They had to leave, no matter how reluctant they were. Yan Haikun and the others climbed into the car bound for the airport. The two little ones waved their tiny hands furiously and shouted at the top of their lungs, “Bye, Grandpa! Bye, Grandma! Bye, Nana! Baby will miss you!”
Watching the car pull away, Xu Zixi and Yan Yencheng turned back into the house with the children.
At the gate, the growl of a motorcycle drew closer until it stopped outside. Pei Mingyuan took off his helmet and studied the villa he’d been to only once before. His mouth tightened; he folded the papers in his hand and walked toward the door with a steady, deliberate pace.
Pei’s arrival didn’t surprise Yan Yencheng—if anything, it was exactly what he’d been expecting.
In the reception room Pei got straight to the point. “Mr. Yan, I’ve made up my mind. I want to buy all of Pei Group’s shares you hold. Name your price.”
He’d prepared himself for a sky-high figure; Pei was ready to pay whatever it took to reclaim control. Just as Yan considered his reply, the familiar sound of footsteps and a soft voice interrupted. Xu Zixi came over and handed Pei a glass of water.
“Mr. Pei, you look pale. Have some warm water—take it easy.”
The way she addressed him made Pei pause for a beat, then he recovered. “Thank you.”
Xu sat down beside Yan. He looped an arm around her waist casually; they didn’t bother to hide their closeness in front of him.
“I heard about your father being hospitalized,” Yan said.
“I’m disappointed in how Pei Group has been run,” he continued, “but I’m not the type to kick someone when they’re down. I’ll sell you the shares I hold—for one-tenth of their value. But there’s one condition: the Hope City project must be re-tendered. If Pei Group wants to stay in the project, you’ll have to compete fairly with the others in a month’s time and prove you’re committed to working with us.”
“All right. I accept.” Pei didn’t hesitate. Selling at a tenth of their worth was a painful loss to Yan, but to Pei it meant regaining legitimate control—he’d be the rightful majority shareholder and the undisputed head of Pei Group.
They signed the share transfer agreement smoothly and efficiently. The whole process felt almost unreal to Pei, like waking from a dream in which everything had been handed back.
Just when Pei thought the day’s business was done, Xu slid a resignation letter across the table.
“Xiaoxi…?” Pei started.
“Hope City is my life’s work,” Xu said quietly. “Where it goes, I go. Next time we meet, we may be competitors.”
Pei closed his eyes and drew a breath. When he opened them again, he took the letter.
Xu’s resignation set off another ripple. Her entire design team—Wen Li, Cui Jiandong—and the secretarial staff, Huang Zhenzhen and Dai Sha, all handed in their resignations at the same time. Pei signed each one without hesitation.
That wave of departures left Pei Group even more rattled than before.
Night fell over Haicheng with a deceptive calm.
At eight that evening, in the Zhao Group headquarters, Zhao Quanjing slipped on a newly tailored suit and called his son, Fang Ruiyang. “You’ve left Pei Group?”
“Yes, Dad. The Yan firm has cut ties with Pei. The Harbor project no longer involves Pei, and Mr. Yan demanded Pei withdraw from the project team within 24 hours, so I had no reason to stay. I left with them,” Fang replied.
He hesitated. “But—I think this might be for the best. If you can work things out with Mr. Yan, I can help. I know the people and the habits over there.”
“Good,” Zhao said. “Since you left, come by my office. I’m meeting Mr. Yan tonight at nine. Tell me what I should know—his routines, his quirks.”
Fang was pleased to be needed. A short while later he knocked and entered. Zhao glanced up with a smile tinged with something like pride and gestured at his suit. “What do you think? How does this look on me?”
“You look sharp, Dad,” Fang said with a grin.
Zhao squeezed his shoulder and ruffled him enthusiastically. “You’ve done well. If my meeting with Mr. Yan goes smoothly tonight, you’ll be the one to thank.”
Fang scratched his head and offered a bashful smile. “I didn’t do much.”
They sat on the sofa while Fang described Mr. Yan’s habits. “He has an eye condition, so he’s a bit temperamental. But he likes to play mahjong…”
An eye condition? Zhao hadn’t noticed. A powerful man with impaired eyesight who went to the tea house to play cards—this suddenly made several things fall into place for him. Zhao’s mind, already turning, had found an opening.
After he finished, Fang asked, “Dad, do you want me to come with you tonight?”
“No need,” Zhao replied. “I’ll handle it. Now go home unless there’s something else. I’ll tell you the results.”
He rose to leave but felt a tug on his sleeve. Fang looked down, voice squirrelly and small. “Dad…a few nights ago my mom had a relapse. The hospital used an imported medication—28,000 yuan. We only had enough for yesterday’s care. Before I came here they called and said we owe again. Because I left a balance last time, they’re insisting we prepay the next round, or they’ll stop treatment.”
Zhao looked at him for a long moment without answering. When Fang finally loosened his grip, Zhao said, “Since you’ve been doing well lately, I can front the money for your mother’s treatment. But I’ll only give it after my meeting with Mr. Yan.”
“Don’t worry—it’ll be fine for a little while. She won’t die.” Zhao’s voice was cool and detached.
Outside, in the shadows, Fang watched Zhao’s car drive away and then turned toward the street. He went back to his rented room, drew the curtains half closed, and went through his usual routine—shower, television.
No one knew that ten minutes after he returned, Fang slipped out through the back door. The rented room remained as if nothing had changed.
Under Haicheng’s night sky, three cars tore off in three different directions.