Chapter 55#

Whether it was Fu Jinchi’s own choices in clothes or in life — whether they suited him or not — was not for outsiders to comment on.

Yan Zishu thought: he was that outsider now. Correction — he had always been an outsider.

All of it was fine, really. He made a circuit of the preview exhibition hall. This year’s spring auction was, as Ben had described, superficially passable but riddled with small problems when you looked closer.

He went to the service desk and asked for a copy of the auction catalogue, intending to take it home and review it properly.

The young staff member wasn’t sure what to do — catalogues cost something to print, they weren’t just handout flyers. He was no longer an employee, and he didn’t look like the kind of client who’d be bidding — so was she supposed to give him one?

The exhibition hall manager came over before she could decide. “What are you standing there for? Director Yan asked for a catalogue, give him one.”

The staff member quickly produced a copy and handed it over with both hands.

The hall manager then relayed a message: Third Uncle Fu would like to invite him for tea at a nearby teahouse.

The area was lined with shops and storefronts, and a two-story teahouse stood out among them. The air carried a faint, subtly bitter fragrance. Outside the windows, a clean breeze moved through the trees. The setting cultivated an air of elegance quite at odds with the smell of money — which did not reflect the reality.

They settled into seats. The scene felt familiar. Third Uncle was warmly avuncular: “Little Yan — I hear Xiaoyu said something out of line to you recently? If he was a bit rough, don’t hold it against him. He’s still young.” As though this were some remote thing from the distant past.

Yan Zishu stretched his lips into what might be described as a smile, and thought: there’s something he wants to use me for.

He gave his polished, hollow response and said it was nothing.

“The economy isn’t doing so well these days,” Third Uncle said, sliding a cup of tea across the table. “I hear you still haven’t found a new position? To tell you the truth, you shouldn’t have rushed to resign in the first place. Young people are always too impulsive.”

Said as though Yan Zishu had made the decision freely — not been coerced out, stripped of work, and blacklisted through the industry.

Yan Zishu withdrew his attention from examining the tea label and took a sip. “What advice would you have for me?”

Third Uncle, noting the slight lack of deference, continued regardless: “In my view, Yinghan’s approach has never been unreasonable. Especially given that you were trained and cultivated with Fu family resources — a talented person in whom we’ve invested. Even if you made a hasty decision and left in a moment of impulse, that’s hardly an unforgivable mistake, is it? If you’ve had second thoughts about it, I can put in a word, and you can come back on the same terms as before.”

“I’m not sure CEO Fu would agree?” Yan Zishu noted.

“I’ll do the brokering. He still owes me some face.” Third Uncle was composed and confident.

So there it was — both carrot and stick, with Third Uncle contriving to appear as though he were graciously solving a problem for someone who was desperate to come back.

Third Uncle talked at length. Yan Zishu simply listened, and slowly discerned the underlying structure.

What Third Uncle wanted, it turned out, was to take things from Fu Weishan — that much had been obvious to everyone for some time. To accomplish it, he had formed a temporary alliance with Fu Jinchi. But he couldn’t fully control this younger man. And in his anxiety over this, Third Uncle had noticed, with unexpected interest, the influence Yan Zishu appeared to hold over both of them.

For various reasons, Yan Zishu had resigned under duress, which Third Uncle viewed as a perfectly timed opportunity to bring him over to his own camp.

Make use of everything available.

The old man truly never ran out of ingenious ideas.

Though it wasn’t entirely without logic. Yan Zishu was, in different senses, both Fu Weishan’s man and Fu Jinchi’s man — professionally, he knew Fu Weishan’s affairs inside and out; personally, he had been, in ways no one had publicized, involved with Fu Jinchi. Whether this arrangement could withstand scrutiny was another matter, but as a kind of talent — there really was no one else like him.

Third Uncle’s thinking was: if he could secure Yan Zishu’s loyalty, he would have leverage over both brothers.

Being a seasoned pragmatist, Third Uncle proposed what he considered a fair price.

Yan Zishu picked up the paper bag with the catalogue, stood, and said he’d think it over.

Third Uncle, all warmth, said there was no need to see him out, and told him to mind the traffic on the way home.

The chair was barely cold before Third Uncle summoned Fu Xiaoyu.

Teahouses were not exactly Fu Xiaoyu’s kind of venue, and he came in with visible impatience, half-seated, asking what the matter was.

Third Uncle looked at his son’s slack and indifferent face and felt a deep, private exasperation. But if he said anything, his wife would immediately produce her three-moves response, so he only sighed, and reminded himself that however useless the boy was, he still had to be guided by hand.

He knocked on the table: “Stop spending so much time with Fu Jinchi. Keep it cordial on the surface, but that’s enough. Did you hear me?”

“Why are you suddenly lecturing me about this?” Fu Xiaoyu didn’t understand the reasoning. He wasn’t particularly fond of Fu Jinchi’s company, but the man had been generous enough with his favors — Fu Jinchi had most recently introduced him to a popular young actress, and Fu Xiaoyu was currently very happy in that direction. “I’m not even that close to him… Besides, isn’t your relationship with him quite good right now?”

Third Uncle fixed him with a look of deep frustration. “What do you think he is, exactly?”

“You mean Jinchi-ge.” Fu Xiaoyu thought about it. “I wouldn’t say I particularly like him. He has a way of being slightly frightening — hard to put my finger on why. But wasn’t it you who said that when it comes to family, what matters isn’t whether you like them, but whether there’s something to gain? Based on that — he can bring me benefits at the moment, so I come and go with him. And we do seem quite friendly on the surface.”

“Convenient, now you remember what I said.” Third Uncle made a disparaging sound. “But with that brain of yours, you’ve probably been sold by him several times already and didn’t even know it. I’ll tell you again: his ambitions are too large. Even I might not be able to hold onto him. With someone like that, you watch and report — everything he says to you, everything he does, you come to me. Understood?”

“You can’t hold onto him? Really?” Fu Xiaoyu scratched his head. “But you were just saying — Li Chang’an went under, and now you can get hold of the shares he’d pledged. Jinchi-ge helped you a lot with that.”

“That’s exactly why I can’t trust him.” Third Uncle was teaching patiently. “You think about it: if he could take a cut for himself, why wouldn’t he? The very fact that he appears not to want anything, the nicer he is to you — the larger whatever he’s after must be. I keep worrying he’s letting me have shares today so he can reach for the director’s chair tomorrow.”

“Fine, fine, I get it.” Fu Xiaoyu found the logic obvious enough to be uninteresting, and it went in one ear and out the other. “He’s not a good person. But you’ve already got the shares — so you’re the one calling the shots. Even if he wants to be chairman, you don’t have to vote for him. Nothing’s going to come of it. I’m going.”

Third Uncle watched his simple-natured son and gave up trying to say more. “One more thing I need you to do.”

*

When Yan Zishu got home, he finally found a message — someone willing to adopt the dog.

The woman was middle-aged. After a brief exchange, she showed up a few days later with a carrier to take the dog.

Yan Zishu had been working with it — training it to eat on schedule, use the right spot for the bathroom, not be afraid of people, adapt to a more socialized existence, all so it might have an easier time with a new owner. When the woman arrived, though, the dog seemed to know something was wrong, and retreated under the bed and refused to come out no matter how he coaxed it.

Reach for it and it yelped.

The woman stood watching. “Why not call it by its name? Didn’t you give it a name?”

Yan Zishu shook his head. “I never did. The new owner should name it.”

If he named it, there would be another thread. He was afraid of how hard it would be to cut.

“It won’t come out,” the woman said, thinking it over. “What if you poke it with a broom? That might get it moving?”

“You’d frighten it,” Yan Zishu said.

The woman clicked her tongue. “We were planning to keep it at the factory to watch the place. They say local dogs are good at guarding. This one just seems too timid.”

He was certainly not going to poke it with a broom. He said they didn’t have one, and when his phone rang, he answered it, stood up, brushed the dust off his knees, and said: “I’m sorry — something’s come up. I apologize for your wasted trip. It might be better to try again another day.” He said this while answering the call and — none too politely — ushering the woman out.

She was gently deposited on the other side of the closed door, bewildered. She made a sound of mild offense. “What kind of person is this.”

She wasn’t entirely wrong, of course — people kept dogs as guard animals all the time, which was exactly what she wanted. But Yan Zishu cared about this one, and the timing also happened to coincide with seeing the name on the caller ID, which further dampened his mood. His voice came out without particular warmth: “What is it now?”

Fu Xiaoyu asked: “My dad said to come back to work. Any progress? Have you thought about it?”

Yan Zishu kept his tone flat: “Still thinking. I’ll let you know.”

“What kind of attitude is that? I’m telling you, this offer doesn’t stay open forever. You know you can’t find anything else.”

“Is this really what your father told you to say? Is that the full message?”

“What do you mean? What else am I supposed to say?”

“From what I know of your father, he probably feels he’s the elder party and it would be beneath him to personally press me for an answer, so he sent you to be his spokesman. But even your father knows to put on some kind of show — at least he apologizes. Are you going to start by apologizing, or not?”

Fu Xiaoyu swore and hung up.

He was mortified, because Yan Zishu had been exactly right. Third Uncle had instructed his son to offer some token words of apology to smooth things along and get Yan Zishu back — if the old man himself could manage pleasantries, why couldn’t the son say two words?

Fu Xiaoyu complained that these old-timers all seemed to be clairvoyant. Which wasn’t quite right — his own moral sensibility simply operated differently from his father’s. Third Uncle at least knew his son had behaved problematically. Fu Xiaoyu genuinely didn’t see what he had done wrong.

After some time, he rang again: “I’ll stop bothering you, I swear. And I’ve got someone new now anyway — so are we good?”

From Fu Xiaoyu’s perspective, saying this had already been a form of capitulation. That should be enough.

Yan Zishu: “Give it a bit more time. I have a personal matter to deal with.” And hung up.

When Fu Xiaoyu called again, sounding like he wanted to start an argument, Yan Zishu didn’t pick up.

He really did have something to deal with — he needed to find a better person to adopt the dog.

After dragging this out for a while, he eventually found a young woman who was interested. Two years out of university, living on her own. She assessed well on both attitude and financial capacity. This time Yan Zishu coaxed the dog out first, then let her know to come over.

While the young woman was still on her way, the dog was playing with him without a care, which made Yan Zishu feel more villainous than any actual villain.

But villains had to reveal their true faces eventually. The dog was put in the carrier, and seeming to sense what was happening, howled as though the world were ending.

In the end, there was no option but to drape one of Yan Zishu’s shirts over the top of the carrier. The dog cried itself out, and quieted.

Then it heard the carrier being lifted, and started again immediately. The young woman’s eyes had filled up, and now she began crying harder than the dog. “Animals have feelings too. It’s like it knows it doesn’t want to leave you. Can’t you keep it?”

Yan Zishu wavered, but thinking through his own circumstances, held firm: it really wasn’t possible.

He had been tempted to yield more than once. But if something happened to him suddenly, what then — leave a dog to starve in the apartment?

Before she left, the woman said again and again that he could come visit whenever he had the time.

Yan Zishu thought: who knew whether that would ever be an option. He took her contact details, said he’d transfer money for vaccinations, and sent fifty thousand.

The woman was stunned. “Sir, did you add an extra zero? This is several months of my salary.”

Yan Zishu only said: “Having a dog complicates everything — moving, finding housing, the cost of care. Be good to it. And even if you can’t keep it someday, don’t abandon it. Find it another home.”

She promised, and left. By the time he could no longer hear the dog crying from downstairs, his eyes had gone red. He felt the emptiness beside him, and the emptiness inside him. He couldn’t account for what he’d done to deserve this — to go through another loss, another severance of feeling, at a time like this.

The quiet ache drove him back out to the balcony with a cigarette. One after another, through the night.

He told himself, with dry self-mockery: people really were ridiculous creatures. When he and Fu Jinchi had ended things, he hadn’t felt particularly much pain. Because that outcome had been his own doing — to go back and feel sorry about it would be nothing but self-pity, entirely deserved.

But it wasn’t until he lost something he loved again that his composure finally cracked just slightly — he found himself daring, for once, to look at the wound properly, quietly, in the cover of night — bruised upon bruised, bewildered and aching in ways he couldn’t quite name.