Upon hearing this, Ming Rao’s heart gave a sudden clench.
He suppressed with all his might the wild emotions that surged within him every time he heard that word, and let out a cold, disdainful snort. “Then that’s even more absurd.”
Yan Yuchuan lowered his voice. “It’s true.”
Ming Rao let out a faint, ambiguous hum from his nose.
The sun was setting in the west, and lights were flickering on in the high-rise buildings. The half-bright, half-dim artificial glow interwove with the dying rays of sunset, dyeing the clouds in a riot of colors. From the ninety-seventh floor’s floor-to-ceiling windows, it looked almost within reach.
Suddenly, Ming Rao shifted the topic. “You must be pretty disappointed, now that you know who I am.”
“Why?”
“I’m definitely not what you imagined.”
Yan Yuchuan countered, “What did I imagine?”
“An ordinary person, I guess no money, no power, married into your wealthy family,” Ming Rao tilted his head thoughtfully, pursing his lips and mumbling. “Anyway, the kind who could help you maintain your devoted-husband image.”
A barely perceptible trace of amusement crept into Yan Yuchuan’s voice. “Is that so.”
“Oh, right,” Ming Rao shot a sharp sidelong glance. “What you imagined was probably a woman.”
This time, Yan Yuchuan didn’t laugh. He simply lowered his gaze, tacitly acknowledging that Ming Rao was indeed not the gender he had expected.
“So? Are you disappointed?” Ming Rao unconsciously clenched his back teeth, inexplicably needing to get to the bottom of it.
“Not really,” Yan Yuchuan said. “It’s just a bit more complicated than I imagined.”
Ming Rao clenched his fists, constantly reminding himself not to let a fake marriage drag his emotions into it wasn’t worth it. Yet the moment he opened his mouth, he couldn’t help but speak with biting sarcasm. “So reluctant, huh? It’s not like anyone forced you to marry me.”
“It’s not reluctance,” Yan Yuchuan said, gazing at his profile. “Actually, I never imagined you at all.”
“Why? Weren’t you curious?”
Yan Yuchuan looked out the window. “Imagining someone I want to marry is very difficult for me.”
His voice was as faint as a wisp of silk, carrying an emotion that was hard to decipher something like sorrow, or perhaps confusion.
Over the years, he had come to the Port Harbor sky restaurant with many people: investors, partners, media, forcibly arranged blind dates… but he had never imagined it would be with his fiancé.
Thinking back, only ten days had passed since he received the time capsule.
During that time, he had sent people to inspect the time capsule shop on-site, compare handwriting, and used every legal and illegal means available, finally narrowing down the identity among thousands of people who shared the same name.
When Chen Le told him that the title “son of Ming Yiqing, chairman of Ming’s Real Estate” carried such a heavy load of information, he couldn’t say which surprised him more “Ming’s Real Estate” or “son.” But the surprise lasted only a moment, and then he was immediately on the move, commissioning a private investigator to look into the person’s relationship status.
“Single for at least the past six months” but that didn’t mean he’d still be single after tomorrow, so there was no time to delay.
There was no time to custom-order a ring, so he’d buy a temporary one first and replace it later.
There was work tomorrow, so he’d have his secretary go in his place.
His proposal was dismissed as lacking sincerity, so he set aside work and went to find him.
Upon meeting, he seemed resistant, so he prepared for a long-term effort.
He agreed after all, so he drafted the prenuptial agreement, ordered the ring, arranged public relations, and began preparing the engagement party and wedding.
It was hard to explain why. By instinct, without emotion, body moving before mind he just did it.
This preliminary discussion about the prenuptial agreement ultimately ended in a subtle atmosphere that wasn’t exactly pleasant but surprisingly hadn’t fallen apart.
Originally, Yan Yuchuan had booked a hotel at Port Harbor, thinking that if Ming Rao expressed a desire to spend more time with him, he’d stay the night. But throughout dinner, his fiancé showed no such inclination.
Instead, Geng Yue, the current technical director of Xina, called him three times in a row, insisting without explanation that he return immediately. In the end, Yan Yuchuan never checked into the hotel and drove back to Pingcheng overnight.
The next morning, the moment work began, Xina Technology’s headquarters erupted.
In the open-plan office, someone was working out on a treadmill, someone was doodling on a whiteboard, and someone was secretly hiding in the bathroom, getting paid to slack off. At ten o’clock, everyone’s phone buzzed with the same push notification
“Breaking News! Xinzhou Group Announces Establishment of Brain Science Business Division!”
The brief official announcement carried little information but landed with weight: Sidney Wong, Xinzhou Group’s Chief Strategy Officer, would also serve as the head of the division, having previously led the creation of two of Xinzhou’s major business groups. Additionally, the world’s first brain science enterprise collaborative laboratory was in the works.
Every sign pointed to Xinzhou’s intention to make bold moves in the brain science sector.
Had this decision come three years ago, it wouldn’t have surprised anyone after all, back then, Xina Technology’s “Memory Enhancement Pen” had taken the primary and secondary education industry by storm upon its release, formally bringing “brain science” into the public eye as a brand-new industry.
In fact, the memory pen could be considered the least technologically sophisticated product Hina had ever released, yet it unexpectedly became the top-selling product of the year. Precisely because of its low technical barrier, it became the object of imitation for major companies everywhere. The big players jumped in one after another, launching copycat products that were the same old medicine in new bottles, all scrambling to stake their claims in the brain science industry. To this day, the buzz around brain science shows no signs of cooling down.
However, the technical threshold in this field is genuinely steep. Looking across the entire industry, Hina Technology remains the only company with true independent R&D capabilities.
The big conglomerates have plenty of capital but no technical foundation to sustain them. As the market for memory enhancement pens approaches saturation, the tech giants that once threw money around with abandon have begun treading on thin ice some have even quietly exited the stage.
It was at this moment that Xinzhou Group chose to swim against the current, announcing its entry with great fanfare. Naturally, this sparked all sorts of speculation: Could Xinzhou have already cracked the technical hard nut, preparing to stun everyone? Or was this merely a case of Xinzhou misreading the situation with a belated and misguided judgment?
For Hina’s top management, however, the most pressing concern was naturally what this move meant for Hina itself.
Hina’s new headquarters had given each executive their own private cubicle, but the open-office philosophy had been woven into the company’s DNA. Everyone still preferred to gather in small groups, chatting and working at the same time.
Technical Director Ge Yue and CFO Li Chenyang were regulars in Yan Yuchuan’s office. The three of them differed vastly in personality, expertise, and working style, yet they had somehow formed a well-balanced decision-making structure.
The first to catch wind of the news yesterday was Technical Director Ge Yue. She was the oldest among Hina’s current senior management and had the most industry experience. With her sharp short hair and minimalist androgynous style black T-shirt and jeans she was known for being decisive and outspoken. Behind closed doors, she was even more unfiltered.
“I also heard they’re planning to invest about twenty billion in that lab of theirs. My verdict? If they’ve got money to burn, they might as well donate it. I’m not optimistic about it, anyway. That Wong guy might have solid credentials, but he’s not from a cognitive science background, is he? What does our industry need most right now? R&D, innovation, talent. What good is just throwing money around? Investing hundreds of billions in memory pens? In a few more years, you won’t even be able to sell this thing on a secondhand marketplace!”
There was a subtle hierarchy of contempt within Hina regarding its own products, and the memory pen sat at the very bottom of that chain. It had originally been a throwaway project the R&D department whipped up to fill a quota and then it blew up overnight.
Every time the memory pen came up, Ge Yue couldn’t hide her disdain. If it weren’t for the fact that this little gadget had made Hina a fortune, she would have loved to slap the words “stupidity tax” right on the packaging.
“By the way, Chenyang,” Ge Yue said, using his first name as she always did in private, “when you were at the investor conference, what was Xinzhou’s actual stance on our IPO?”
Li Chenyang was sitting on the sofa across from Ge Yue, hunched over writing on his tablet. He looked up at the sound of his name and pushed up his glasses. “Oh, Xinzhou has actually been making moves these past few days too, but I didn’t expect it to be this. These two things probably aren’t a coincidence.”
Ge Yue collapsed into a lazy heap on the sofa, irritably tugging at a leaf of the fiddle-leaf fig beside her, and pursed her lips. “Of course they’re not. There aren’t that many coincidences in the world. Setting up a business division doesn’t require much preparation it’s just sending a signal to the outside. But what kind of signal is it, exactly? A threat? They don’t want us to go public?”
Li Chenyang said, “I wouldn’t go so far as to call it a threat. After all, we’re still in a mutually beneficial relationship.”
“Could be a harvest.”
Yan Yuchuan had been silently staring at his screen with his hand on the mouse. He suddenly spoke up, drawing both pairs of eyes blinking in his direction. “What?”
“Remember that saying? ‘Xinzhou Group doesn’t have its own brain science division'”
“Because they have Hina Technology,” Ge Yue naturally completed the sentence, then immediately grasped what Yan Yuchuan meant. Her eyes and nose scrunched up in worry.
Over the past few years, Xinzhou Group had been slow to enter the brain science sector, and industry insiders speculated it was because they didn’t place enough importance on it. But Hina Technology knew better than anyone that Xinzhou’s lack of action wasn’t due to neglect they had poured countless resources into Hina, both openly and behind the scenes.
“Xinzhou Group doesn’t have its own brain science division, because they have Hina Technology.”
Because Hina Technology was their brain science division.
Although Hina Technology had burst onto the scene with formidable momentum and couldn’t be underestimated, it was still a newcomer in the end not worth the full-scale assault of other major players, which allowed it more room to grow freely. When the time was ripe, Xinzhou would absorb it through acquisition and reap the rewards of the empire Hina had built with its own hands.
Yan Yuchuan leaned back in his chair, the casters swiveling slightly as he did. He tapped his toes lightly on the floor, and the chair settled back into perfect stillness. “Barring any surprises, Xinzhou will be contacting us soon.”
And before that, Hina would have to strike first.
Time waits for no one. Yan Yuchuan buried his head in a brief discussion with Li Chenyang, and soon Li Chenyang hurried off with his tablet.
Meanwhile, Ge Yue was still sprawled on the sofa like a corpse. He wanted a cigarette, so he handed one to Yan Yuchuan, then patted his pants pocket. “Hey, got a light?”
Yan Yuchuan said, “No.”
“Who are you kidding? You’re never without a cigarette how could you not have a lighter?”
Yan Yuchuan raised his arm, and Ge Yue spotted his nicotine patch, his eyes widening in shock. “Damn, are you okay?”
“You might want to consider it too.”
Ge Yue tossed the cigarette aside in disappointment, then suddenly thought of something, propping himself up with a loud rustle. “You don’t think Xinzhou will force-acquire us, do you?”
Yan Yuchuan raised an eyebrow slightly. “Hard to say.”
“Forget it, forget it we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,” Ge Yue said, sinking back into the sofa. A moment later, he muttered, “I don’t know about others, but I’m not happy about it, and you definitely aren’t either. Without the two of us, even if Xinzhou acquires Sina, what could they accomplish? Without the technology, no amount of money is just throwing it down the drain.”
“Xinzhou won’t care,” Yan Yuchuan said without changing his expression. “Even if it’s a lose-lose, they’ll still achieve their goal.”
“Forget it, forget it let’s play a game.” Ge Yue spat theatrically, pulled out his phone, and opened a popular parkour game, intending to clear his mind.
The little character on the screen moved with his fingertip, gobbling up all the gold coins along the way satisfying to watch. The worry on Ge Yue’s face visibly faded, and he crossed his legs lazily, casually tilting his chin toward the upright Yan Yuchuan.
“Hey, Scooper’s been spreading rumors about you again lately.”
“What about me?” Yan Yuchuan’s eyes never left the screen, his tone unbothered. “That I’m being kept by a rich woman again?”
He’d known about the Scooper forum for a long time and used to browse it occasionally to catch the latest industry buzz. But in recent years, the forum’s content quality had gone downhill, and its focus had become increasingly trashy, so he visited less often.
About a year ago, when Ge Yue first came across the rumor on Scooper that Yan Yuchuan was being kept by a rich woman, he nearly laughed his head off and immediately shared the post with Yan Yuchuan.
Yan Yuchuan read it coldly, concluded the forum had completely lost its value, and never visited it again.
Ge Yue sprang up from the sofa, started a new round of the game, and dragged out his words mysteriously: “Even more outrageous, and more detailed.”
Yan Yuchuan showed little interest, casually replying, “What does it say?”
Ge Yue’s tone brimmed with the glee of a spectator: “It says the rich woman keeping you is actually a man.”
Yan Yuchuan’s fingertips hovering over the keyboard suddenly froze. He lifted his gaze from the screen and uttered two words in a daze: “A man?”
Ge Yue’s eyes darted along with the game screen as he continued animatedly: “Yeah! It also says your whole ‘self-made’ story is fake you only got ahead at the innovation camp back then by latching onto a big shot. To secure startup funding, you slept with a guy for an entire year!”