Early morning, the sky was just beginning to brighten. Red maple leaves lay piled along the roadside, burning like fire.
A Maybach had been waiting at the villa’s entrance for some time. Low-profile yet luxurious, its sleek lines flowed naturally, like a lion poised to spring—young and untamed. The five digits on the license plate openly declared the owner’s status and position.
Meng Xinghui emerged, dressed in his most formal attire: a crisp blue shirt and suit trousers that accentuated his long, slender legs. His almond-shaped eyes betrayed his fear and anxiety about joining the company. Shen Qiu wouldn’t be going to Qingxiang for a while, which meant he wouldn’t know a single person there. Moreover, he had only secured the job through the back door. His steps were slow and heavy, as if his feet had taken root in the ground.
Shen Qiu had said breakfast wasn’t necessary, but Meng Xinghui had still prepared fried dough sticks and soy milk, leaving a portion for him.
Shen Qiu’s words from that day were still vivid in his mind.
“It’s not bad, but not as good as what my aunt makes!” Shen Qiu had commented flatly, though his chopsticks never stopped moving.
How heartbreaking, Meng Xinghui thought. And yet, he still finished every last bite of the food I made.
Meng Xinghui placed the paper bag on the passenger seat and fastened his seatbelt.
“Uncle Zhang, this is the breakfast I made. Thank you for getting up early to drive me to the office.”
Zhang Xiao smiled, wrinkles crinkling around his eyes. “It’s no trouble. The boss arranged it; it’s just part of my job.”
“I’m old, you know. The boss has been good to me, giving me this driver’s position. He’s got a sharp tongue but a heart of gold. Don’t let his cold expression scare you.” Zhang Xiao was an old family retainer of the Shen family and shared a close bond with Shen Qiu. He had been driving Shen Qiu since the boy’s days at the Advanced International Primary School. Later, when the Chairman tried to dismiss him, Shen Qiu had insisted on keeping him. Thus, Zhang Xiao became Shen Qiu’s personal driver, taking his daily orders.
“He always bullies me. His words are like poison.”
“Then why did you agree to sign a contract with the boss, young man?”
Meng Xinghui fell silent. It was true—they were strangers. Yet, after only a few brief encounters, Shen Qiu had treated him with such kindness. He had stayed by his side in the rain, saving him from what he thought would be a lonely death in the stairwell. And now, he had given him this job.
Meng Xinghui’s face fell, his delicate brows furrowing. The rough fabric of his shirt seemed to amplify his own deep-seated insecurity. He was terrified of bringing shame to Shen Qiu. He had to be obedient, to perform perfectly, to never let Shen Qiu down. He couldn’t let anyone at the company speak ill of Shen Qiu because of him.
“He’s so good, so good, that I’m afraid all of this is just a dream,” Meng Xinghui thought. I have to work hard. I can’t let this person down.
The System chimed in: The cute little white flower is off to work. Host, why aren’t you seeing him off?
“I’m the boss,” Shen Qiu retorted. “What kind of boss personally sees his employee off?”
Shen Qiu shoved his hands into his suit trousers and lifted the black fabric curtain with his fingers. He watched Meng Xinghui get into the car and chat with Uncle Zhang for a long time. Through the slightly open front window, he could vaguely see the two of them talking happily. Meng Xinghui’s eyes shimmered, and his dimples curved sweetly.
The other day, after Shen Qiu gave his critique of the meal, Meng Xinghui’s entire face had crumpled like a little wrinkled bun, his scalp still scraped.
Shen Qiu had been born into wealth. His family’s cook was a seasoned chef who had worked in some of the world’s top five five-star hotels. To Shen Qiu’s pampered palate, Meng Xinghui’s cooking barely passed. The corn and ribs were tasteless, the soup had a layer of oil on top, the stir-fried vegetables were mushy and unappetizing, like a clump of unchewed green fiber. The pork in the chili stir-fry was dry and bland.
Yet, out of a commitment to not waste food, Shen Qiu had eaten it all without a flinch.
Kyoto’s largest racetrack was located in the outskirts of the city. The winding mountain roads were treacherous, with a narrow surface prone to sudden rockfalls. As the altitude increased, the weather turned volatile—dense fog, ice, snow, or hours of relentless rain could send a driver plummeting off a cliff in the blink of an eye, leaving them shattered below.
Top-of-the-line supercars tore past, their speeding bodies leaving a trail of afterimages. Tires screeched and scraped against the roadside, their roars blending into a chaotic cacophony.
The finish line was swarmed with people, including wealthy young heirs and heiresses. Endless bottles of champagne and Lafite were sprayed into the air as confetti cannons fired one after another, filling the sky with golden sparks to celebrate the race’s winner.
Shen Ziqi ripped off his black-and-gold helmet in a fury. The victor, Lin Hong, met his gaze, leaning casually against his car door. “President Shen, your car’s a piece of junk. No matter how much you spent on it, you’re still as unskilled as your master.” With a twist of the steering wheel, the red sports car roared away, leaving Shen Ziqi choking in its exhaust.
“If you’re out of your league, don’t even show up. Just focus on keeping your seat as president. Be careful—Old Master Shen will discard you the moment he’s done with you, then bring Shen Qiu back in his place.” Lin Hong waved a hand and flipped him off. On his arm, a tattoo of the Wolf King glared fiercely, its fangs sinking into a piece of meat. Beneath its paws lay the mangled remains of an antelope, its form unrecognizable save for a pair of distinct horns.
He shoved aside the handful of hangers-on who had crowded around him and, without a hint of regret, kicked the car’s hood. With a loud thud, the sports car—already dented from a collision with a rock—was instantly totaled. The headlights flickered and died with a sizzle.
“Damn it! I spent ten million on this imported sports car, and now it’s trash! It’s all garbage!”
Someone offered a fawning comment: “Lin Hong is just jealous that you’re the CEO of Shen Group now. He’s just an adopted son—he’s not in our circle.”
Shen Ziqi glared at the man and shoved him away. “If you can’t say anything useful, shut up.”
Setting Lin Hong aside for a moment, the current mess at the Group was enough to make Shen Ziqi’s head spin. The shareholders and his uncle were all watching him.
Lin Yi, Shen Qiu’s secretary, had resigned the day after Shen Qiu went on leave. At first, Shen Ziqi hadn’t cared about the secretary’s departure, but he soon realized how critical the role was. The Group’s operations ground to a halt. The head of the Administration Department was a useless sycophant, good for nothing but flattery. When it came to actual business, he was completely incompetent. The partner banks stopped issuing loans, and the entire Group fell into chaos. Many projects stalled due to the funding freeze, and a swarm of department heads now camped out at the Group headquarters, demanding his attention.
Shen Qiu’s father personally visited other banks to negotiate loans. Only then were the loan quotas approved, and the Group’s cash flow returned to normal operation.
Manager Guan of the R&D Department resigned last week. Since he was a partner personally invited by Shen Qiu, they had only signed a cooperation agreement, granting Manager Guan significant autonomy. Manager Guan merely provided scientific research guidance to the Group; his own team only borrowed the Group’s instruments and equipment, did not participate in the Group’s research, and their research achievements did not belong to the Group.
With Manager Guan’s departure, the research projects he guided also slowed down. A massive crash of the intelligent backend occurred, and in a single day, the stock price evaporated by several billion Hong Kong dollars.
The crisp clink of wine glasses echoed. Standing in the high-rise building, the entire race track could be seen clearly.
“Cheers!” his competitor, General Manager Wang, said in fluent British English, offering a generous invitation. “I wonder if President Shen would consider joining my company. Rest assured, the benefits and compensation will be the same as what you have at Shen Group. You definitely won’t be treated poorly.”
Shen Qiu swirled the wine in his glass. The deep red liquid seemed to possess an aggressive sharpness. Despite his youth, he held his own against General Manager Wang, a veteran of the business world. His aura remained undiminished, showing no trace of the impact from his recent demotion. “Thank you for the offer, General Manager Wang.”
“Are you really going to Qingxiang? To let that profligate beneath you snatch your position?” General Manager Wang looked down on Shen Ziqi. A man like that couldn’t carry the weight of the Shen Group. He hoped Shen Qiu would join his company, not only out of admiration for Shen Qiu’s abilities but also to infuriate Old Master Shen.
“It is my father’s arrangement. I must go.” Shen Qiu turned and left decisively. He had come specifically to purchase the mutton-fat jade from General Manager Wang.
Night fell. The cemetery was enveloped in a chilling wind that perfectly matched its somber atmosphere. Occasional sobs could still be heard—the grief of loved ones, the sorrow of those left behind, the reluctance to part.
Shen Qiu’s gaze was deep and unfathomable.
On the tombstone, the photograph of his mother gazed back at him with a gentle smile, forever preserved at her most beautiful age of thirty-two. The yellowed, lace-edged bellflowers had been replaced with gladioli.