Reply to Keats - Chap 62
62. Golden Shield
Chen Wan returned to the Chen residence, but surprisingly, Song Qingmiao wasn’t the first to notice.
“Ah-Wan, how impressive, coming back in a new car,” said Liao Liu from the second wife’s branch, her flirtatious eyes sweeping over him as she tossed a tile onto the mahjong table.
Chen Wan glanced at her but said nothing.
Song Qingmiao, who had been buried in her tiles, finally looked up, her face lighting up with a bright smile. “Baby, you’re back.”
It had been a long time since he’d last seen her, and despite himself, something stirred in Chen Wan’s heart. His feelings were complicated.
Regarding Meng Yuanxiong, Song Qingmiao had never once believed she bore any fault. Right now, Rongxin was in the throes of a vicious internal power struggle. Each branch of the family was going all out, openly and in secret. So what was wrong with seeking backing from the outside?
They’d argued over the phone in recent days and gone through cold spells. Now that she greeted him so warmly, it threw Chen Wan slightly off balance.
What’s more, Song Qingmiao hadn’t been seen at the Chen family’s mahjong table in quite some time. The second and third branches had joined forces to lock her out. Best that this ageless beauty stayed forever confined in that dingy little shrine room on the fourth floor, never setting foot in the main hall again.
Now, because of Chen Wan, she’d regained a seat at the table, which made people grit their teeth.
That’s why Song Qingmiao was certain her luck was finally about to turn.
Only after everyone had settled did Chen Bingxin come downstairs.
The uncle from the first branch beckoned. “Come, Ah-Wan. You haven’t been back in a while. Sit next to your father.”
Chen Wan replied coolly, “I’ll sit here.”
Song Qingmiao shot him a look, but Chen Wan lowered his eyes and sat down as if he hadn’t seen it.
The nephew from the third branch chuckled. “Ah-Wan’s the favorite of the Crown Prince now—an honored hero. How could he have time to come home for dinner?”
Chen Bingxin’s murky gaze scrutinized Chen Wan. He’d been hearing rumors that Chen Wan had latched onto the powerful Zhao Shengge, but he hadn’t believed that this discarded child with something wrong in his head since birth could actually pull it off.
But at some point, people had started calling him “Young President Chen.”
“There’s no such thing,” Chen Wan said coldly. “Mr. Zhao and I aren’t close. He’s only been polite for Zhuo Zhixuan’s sake.”
“Ah-Wan, now that’s just being modest.”
“Word is you went to Ting Island too.”
“Counts as meritorious service of protecting the emperor.”
Chen Wan said, “I was just tagging along—”
“Indeed,” Song Qingmiao interrupted, a trace of triumphant pride in her voice. “Last time Ah-Wan went with me to the Tianhou Temple to pray to Mazu, Mr. Zhao even came over to say hello. We chatted for quite a while. He’s so handsome, and not the least bit aloof. He was very kind to Ah-Wan.”
Chen Wan froze, the warmth in his eyes completely extinguished. Whatever lingering sentiment he had for her vanished like smoke.
Chen Bingxin assumed the airs of a patriarch and tapped his chopsticks. “Let’s eat.”
Dinner proceeded with its usual liveliness, the conversation ranging from Rongxin’s stock price to the marriage of the eldest daughter from the third branch.
It was as if those stuck in a well truly believed they had boarded a glorious ship, indulging in lofty dreams with no basis in reality.
Chen Wan’s eyes darkened. The evil thoughts and violence buried deep within him began to stir again.
If everyone wanted to use him to bleed Zhao Shengge dry, then every last one of them should die.
This house was like a prison, heavy with painful memories. No matter how many years Chen Wan had been away, no matter how poised he had become in the outside world, the moment he stepped back inside, he reverted to that expressionless devil with a pair of scissors in hand, ready to stab.
The walls were hollowed out to enshrine several Buddha statues—some gold, some jade, some sandalwood—each seeming to see straight through to the twisted, deranged soul within him. The air was suffocating. Chen Wan’s hand trembled slightly before he tucked it into his pocket.
He meant to reach for his pill case, but his phone suddenly buzzed. Chen Wan opened it.
[Image]
[You dropped this at my place.]
His violent nerves abruptly eased, as though a pair of hands had caught his heart and were holding it in place. In this oppressive mansion, whether humans, Buddhas, ghosts, or malevolent spirits, none could harm him in the slightest.
It felt like he’d been given a golden shield. His hand stopped shaking.
He tapped on the image and examined it closely. It was his cufflink, probably torn off that night in the heat of the moment.
His ears flushed slightly. He typed: [Can I come pick you up today? Bring it with you?]
Zhao Shengge replied with something completely unrelated: [The material is pretty average.]
“…” Chen Wan was momentarily confused. The cufflinks weren’t outrageously expensive, but they were a classic design from a fairly well-known brand. He paused, then had a flash of inspiration: [Next time I’ll wear the ruby ones.]
Zhao Shengge didn’t reply.
So Chen Wan sent another message: [rich cat.jpg]
[…]
“Ah-Wan’s running such a big business now, can’t even put the phone down.”
Chen Wan slipped his phone away and sat in silence as the wives from different branches exchanged barbed pleasantries and schemed against one another. Some were even gossiping about Zhao Shengge, indulging in far-fetched fantasies.
At one point, Song Qingmiao picked up a dish and placed some food on his plate. Chen Wan didn’t touch it. The warmth of his phone in his palm was steady, and his heart felt calm.
A part of him that had been hollow for years was finally being filled.
The harmonious dinner came to an end. Chen Bingxin ordered, “Come with me to the study.”
Rongxin was crumbling—nepotism, internal power struggles, glamorous on the surface but rotten underneath.
Minglong’s arrival couldn’t have come at a better time.
Chen Bingxin had no real skills of his own, but he still had Song Qingmiao in his grasp. Using her to prod and manipulate Chen Wan was more than enough.
As expected, it was nothing but dredging up old matters: Song Qingmiao’s gambling, her infidelities, and other such “black history.”
Fury suddenly surged in Chen Wan’s chest.
Song Qingmiao might have been naive and foolish, but wasn’t this so-called “black history” forged by their own hands? For a man to push a woman, especially a beautiful one, into the abyss and turn her into a plaything was all too easy.
She had her flaws, but she was also pitiable. The most despicable of them all, the one most deserving of death, was the overbearing Chen Bingxin—the immovable mountain of patriarchal authority.
Chen Wan looked up and asked calmly, “What do you want me to do?”
Chen Bingxin was clearly dissatisfied with his detached tone. “What do I want you to do? You should be thinking about what you can do for this family. Chen Wan, I’ve raised you for over twenty years and this is the gratitude I get in return?”
Chen Wan found that laughable. Altogether, he hadn’t even spent that many years in the Chen household—three years at Xiaolan Mountain, a year and a half in the doghouse.
He didn’t outright reject him, just deflected. “Aren’t you giving me too much credit? Just because people say a few words, it becomes truth? Besides, Zhuo Zhixuan doesn’t actually hold power in the Zhuo family, and even the Zhuo family itself can’t say much in front of Zhao Shengge.”
Chen Bingxin never truly believed he had a deep relationship with Zhao Shengge. For someone like that, even the faintest connection was already considered remarkable.
“In a few days, there’s an event in the high-tech zone. Baoying will be attending with your older brother. You should introduce her around.”
Chen Wan’s gaze turned cold.
Chen Bingxin—truly remarkable. After all these years, he hadn’t changed. He used to sell off his wife; now he was selling his daughter.
His calculations were obvious. “Take her around, let her meet people, build some connections. Of course, the key is still Zhao Shengge.”
His eldest son, Chen Yu, had long been unable to break into that circle. Now, it seemed even the sons of wealthy families were willing to give Chen Wan some face.
Chen Baoying, the second daughter from the third wife’s branch, was considered the most beautiful among all of Chen Bingxin’s daughters. She had just returned from studying in Australia and was currently enjoying his favor.
“As for the project you’re working on with Zhao Shengge, I noticed the two timber segments line up quite well with the subsidiary your brother just took over. You shouldn’t let benefits spill outside the family.”
To him, even the smallest link to Zhao Shengge was like striking gold.
Chen Wan was astonished by how naive a man could become in old age. It was pure delusion. “Do you even know who Zhao Shengge is? Who am I to meddle in his affairs?”
“As for the others,” although Chen Wan and Chen Baoying weren’t close, he deeply loathed this kind of matchmaking dealing, “it’s strictly business. There’s no personal contact whatsoever. The Shen family, the Jiang family, the Tan family—do you think I can just speak to them whenever I like?”
“Chen Wan, what is the meaning of all this evasion? Don’t you have any sense of responsibility as an older brother? If your sister marries well, it’ll be a great advantage for you and for the family.”
Chen Wan stared at him coldly and said nothing.
The aging Chen Bingxin suddenly felt a chill creep down his spine. From this son, who had always been quiet, unambitious, and distant, he suddenly saw an unnerving calm.
Chen Bingxin had dominated others for half his life and could not tolerate this defiance of his patriarchal authority. His face darkened completely. “Chen Wan, you think you’ve grown wings and can fly? Your mother is still here. Where do you think you can fly to? She’s been under this roof since she was barely twenty. Every detail of her life is in my hands. If you really care about her, stop going against me. Don’t play this game of outward obedience and secret defiance. Otherwise, if I expose what happened to her and what happened to you as a child, forget working with Zhao Shengge, you and your mother won’t even have a place to stand in all of Haishi.”
Chen Wan remained calm and aloof from beginning to end. After a long silence, he finally nodded and said, “Fine. Then I want shares. Give me the ones you were planning to transfer to Chen Yu.”
“I can’t help with Chen Baoying’s matter. As for Chen Yu…” he paused, baiting Chen Bingxin, “that depends on his own luck.”
Chen Bingxin narrowed his eyes, his murky gaze sweeping over him.
Chen Wan let him look all he wanted. “You’ve given shares to every other branch of the family. If you want me to work for you, there ought to be something in it for me.”
Chen Bingxin snapped, “The benefit you’re asking for is outrageous.”
Chen Wan adjusted his wristwatch. “If you give me nothing, how am I supposed to get anything done?”
Chen Bingxin was troubled. None of the sons under him were capable of shouldering real responsibility. Rongxin was no longer what it used to be; otherwise, he wouldn’t have considered relying on Chen Wan. “I can give you two percent to start. The rest depends on your performance.”
Chen Wan neither agreed nor disagreed.
Chen Bingxin added, “Stop thinking you can play games with me, Chen Wan. I mastered all your little tricks long ago. No matter how much you hate me, we’re still family. As long as you remain in Haishi, you’ll never shed the name Chen.”
Chen Wan made no effort to hide his utilitarianism and spared no words. “When will the shares be transferred?”
Chen Bingxin was momentarily speechless, then responded coldly, “You’re just like your mother—money is all you ever see.”
Chen Wan asked again, “When?”
“You!”
Chen Wan was beginning to lose patience. “Payment first, work later. After all your years in business, President Chen, don’t you understand that principle?”
Chen Bingxin roared, “Ungrateful bastard!”
Chen Wan ignored him and turned to leave.
Downstairs, Song Qingmiao was still indulging in drunken revelry at the card table. Chen Wan looked at her slender back, still girlish in figure, and stood silent for a moment. In the end, he didn’t go over to say goodbye.
But in his heart, he had already said his final farewell.
When he was very young, Chen Wan had once hoped that, just once, Song Qingmiao might stand by his side at that dinner table—always filled with mockery, schemes, and cold stares.
Not even once.
And this time, she had crossed his bottom line.
Fortunately, he had already made up his mind: he would never feel sorrow for her again.
He walked out to the sound of bridge being played. There was no sun today—the sky was dark and overcast. He tripped over something. Looking down, he saw it was an old dog chain. He’d seen it before, during the Ghost Festival, when he’d last been summoned back. Whether it was a servant’s oversight or a silent threat, he couldn’t tell.
A sharp pain throbbed in his temple. He lit a cigarette and sat in his car, staring blankly for a long time. When he noticed his breathing had become shallow, he reached into the glove box and took a few calming pills.
In truth, ever since he’d started pursuing Zhao Shengge, his condition had improved significantly. Monica had even begun gradually reducing his dosage.
But he didn’t want to lose composure in front of Zhao Shengge, so he took a few more.
***
Zhao Shengge and Shen Zongnian had just finished a meeting. Zhao Shengge said they wouldn’t be having dinner together, then picked up his phone and replayed a voice message.
Chen Wan had called his name with a tone that carried an unconscious, special weight. It was calm, without a trace of coquettishness, but every time Zhao Shengge heard it, it made his heart swell, little by little.
“…” Shen Zongnian glanced at him and said, “Wait a moment.” He turned his laptop toward Zhao Shengge. “There’s still no update on what you asked me about last time.”
Zhao Shengge finally put his phone down.
Shen Zongnian: “It’s not exactly illegal, but it’s like the new team built a tower out of thin air. Dig into it, and it’s just a hollow shell.”
