The following Monday, Huo Shize woke up at six in the morning, went for a run, showered, and walked the dog. He had breakfast at seven-thirty and left the house at eight sharp, with Mr. Huo's driver already waiting at his door. Mr. Huo was not in Shanghai—he hadn't checked into a hotel to cheer his son on—but he had sent his own driver to take him to work. The driver, surnamed Ouyang, was a military veteran who had been with Mr. Huo for the better part of his life. Unremarkable in appearance but exceptionally skilled, he drove with precision and was utterly loyal. Though titled a driver, he was also a bodyguard. He was rarely apart from Mr. Huo, so sending him today to escort the son to his first day on the job was, in itself, a conspicuous show of support.
The car departed from the Xujiahui residence and arrived at the hotel entrance in half an hour. The hotel was located in the heart of Lujiazui, its signature feature being full river-view rooms along the Huangpu River. Positioned as an urban resort, it blended Shanghai-style hospitality with international luxury service.
The hotel's senior management had already been informed of the arrival. Led by Deputy General Manager Anthony, they stood in a cluster at the entrance. When they saw Mr. Huo's car pull up smoothly, they assumed Mr. Huo himself had come along and quickly straightened up, plastering smiles on their faces. But when the door opened, it was Huo Shize sitting inside.
The eldest and second Miss Huo had also joined the Huo Group in recent years—one managing overseas operations, the other overseeing the arts division. All three of the Huo children had begun their careers in the group's peripheral businesses to gain experience, but only the young master had ever enjoyed the privilege of being chauffeured by Mr. Huo's personal driver and bodyguard.
The senior executives exchanged a quick glance, then stepped forward in unison, bowing to Huo Shize in the car. "Young Mr. Huo."
Among them all, only Anthony stood with his hands clasped in front of him, giving a reserved nod and a courteous, "Good morning."
Huo Shize stepped out from the back seat, exchanged greetings with his new colleagues, and walked straight inside. His hair was swept back with gel, and a Beyerdynamic over-ear Bluetooth noise-canceling headphone hung around his neck. Autumn winds were picking up and the weather was turning cool; over his suit he wore a long trench coat, giving him a sharp, dashing appearance—and his face was, naturally, extremely handsome.
The hotel housed a Michelin-starred Western restaurant whose steaks were considered top-tier. Mr. Huo had a fondness for Western cuisine and often visited with his wife, occasionally bringing the whole family of three. As the hotel's owner, whenever Mr. Huo appeared, Anthony would make a point of coming to greet him if he got word, and so he had long since come to know Huo Shize. But previously, the young man had mostly dressed casually—sometimes coming straight from the dojo in athletic wear. This was the first time Anthony had seen him in such formal attire.
From the very first glance today, Anthony couldn't help but think of an old film he'd recently watched, American Psycho. The famous American psycho had arrived. He felt that the film's protagonist bore a striking resemblance to this young Master Huo—not just in image and temperament, but even in background and experience. Both were twenty-seven, both graduates of prestigious schools, both residing in upscale apartments in old-money neighborhoods, and both, through their fathers' connections, had risen to high positions at a young age.
Anthony had taken nearly thirty years—from front office to housekeeping, from food and beverage to sales—to reach the position of deputy general manager. Over the past three decades, he had traveled the world, working for numerous international hotel brands. Among the guests he had served were countless nouveaux riches and old-money elites, and he was long accustomed to wealthy families "giving their young masters and princesses a small company to practice on." But the pressure of managing a high-end hotel with over four hundred rooms and nearly five hundred employees was nothing like an ordinary company. As a seasoned hotelier, Anthony had little faith in this young heir apparent.
The GM position at a high-star hotel looked glamorous on the surface, but in reality it was exhausting—both mentally and physically. One had to process over a hundred emails a day, chair multiple management meetings, and face performance targets and guest complaint crises from the moment one opened one's eyes. Every day was like walking on thin ice. Especially in recent years, with the market worsening, the industry growing ever more cutthroat, and business getting harder, it was nothing short of nerve-wracking. Take himself, for example: on sleepless nights, when he finally managed to drift off, he'd dream of guests leaving and jolt awake. He'd touch his forehead—drenched in cold sweat.
And this young Master Huo—a man who loved taekwondo, who craved fierce competition and the sensation of power—no matter how refined and reserved he appeared on the surface, there had to be a streak of rebellion, a hint of defiance buried deep in his soul. Would such a man truly be willing to repeat the dull, monotonous routine day after day, to endure this kind of tedious, exhausting work for the long haul? Even the ends of his hair could tell you—there was no way he'd stick with it, and no way he'd do it well.
Sometimes, men's jealousy toward other men runs even deeper than women's, but it must be buried deep. In any case, deep down Anthony believed that a man with this kind of looks and temperament could not possibly be a good person—perhaps even on par with the debauched, deranged protagonist from that old film. So when he accompanied him into the general manager's office, Anthony paid special attention to how he treated the pretty female assistants. Strangely, he didn't crack a single flirtatious joke. In that regard, he differed from the protagonist of the old film American Psycho.
Anthony's expectations were dashed, and he felt somewhat disappointed.
Harboring a secret malice and envy, with the aim of testing and probing, Anthony arranged today's meetings to be especially packed. He brought up old topics like cost reduction and efficiency gains, then spoke of how the year's budget would exceed projections by this much and that much, while occupancy rates fell short of expectations—painting the hotel's situation as dire. Then, with a group of executives, he lamented: "So anxious, every day on edge. Business is tough, and operating costs are just sitting there." As he spoke, he nearly broke into tears.
Huo Shize kept his arms crossed the entire time, listening very attentively, yet his expression remained perfectly composed. Anthony had been in the hotel industry for a long time and had served many clients. His conclusion was that true wealth showed on a person's face—it was that air of composure and inscrutability. Though such people always appeared calm and carefree, once they made a decision, they were extremely decisive, wasting no words.
The pity-party failed to intimidate Young Master Huo, and Anthony's expectations were dashed once more, leaving him somewhat disappointed again.
At noon, they dined in the staff cafeteria. After the lunch break, they immediately convened with the restaurant manager and executive chef to inspect the private dining rooms. This was another trivial but important task for hotel executives. During the inspection, most guests had cleaned their plates, but at one table hosting a birthday banquet, the final dessert—tiramisu—had only one slice taken, with the rest left on the table.
For a dessert to be left so untouched, something must have gone wrong. The head chef was nervous, and Anthony wore a grave expression as well. He asked for two clean forks, handed one to Huo Shize, then picked up the leftover tiramisu from the table, tasted it himself, and asked Huo Shize to taste it too, to see what was wrong with the cake.
Huo Shize turned to the head chef beside him and asked, "Is there any of this dessert left in the kitchen?"
The chef replied that there was. Huo Shize said, "Stop selling it until we identify the problem, and bring over all the remaining portions." Then, pointing at the cluster of pink balloons in the private room, he asked the head waiter, "Isn't the color of these balloons a bit too dull? Since we're celebrating a guest's birthday, why not choose a more vibrant red?"
The head waiter quickly apologized, saying, "There were many banquets today and we were short-staffed. This detail was indeed overlooked. We'll be more careful next time."
As they exchanged words, the kitchen sent over the leftover half of the tiramisu cake. Huo Shize tasted it himself, then personally cut portions for the restaurant manager, head chef, and others in the room, commenting, "This cake isn't made very well. The sweetness is too high, and the sponge texture is a bit too firm."
Everyone agreed, nodding in assent, and the chef immediately said he would adjust the proportions right away.
Of everyone in the room, only the little detective Anthony noticed Huo Shize's quirk—he refused to taste the guests' leftover food. There was still a hint of young master's fastidiousness in him, yet he had resolved the matter without making a fuss and pinpointed the dessert's problem. He had both ability and sense. Anthony also recalled how, during their earlier inspection, Huo Shize had bent down beneath a potted tree in the lobby, picked up a few pieces of litter, and carried them in his hand for quite a distance.
Standing to the side, Anthony quietly studied Huo Shize's profile, silently scoring him based on his performance today—assessing whether he had the strength to manage this hotel and whether he was qualified to be Anthony's direct superior. Just as he was staring intently, Huo Shize suddenly turned his face and cast a glance his way.
Caught by that sweeping look from Huo Shize, Anthony felt a sudden chill and realized that his little proud, probing schemes had been seen through. He had initially felt the superiority of a seasoned veteran looking at a newcomer entering the industry, but that single glance stripped away all his sense of superiority. He also felt a bit embarrassed.
He had been too rash, seeking superiority in front of this man. The Huo family's enterprise and wealth had passed to the fourth generation—from the first to the fourth Mr. Huo, was any of them a pushover? At this thought, he snapped awake. Touching his forehead, he found cold sweat.