hundred million in half a year. Where exactly is he smart?”
“Song Que!” Bian Jirou tore off her facade and shrieked hideously.
Song Que hung up the phone.
He knew it would just be a load of nonsense.
Ji Yangle was not good at his studies, and as soon as he turned eighteen, he wanted to enter the entertainment industry. Bian Jirou doted on him, and Ji Gaoquan could not help it either, continuously pouring money into it. They finally managed to get Ji Yangle some popularity, but even though his appearance was refined, in the dazzling entertainment industry where everyone vied for attention, he was more or less mediocre and unable to climb any higher.
This was not the first time Bian Jirou had approached Song Que, but Song Que had never once agreed.
Did she think he was a Bodhisattva? Not to mention all the messes Ji Yangle had made; how could she even have the nerve to ask?
Song Que dressed neatly and drove to the company.
The Beihai Road area was primarily focused on commercial district development. Zhaocheng’s economy had been developing rapidly over the past two years, and several iconic spots were already packed. There were still many areas Song Que needed to plan for, and he aimed to secure at least half of the opportunities when the time came for investment attraction.
Zhao Guangyuan came in to report on his work. He was quite apprehensive, but seeing that Song Que was rather indifferent, not only failing to mention previous matters but not even glancing at him, he felt a sense of relieved shame at being ignored.
Just as he was about to retreat, he saw a young man push the door open and walk in.
Zhao Guangyuan frowned, “Did you go to the wrong room?”
“No, I did not.” The man adjusted the black-rimmed glasses on his nose. “I am the new assistant to General Manager Song, Su Chen.”
Zhao Guangyuan’s heart skipped a beat.
Then he heard Song Que say, “When two people work together, everything can be discussed. The upcoming tasks are very heavy, and Su Chen is highly professional.”
Zhao Guangyuan forced a smile, “Very good. General Manager Song is always so thoughtful.”
But once he was out, Zhao Guangyuan’s face fell.
“Everything can be discussed” was nothing more than finding someone to share his power. And “highly professional”? Was that a dig at him for not being smart enough?
Su Chen paid slight attention to Zhao Guangyuan’s attitude, but he did not say much. Instead, he placed the bag of breakfast he was holding on Song Que’s desk, “General Manager Song, they were out of fried dough sticks, so I bought you some steamed buns.”
“Anything is fine,” Song Que replied. “Go ahead and get to work.”
Song Que had not realized it before, but after being nagged by Qin Wangye a few times, he agreed that good health was the capital for revolution.
Song Que had been sitting for the better part of the day when his phone rang. He picked it up casually, “Who is this?”
“It is me.”
The deep, raspy voice broke through Song Que’s slightly hazy consciousness. He straightened up abruptly, feeling a jolt of electricity spread from the top of his head to his limbs. His heartbeat was clear and steady. After a pause, Song Que adjusted his voice, “General Manager Qin.”
“Is General Manager Song busy?”
“I just finished.”
Qin Wangye seemed to chuckle, “That is good. I have two people here who would like to meet with you. You should know them: Director Zhao of Huihai and Vice President Wang of Green Land Building Materials.”
Song Que immediately understood what Qin Wangye meant.
Even if Qin Wangye had not acted as a bridge, Song Que would have needed to find an opportunity to visit these two people eventually.
So he hurriedly replied, “Right now? I have time.”
“You have time, huh?” Qin Wangye’s tone held a hint of amusement as he said slowly, “Since you have time, then I have time. Still at the Yunding Hotel? Come over now?”
Song Que felt inexplicably happy, “Okay.”