Chapter 37#
Not long after, Secretary Feng was promoted from administrative secretary to CEO secretary, becoming the President’s Office’s new-generation “housekeeper.”
His personality differed from his predecessor Jiaxin. Jiaxin had been easy to talk with from the start—aside from having an outgoing personality, she was naturally the type who could read people well, much like Tan Xiao. Secretary Feng fell a bit short in this regard. However, Secretary Feng was quite solid and conscientious. His coordination abilities weren’t lacking. Though he couldn’t quickly open up interpersonal dynamics, after working together longer, his solid abilities and reliable character won over the President’s Office. Everyone now recognized he could be Jiaxin’s successor.
Thus, Zhang Xingchuan gained another successful talent discovery. Success experience: +1.
Tan Xiao returned to Wenjing afterward and worked a few more days, getting all his affairs in order, ending this grueling internship experience.
He needed to start preparing for returning to campus.
His postdoctoral advisor had already recommended literature for him. He needed to start tracking the lab’s research direction, confirm project assignments after entering the program, and prepare admission materials. Basically, he had various miscellaneous matters to prepare ahead of time.
This was his first official job in life. He would treat it as the launching point of his career.
Perhaps he’d become a financial scholar in the future. Of course, he believed infinite other possibilities existed.
There was also one more important matter Tan Xiao wanted to complete before officially entering the program.
He wanted to completely renounce his status as a Doria family heir, severing on a legal level any possibility of family members constraining him.
Not just to protect people around him. That was only part of it—he didn’t want Zhang Xingchuan and his partner to be dragged down for no reason.
More importantly, it was for himself.
After becoming an adult, in those years before meeting Zhang Xingchuan, Tan Xiao had thought about this countless times.
He could never work for that family. Nor did he want to become like the most common situation in the family—those members who didn’t enter family business, idle away living off interest. They’d attach their limited lives to that great ship until life completely rotted away.
Tan Xiao used to be a happy young man, just drifting along, blindly getting through each day. He’d thought about leaving, but in reality, he didn’t know where to go if he left the ship.
When he went to Zhejiang recently and saw his mom, he’d discussed this idea with her. After all, it was what mom had fought hard to secure for him years ago. He wanted to give it up—he should tell her.
She didn’t object but asked if he was sure and why.
He answered: I should have my own path to walk.
And now, he was about to embark on his own life path. He hoped to be happy and forever free.
Zhang Xingchuan had heard him mention this many times already.
He’d also often used “the little capitalist’s son” for self-mockery, harboring contradictory feelings of disgust while being trapped in this identity. Zhang Xingchuan very much supported him escaping that contradiction.
But Zhang Xingchuan actually hadn’t anticipated he wasn’t just talking big—he was actually going to execute it.
How to put it: Wenjing’s valuation was only about a hundred billion… No, a bit more now than a few months ago, only about three hundred billion. If they’d lost badly in that previous battle, Zhang Xingchuan would have had to let Wenjing go. Making that decision wasn’t a snap judgment—he’d sighed heavily for several days, unable to sleep, before painfully making up his mind.
Tan Xiao was definitely a ruthless person. He was eating breakfast, and the first half was mimicking recent internet jokes to entertain, then the second half he suddenly announced: he’d decided to stop being a Doria young master from now on.
Zhang Xingchuan’s brain hadn’t even switched over. “What?”
Tan Xiao said it again, then imagined the successful outcome and said amusingly, “So my dad will have to shout ‘unfilial son!’ every time he sees me from now on.”
Zhang Xingchuan was speechless. Young master, watch fewer short dramas.
“How do we handle the legal procedure for this?” Zhang Xingchuan asked.
Tan Xiao wasn’t joking. Zhang Xingchuan immediately started thinking about how to execute it. Since it involved overseas law, Wenjing’s legal team definitely couldn’t handle it. For some unscrupulous foreign airlines’ unfair terms, passengers couldn’t get refunds. Wenjing had paid out considerable money, and the legal team had chased it for years. Not only did they not get it back, they lost a lot besides.
Zhang Xingchuan said, “We need to consult with an offshore lawyer.”
Tan Xiao had the same idea, but the lawyers he could access were definitely connected to his family in some way. He didn’t trust their professional ethics one bit.
Zhang Xingchuan thought for a moment. “I’ll figure out how to contact someone.”
Tan Xiao looked at him carefully. “Why do you look so guilty?”
“How could I not be?” Zhang Xingchuan genuinely had no confidence. “This is likely the largest-value project I’ll handle in my entire life.”
That was a wealth empire worth hundreds of billions of dollars.
“I’m just a poor CEO,” Zhang Xingchuan said seriously.
Tan Xiao nearly died laughing at the table.
He’d actually lost all sense of how much money his family had. He didn’t really care how much money he had now either.
Compared to that, he cared more about the formal job he was about to have—postdoctoral base salary plus housing allowance plus advisor funding. He was about to become a research ox-horse earning roughly three hundred thousand per year. Ha ha.
Strategically, he took renouncing his wealthy family status seriously. But tactically, he was quite indifferent.
It was really simple, right? If he wanted to fight for assets, it would certainly be difficult. Since he wanted nothing, how hard could it be?
“I’m escaping the wealthy family now!” he teased Zhang Xingchuan. “I’m interviewing you: you can’t be a live-in son-in-law anymore. Do you feel regretful?”
He casually picked up a banana and handed it over as a microphone, pressing the banana tip against Zhang Xingchuan’s chin.
Zhang Xingchuan was prodded by the banana, stepped back, and said helplessly, “Do you have to be so mischievous?”
“…” Tan Xiao hadn’t even realized the issue. He was just teasing. He laughed and immediately used the banana to poke Zhang Xingchuan’s mouth.
Just then, the auntie walked by from the living room at a distance.
With no one around, Tan Xiao could be quite mischievous. But with someone present, his face instantly turned red. He hurriedly took back the banana, sneakily watched if the auntie left, and whether she’d seen him prodding the CEO with a banana.
A banana couldn’t hurt anyone anyway. Zhang Xingchuan could enjoy the joke.
He pretended nothing had happened and continued the interview: “CEO Zhang, please answer: missing the chance to marry into a wealthy family, what are your thoughts?”
Zhang Xingchuan adopted the dignified bearing of someone being interviewed by financial news media. “Regarding this question, I’ve actually been paying attention all along. Currently everything is very stable. Should there be further developments, I will issue a timely announcement through official channels—parenthesis, my and my wife’s WeChat conversation box, end parenthesis. Thank you.”
Tan Xiao was lost in admiration. How was his entrepreneur husband such a master of universal nonsense?
He glanced over. The auntie had already gone into the yard.
“Do you want me to drive you to school later?” Zhang Xingchuan asked. Tan Xiao was going to school today to meet his advisor.
“I’ll ride my bike,” Tan Xiao said. “The weather’s so nice—perfect for cycling.”
Golden October was Beijing’s most comfortable season each year.
Zhang Xingchuan was planning to buy himself a bike too so he could go cycling with his wife on his free time.
Tan Xiao looked at him with an expression that meant mischief.
Zhang Xingchuan glanced at that banana and warned, “Don’t try anything. I need to go out.”
He spoke too late. Tan Xiao had already brought the peeled banana to his lips.
A minute later, Zhang Xingchuan got up to grab Tan Xiao, but Tan Xiao had been prepared. He bounced up, quickly dashed to the entrance, grabbed his backpack, and ran.
Zhang Xingchuan didn’t chase him. In his current condition, he couldn’t even leave—he had to quickly hide and take care of things.
Through the window, he watched Tan Xiao in the yard, pushing his bike to leave.
Zhang Xingchuan’s anger had nowhere to vent. He resentfully made a middle finger gesture at him.
Tan Xiao saw it from outside, sitting on the bike, both hands beside his ears making a little pig face, then rode away.
Having studied at Qingda for many years, Tan Xiao was familiar with the neighboring school. He arrived at his advisor’s office, met with them, had a pleasant discussion—nothing major really. When he got back, he’d need to get himself in order and prepare to enter the program next month.
Coming out from saying goodbye to his advisor, he sent Zhang Xingchuan a message: No problems. Getting ready to go play.
Zhang Xingchuan replied: The auntie will make you lunch at home. Come eat. Don’t eat junk food outside.
Tan Xiao had originally planned to eat some junk, got caught, and sheepishly replied: Very paternal vibes.
Zhang Xingchuan’s vibes were even more paternal: Zai zai! Would I hurt you? This is all for your own good!
He even sent a crying-soybean emoji.
Tan Xiao thought he’d die laughing.
It was still early. Tan Xiao played around Qingda for a while longer, then reluctantly rode back.
Because he’d been so busy this year, Zhang Xingchuan’s flower-growing endeavor hadn’t progressed. The peony bulbs he’d planted last autumn got neglected. By the time he remembered, they were all dead.
After National Day, with some free time, he remained undeterred and bought a new batch of peony bulbs. Following instructions carefully, he planted them in the garden.
Tan Xiao rode his little bike back home. Outside the yard, beyond the railing, he saw Zhang Xingchuan crouched in front of the flower bed, tinkering with his difficult flowers again.
Oh? He came back at noon to eat? Without saying so. If Tan Xiao had known he’d be back, he wouldn’t have stayed at school to play with others.
Tan Xiao parked his bike outside the gate and gently pushed it open, started running, took a few steps behind Zhang Xingchuan, and was about to jump on his back when Zhang Xingchuan stood up.
Wait? Tan Xiao sensed something was off. Emergency brake—too late. Using all his strength to pull back, he still couldn’t stop himself. He crashed straight into “Zhang Xingchuan’s” back.
The old man who’d just stood up from looking at the peony bulbs hadn’t steadied himself when he got rammed hard, tumbling forward, his head-first planting into the flower bed.
Tan Xiao: “…”
Ms. Jiang, who’d heard the commotion and come out: “…”
Old Zhang, upside down in the flower soil: “…”
To better plant peonies, his wonderful eldest son Zhang Xingchuan hadn’t just replaced the soil, he’d also applied manure to it. The fully decomposed fertilizer actually didn’t have much smell.
Ms. Jiang sneakily looked at Tan Xiao. Eight months ago, she’d seen this boy in a video. She and Old Zhang had made a surprise return to China without telling him—partly to see what this boy was about.
“That’s manure!” Old Zhang was extracted, raging and shaking his hair repeatedly.
Ms. Jiang half-heartedly comforted him: “No smell. Not stinky.”
Old Zhang was like a broken record: “It’s manure! Manure!”
This old man’s hair was remarkably thick. Tan Xiao thought: No wonder his programmer husband isn’t going bald. He’s inherited excellent genes from his father’s side.
“I’m sorry. I mistook you for someone,” he apologized first.
Old Zhang and Zhang Xingchuan had similar hair thickness, similar build, just a bit shorter. Their frontal features weren’t very similar, but their profiles looked almost identical. From across the railing with him crouched by the flowers, Tan Xiao genuinely thought it was Zhang Xingchuan.
Tan Xiao was curious. “What is manure?”
Actually, Ms. Jiang didn’t know either. She and Tan Xiao watched Old Zhang together.
Old Zhang said, “Pig dung, horse dung, cow dung.”
“…” Ms. Jiang and Tan Xiao silently stepped back one pace.
Zhang Xingchuan’s flower-growing skills were a bit lacking, but he was good at other things. The CEO’s execution power was always super strong.
After handling his work in the morning, he contacted a classmate for connections and was finally recommended a lawyer from an international offshore law firm—a top-tier lawyer recognized throughout the Asia-Pacific offshore services sector. A Qingda Law School senior sister named Hua.
Zhang Xingchuan looked up Lawyer Hua’s information and judged her to be a very reliable expert.
Lawyer Hua took his video consultation call.
She’d heard a brief summary from the intermediary and knew it involved a wealthy family. She’d recently spearheaded a sixty-billion-dollar cross-border group offshore debt restructuring project. How wealthy could a mere wealthy family be? The party was just a college student with a low inheritance rank. Likely just a case of romantic obstruction triggering rebellious feelings.
Only because of the personal connection and being a Qingda alumni did she give Zhang Xingchuan the privilege of skipping the queue.
Since the party’s father was still alive, wanting to renounce inheritance rights was legally meaningless. Simply put, inheritance only mattered once the property became an estate. Then he could make a statement and get it notarized.
If the party had a strong desire to leave the family, what could be done was renounce trust beneficiary rights.
Lawyer Hua’s interest in this case was genuinely low. Handling rebellious young master/mistress cases was boring. Dozens of hours of work, fees capping at a few million Hong Kong dollars—money was nothing, but mainly it was too simple. She’d get no sense of achievement.
“Lawyer Hua,” Zhang Xingchuan said, “I’m going to introduce the party’s situation next. You… should probably prepare mentally.”
Lawyer Hua nodded. Past fifty with still-abundant energy but extremely tight schedule, she was getting a bit impatient with Zhang Xingchuan’s teasing.
Zhang Xingchuan felt strange too. He’d genuinely never been a live-in son-in-law before, suddenly getting a weird opportunity to “show off wealth” by proxy. Awkwardly sweating like a soybean.
“The party is a Qingda doctoral candidate of this year,” Zhang Xingchuan said.
Lawyer Hua: “Oh.”
Zhang Xingchuan said, “His father is Lorenzo Doria.”
Lawyer Hua froze for several seconds.
She blinked rapidly and said, “Wait—is that the Lorenzo Doria I know?”
Zhang Xingchuan said, “Yes.”
He explained the actual situation. The trust fund held roughly seven trillion yuan in RMB—the Doria family’s shared wealth pool. Tan Xiao held an entry ticket to it and didn’t want it anymore.
Lawyer Hua was in Hong Kong. She laughed there.
“When’s convenient? I’ll fly to Beijing. Let’s communicate in person,” she said.