Entering the Genting Club again, Song Que felt a mix of complex emotions.
Compared to the boisterous banquet hall that night, the venue was now vast, luxurious, and cold. Song Que still remembered the scene when Qin Wangye emerged from the corner door on the right. The entire hall had fallen silent, and the man had remained calm and collected amidst the meaningful gazes of the crowd. Song Que had stood outside the crowd, knowing that even if he had stood closer, Qin Wangye would not have noticed him. Yet, he had felt nervous and timid, as if those secret thoughts would perish under the light the moment they were exposed to Qin Wangye.
Song Que stared at the central golden fountain in a daze.
“CEO Song,” Su Chen spoke from the side, “it is almost time.”
Song Que snapped back to reality. “All right.”
Getting into the elevator, Su Chen pressed the button for the eighth floor. Song Que settled his thoughts, pondering how to approach the meeting with Director Zhao and Vice President Wang. Qin Wangye clearly cared a great deal about this partnership, and both professionally and personally, Song Que wanted to handle it perfectly.
As the elevator doors opened, Song Que turned his head slightly to say something to Su Chen, but he stopped abruptly as he glanced up.
The hallway was long, decorated primarily in luxurious dark red tones. The carpet extended all the way down, and murals of various styles hung on both sides. A tall, slender figure stood lazily leaning against the wall. Hearing the movement, Qin Wangye turned his head to look, his deep, bright eyes revealing a hint of a smile.
Although Qin Wangye was domineering, assertive, and had a bad temper, he was not stingy with his smiles. However, his sense of distance was clear, carrying an intimidating aura that came from looking down on others.
At this moment, that detachment and intimidation had faded significantly.
“You are punctual, CEO Song,” Qin Wangye said.
Song Que subconsciously quickened his pace. “I am sorry to have kept you waiting, Mr. Qin.”
“Not at all.” After Qin Wangye finished speaking, his gaze fell on Su Chen.
The man’s smile did not diminish in the slightest, yet Su Chen inexplicably felt a chill run down his back.
Qin Wangye asked, “And this is?”
“Hello, Mr. Qin. I am CEO Song’s new assistant, Su Chen.”
The scrutiny and investigation in Qin Wangye’s eyes were hidden very well, just enough for Su Chen alone to detect.
Su Chen’s brain buzzed for a moment, and then, as if realizing something, he gave Song Que a quick look.
Seeing this, Qin Wangye was satisfied. “Assistant Su.”
Director Zhao was still on his way, but Vice President Wang was already seated in the private room.
Song Que was definitely the one treating today. He called the waiter, intending to order some wine, but Qin Wangye, sitting broadly in his chair, coolly remarked, “No alcohol today.”
“Right, no alcohol,” Vice President Wang said with a smile. “I am getting old, and my stomach cannot handle it. Let us replace the wine with tea.”
At that moment, Director Zhao pushed the door open and entered. Hearing this, he quickly agreed, “Exactly, I really cannot drink anymore. You do not know how difficult the group of people I encountered a few days ago were; they almost sent me to the hospital.”
Song Que stood up to shake hands with Director Zhao.
Huihai had absolute authority in the real estate sector, and Director Zhao was a steady and capable man. When he smiled, he was exceptionally approachable, but even he remained cautious when facing Qin Wangye.
Once everyone had arrived and the food was served, Qin Wangye sat beside Song Que and said nonchalantly, “In the future, consider who you are with before deciding whether to drink. Not every business deal requires you to risk your health for alcohol. Even a body made of iron would not be able to withstand it if you were always like this.”
Song Que felt a tingle in his heart. The remark sounded like advice, yet it contained a hidden hint of concern. He warned himself not to let his imagination run wild, but he could not help but respond to Qin Wangye, “I understand. I will keep that in mind. It is just that in the past, nine out of ten business deals were conducted this way.”
Qin Wangye was stunned.
A wave of annoyance washed over him.
He had almost forgotten that Song Que’s starting point was different from his own.
“Hmm,” Qin Wangye said in a low voice, “the pork rib soup here is quite good.”
Su Chen was on Song Que’s other side, and the volume of their conversation was just enough for him to hear clearly.
Su Chen took a shallow breath, feeling more and more convinced that his earlier suspicion was not baseless. He had always been sensitive to the emotional fluctuations of others. It was clear how Mr. Qin felt, yet CEO Song, usually astute and reserved, was completely unaware. When facing Mr. Qin, he seemed like an innocent, naive recruit.
The atmosphere in the private room was lively. Outside, the rising night wind began to howl. Song Que moved his right foot subtly under the table.
The window rattled as the wind tugged at it. Director Zhao looked outside and remarked, “The weather is changing.”
“It is late autumn, after all,” Vice President Wang said, enjoying his tea. “My daughter loves skiing. Based on Zhaocheng’s weather in previous years, the ski resort on the east side of the city should be opening in another month. I have to prepare a set of skiing equipment for her.”
The last sentence sounded dismissive, but underneath it lay deep doting.
Director Zhao scoffed, “Here you go again. You are just showing off your daughter, aren’t you?”
Vice President Wang laughed heartily, and even the lines of Qin Wangye’s face softened slightly.
“CEO Song,” Director Zhao said, his smile fading as his expression became serious and solemn. “For the Beihai Road project, we will use you as our benchmark. Vice President Wang has thousands of workers under him who are all counting on finishing this job to take their money home. We have seen how steady and composed you have been over the past two years, so we will leave the hard work to you.”
Song Que felt a warmth in his chest. “You can count on me.”
The negotiation was a great success. Song Que called the waiter, only to be told that the bill had already been paid.
Song Que was taken aback and looked toward Qin Wangye not far away.
“Mr. Qin, this is?”
“I organized this gathering today,” Qin Wangye replied. “Of course, if you feel bad about it, invite me to dinner another day.”
Song Que replied, “I certainly will.”
As they sent off Director Zhao and Vice President Wang, the cold wind swept past his ankles, inciting a needle-like pain.
Qin Wangye put down his phone. “Shao Fuguang is at Deep Sea hanging out. Want to join?”
Song Que did not even think twice. “All right.”
Su Chen had matters to attend to at home, so Song Que told him to drive back on his own. Because of this, he ended up riding in the same car as Qin Wangye.
As he went down the steps, Song Que’s gait faltered slightly, though he quickly returned to normal.
There would definitely be an autumn rain tomorrow.
His right ankle was more accurate than any weather forecast, and that dull ache was gradually developing into a sharp pain.
When he was eight, his beloved grandmother passed away. Song Hongfang had come, and for some reason, Bian Jierou had come too, bringing Ji Yangle along. That night, Ji Yangle had cried about feeling uncomfortable. It was the first time Song Que had seen maternal love on Bian Jierou’s face. He had thought she did not know how to love, but it turned out she simply would not show it to him.
Song Hongfang felt that once a person died, it was the end of the line, and he was anxious to return to the city for business. As soon as the cremation was over, he patted Song Que’s shoulder and, under the warning glare of his new wife, gave a sheepish smile. “Be a good boy. Let your mother take you back. Dad is very busy and has to leave. Next time, I will bring you a model airplane.”
Bian Jierou’s heart and mind were entirely focused on Ji Yangle. She waved at Song Que, “Go find your dad, go find your dad. You do not share my surname anyway.”
From the hospital to home, it was an hour-and-a-half walk through knee-deep snow. Song Que had left in a rush, without money or a phone. He had been driven out like trash, but he held onto his pride and walked all the way back by himself.
He sprained his ankle on the way and fell deathly ill after returning home. From then on, he really did become like trash.
The injury to his ankle from that time had never fully healed. When he finally had the money to get it checked, he was told it was not a major issue, as long as he took good care of it.
But the coldness and severe pain deep in his bones reminded him that it would not be easy.
As he stepped off the last step, Song Que stumbled slightly. He thought no one would notice, but a hand with clear knuckles immediately reached out and gripped his arm.
Qin Wangye stared fixedly at Song Que’s ankle and frowned. “I wanted to ask you just now. What is wrong with your foot?”