Chapter 38#

Yan Zishu’s chest gave a small, involuntary lurch. He pulled his wrist away entirely. “All this talk of dying and living — don’t go tempting fate.”

In truth, he genuinely didn’t know what became of Fu Jinchi in the end. He himself would die; as for the villain — the villain’s fate was unresolved.

Though Fu Jinchi had once said something about disasters lasting a thousand years. Perhaps he would go on causing trouble for a long time yet.

Somewhere in the world, in some corner.

*

Work hours hadn’t resumed yet. Yan Zishu thought for a moment, then sat down, maintaining a distance that was correctly social.

The sky was a clear, high blue, the sunlight warm but carrying the first edge of autumn chill. The small rooftop garden had taken on a deep, layered quality — richly dark and still.

At this time of year, the flowering plants were few. But scattered through the greenery were carnelian-red leaves: deep red against dark green, lush and vivid.

Fu Jinchi was sitting with one leg crossed over the other, and began airing his grievances to Yan Zishu in a tone of theatrical injury: “Director Yan, do you know — the entire company has been cold-shouldering me.”

Yan Zishu thought privately, with perfect honesty: serves you right, doesn’t it.

Fu Jinchi continued with wistful reproach: “It’s all right. I’ve been used to this kind of treatment for a long time. When I was young, I remember…”

“That’s enough.” Yan Zishu raised a hand and cut him off, giving him a look that clearly said you’re laying it on too thick. “You can work that on an unworldly university student and they might actually believe it. Saying it to me, I can only think you’re taking advantage and then playing the martyr. Board Director Fu.”

Fu Jinchi smiled. “That young person from just now — does he count as your ‘romantic rival’? If I were to poach him away—”

An unexpected probe. Yan Zishu was quick: “Don’t interfere in things that aren’t your business. I don’t have any romantic rivals.”

He added, after a beat: “Whatever you’re planning — don’t do it in my name. It has nothing to do with me.”

“Fine, understood.” Fu Jinchi replied with easy indifference. “Then at least help me sort out the office.”

This time Yan Zishu nodded. “I’ll need to run it by CEO Fu first.”

*

“How is the company holding up overall? What’s the impact on everyone’s day-to-day work?” Yan Zishu asked.

Ben gave a pessimistic answer: “Like a market on a chaotic day. Normal business is definitely taking a hit.”

Ben used the opening to talk more freely. He brought up the spring auction preparations going badly and other grievances — it was less like reporting information than like airing complaints. Yan Zishu could hear the subtext: if Yan Zishu found himself a better situation elsewhere, Ben was ready to follow.

Ben’s mood seemed to reflect a broader anxiety among the ordinary employees — nervous, unsettled, not knowing which way things were going.

It might be an exaggeration to say so, but when Yan Zishu had been properly in his role, he’d been a genuine stabilizing presence — work that passed through his hands was organized and coherent, which meant Fu Weishan could handle things in an organized and coherent way, with composure.

Now the company was turbulent, factional conflicts both visible and hidden. The newly promoted chief assistant was deferential to a fault, agreeing with everything Fu Weishan said. And perversely, Fu Weishan was finding this uncomfortable — Fu Jinchi’s assessment of him as ambitious but lacking ability, reaching beyond his grasp, was, if one was being precise, rather accurate. Send away the capable majordomo, and the master of the house started scrambling on his own. Complicated relationships piling up all at once, never quite knowing which hand to use.

One only had to look at how often he was slamming things in his office — did a CEO clearly at his wit’s end inspire subordinates to work steadily, or make them feel the company might not survive the week?

Yan Zishu said only: “Whatever you need, you can go directly to HR. Have them coordinate with IT.”

Fu Jinchi said: “But you could also take me there yourself. That would be more efficient, wouldn’t it?”

Yan Zishu paused, then conceded with a slight exhale of resignation — he had been quietly trying to offload the task.

Setting up an OA account for someone with no official position and nothing to work on was, after all, an awkward matter in its own right.

The IT department representative, as predicted, looked uncomfortable, scratched his head, and spent a long time making calls before eventually agreeing — though the account that came out was essentially a shell, with no approval authorities, capable of viewing only the publicly shared materials on the company intranet.

In practice, the access permissions were probably lower than a typical intern’s. Fu Jinchi was indifferent.

“And a printer…”

“And office supplies…”

Yan Zishu took a measured breath and pressed a notepad and pen into his hands. “Whatever else you need — do me the favor of writing it all down in one go.”

Fu Jinchi twirled the pen and smiled: “I know you’re busy, you have a lot on, and you have a temper about it too — I’ve experienced that firsthand today.”

Yan Zishu hadn’t gotten a word in yet before his phone rang. He shot Fu Jinchi a look for the slander, and hurried off.

*

Although he had been assigned an office in the manner of someone receiving a handout, Fu Jinchi had no actual work to do at Yinghan Group.

But for quite some stretch after the shareholders’ meeting, he turned up at Yinghan every day, went through the motions of clocking in, and occupied his office until the end of the day.

Pointless, obviously — sitting around doing nothing all day, then leaving on the dot. It was inherently farcical, and the employees found it both amusing and baffling.

The gossip channels refilled with speculative energy: what was his angle? What did he want?

For those like Yan Zishu and the others who were in and out of the CEO’s suite constantly, reading Fu Weishan’s increasingly unhappy expression was becoming part of the daily routine.

People joked darkly that the illegitimate son must have some deeply sinister motive — was he trying to stress Fu Weishan into some kind of breakdown?

To be fair, in the vast company headquarters with its hundreds of staff, a few people could be found who were prepared to extend something warmer toward Fu Jinchi.

Beyond Ji Chen, who was always being unsuspectingly drawn in by Fu Jinchi’s deliberate performances of hardship, there was also Fu Xiaoyu — mainly out of regard for Third Uncle.

Fu Xiaoyu even relayed a message: “My dad says don’t rush, take your time — there’ll be a suitable position for you.”

Fu Jinchi’s smile carried a cold undertone, but he said: “I understand. I’m not in any hurry.”

But Fu Xiaoyu, true to form, had no kind words for Ji Chen: “Hey, Jinchi-ge, why do you keep hanging around with that effeminate one? Worried about losing face?”

Fu Jinchi replied mildly: “Really? I think he’s rather appealing.”

Fu Xiaoyu shook his head, and with the confidence of someone who had already established where Fu Jinchi’s preferences lay, expressed his profound noncomprehension: “Is it a gay thing? All you lot into that type?”

Fu Jinchi gave him a cold sidelong glance: “Men have their own kinds of appeal. Want to try and find out?”

*

Yan Zishu actually found one thing about Fu Jinchi genuinely impressive: the man could be entirely indifferent to other people’s opinions, and no matter what was said behind his back, he simply did as he pleased.

It seemed that as long as he himself wasn’t embarrassed, everyone else was welcome to supply the awkwardness.

Though even while they were now under the same roof, Yan Zishu didn’t actually have that many opportunities to encounter Fu Jinchi during the workday.

After all, Fu Jinchi was there to pass the time, and left on the dot at end of day. Yan Zishu’s overtime habits were deeply established.

After leaving the office, each went their separate way.

They met in private only occasionally — nowhere near the level of living together.

With how busy things had been, they hadn’t even had one of those occasional meetings in a while.

*

So on the day Fu Jinchi came to the apartment with his habitual ease, he once again brought up Yan Zishu being busy, high-strung, and tetchy.

Yan Zishu ignored the teasing, poured him tea, set it on the table with a slight thud, and decided to simply own the accusation — while inwardly wondering how Fu Jinchi managed to have this much free time.

When did Fu Jinchi ever see to his own business interests? The hotel, the tea house, the bar?

Even allowing for a villain’s plot armor, anyone with a modicum of professional responsibility — how did they manage to be this idle?

As a rational-minded person, Yan Zishu eventually couldn’t stop himself from asking, in the one setting where he felt he could ask such a thing.

Fu Jinchi, leaning against the headboard, looked amused: “Of course — I hire professional managers.”

“You leave everything to other people?” Yan Zishu didn’t follow. “You’re not at all concerned?”

He understood perfectly well what professional management meant. They served like stewards and housekeepers, acting on behalf of an owner. But the trouble was, owners who became habitual absentees tended to end up being managed by their own managers — deceived, kept in the dark. That wasn’t good governance.

Professional hazard on his part: the moment he heard of an absent employer, his mind produced a catalogue of risks. Embezzlement, concealment, diverting company resources for personal gain…

Fu Jinchi’s response stopped him: “And what of it?”

Yan Zishu looked confused.

Fu Jinchi said, with perfect ease: “If someone can keep things running at a reasonable standard, that’s sufficient. I don’t have much in the way of ambition.”

Yan Zishu suppressed the impulse to comment on the no ambition line, and understood: this was probably genuinely true. His interest lay elsewhere.

A person’s energy and capacity were always finite. If you wanted to do good, you couldn’t afford to do too much bad. The reverse was equally true.

The person in front of him had opted to invest the full force of his will in doing harmful things — which left no room for business ambitions.

Was that it?

Fu Jinchi moved toward him again, not permitting further reflection: “You’re asking about all this — are you finally ready to discuss a prenuptial agreement?”

Yan Zishu smiled and pushed him back: “I don’t come out ahead in any prenuptial agreement with you. Why would I marry you.”

*

After a moment, Fu Jinchi spoke again: “Fu Weishan isn’t actually so much better than me, you know. Ambitious beyond his ability, always grasping at more than he can hold — it’s only the accident of having decent parents that got him where he is. Too bad they’re both gone now. Without you watching over the company all those years, even just maintaining the status quo would have been difficult for him.”

This was something Yan Zishu could not actually dispute. It was simply true. In the original plot, even though his character was a cannon fodder, he had been Fu Weishan’s most effective tool, the instrument of all his victories. Now even that tool had gone blunt, ticking through the days in a fog of indifference. A regrettable decline.

Fu Jinchi then moved on to exchanging information: “Though your employer is, as a matter of fact, putting marriage on the agenda now.”

“He hasn’t said anything about marriage.” Yan Zishu said. “Third Uncle has just been introducing him to some potential matches recently.”

“And has Fu Weishan agreed to meet any of them?”

“Not agreed to any. Even if he does meet them, it’s only on the pretext of discussing business.”

“You’re also a man. Do you really believe that line? No possibility that seeing someone leads to actually considering marriage?”

“He—” Yan Zishu couldn’t exactly refute this. He wasn’t sure whether to be more impressed by Fu Jinchi’s understanding of human nature in general, or of Fu Weishan specifically.

“There is nothing that money can’t buy.” Fu Jinchi said. “If there is, it only means the price hasn’t been set high enough.”

“That’s quite a thing to say.” Yan Zishu gave a faint laugh. “You’re that certain?”

“You don’t believe it? Suppose I wanted to buy you. You’d refuse at first — but starting from one hundred million, bidding upward…” Fu Jinchi said it with complete seriousness, “…keep adding. Up to one billion, five billion, ten billion. At some point, wouldn’t some number loosen your resolve?”

“Probably.” Yan Zishu considered it honestly, then acknowledged. “You have a point. It’s just a shame I’m not worth a hundred billion.”

Fu Jinchi brushed the back of his finger against the teardrop mole at the corner of Yan Zishu’s eye: “You’re priceless.”