Chapter 57#

When fate approached a turning point, it probably felt something like riding a roller coaster. The ascent was slow, laborious, the creeping pace making it hard to stay alert. Then, once the peak was cleared, the plunge came without negotiation — the danger exposed all at once, and the car still had to complete its arc by inertia, throwing every passenger through the full weight of the drop, leaving everyone dizzy and weightless, screaming in waves.

Inside Yinghan Group, no one was literally screaming — but when this turning point arrived, the emotional upheaval among the staff was probably not so different from the roller coaster. Everyone was on edge, uneasy, full of suspicion and dread.

After the spring auction concluded, the usual pattern was a relatively quiet stretch of business.

Although there had been considerable turbulence at the senior management level this year, for most employees, having finished one phase of intense work, this was the natural moment to exhale. Department lunches, group photos posted to social media, the manager saying a few encouraging words while everyone responded with the requisite expressions of gratitude and dedication. Such was the rhythm of working life.

Until that Friday — the day Fu Weishan was originally scheduled to return from his business trip.

This also happened to be the end of Yan Zishu’s first full week back.

Director He, being small-minded, had been quietly anxious that the CEO might feel some residual attachment toward his former assistant upon seeing him again. He had already prepared a stockpile of subtly disparaging remarks to deliver to the boss at the right moment, to establish the contrast.

The company sent a car and driver to pick Fu Weishan up from the high-speed rail station that morning.

Noon came and went, with no sign of him. Then, mid-afternoon, the driver rang back in a flurry — he wasn’t entirely sure what had happened — saying only that CEO Fu had barely stepped out of the station when several people in uniform had escorted him into their vehicle. Joint operation: police, customs, and related agencies.

They had shown proper credentials. They had followed proper procedures. Fu Weishan had had no grounds to refuse, and was taken away accordingly.

From the short video the driver had managed to capture from a distance — and immediately transmitted back — Fu Weishan clearly hadn’t anticipated this. But he was composed enough: past the initial shock, he settled into a cold and imperious demand for his lawyer to be present, which bore a certain resemblance to how such scenes unfolded in television dramas.

So Yan Zishu, having only just returned, was spared the awkwardness of a face-to-face encounter with Fu Weishan — because the man had gone directly into custody.

Nobody had expected this. The boss himself was the one taken in.

The driver brought back the other staff members who had been on the trip, who arrived pulling their luggage and exchanging baffled looks.

Most of the company’s reaction was one of stunned disbelief. Director He’s desk phone and personal mobile were both immediately buried under incoming calls.

When Yan Zishu went to the CEO’s suite to help locate Fu Weishan’s passport, Director He was already drowning — one call ending, the next one starting.

He looked up at Yan Zishu, still standing there. “What is it?”

Yan Zishu kept the smile in his eyes noncommittal. “Do you need a hand?”

Director He pulled a face and rolled his eyes. “No. Can’t you see I’m busy?”

“Fair enough,” Yan Zishu said pleasantly. “Just letting you know — I’ll head back down then?”

Director He stared at him, as though reproaching him for abandoning his post: “Wait right there! With something this serious happening to the company, why is everyone rushing off? — You — go tell the secretarial office nobody leaves, either.”

“Got it.” Yan Zishu turned, and then, over his shoulder: “By the way — legal’s already been in touch with the firm. Attorney Wu is on his way over. Helen will receive him if you’re still tied up. Should I also tell PR to stay for overtime?”

Director He, only then remembering the PR director, felt a small collapse of pride. “Yes. Go arrange it.”

Director He was under an immense amount of pressure. Since taking up the role, he had been perpetually on the verge of losing his footing — always the tightrope, always teetering.

Everyone felt he wasn’t as capable as his predecessor — thorough, responsive, handling everything with ease.

When Fu Weishan had been here, he’d been ground down by constant criticism. Now Fu Weishan was gone, and somehow he was even more anxious. What kind of situation was this.

But the calls kept coming, giving Director He no time even to feel sorry for himself.

With the company’s most senior person in custody, someone should naturally be stepping up to hold things together. Through the afternoon, several vice presidents came by — but each with their own agenda, and with everyone pulling in different directions, their collective effort was less than nothing. They only gave Director He a headache.

Various senior staff kept drifting through the CEO’s suite throughout the afternoon — apparently wanting to confirm with their own eyes that what they’d heard was true, that the CEO really hadn’t come back, that they hadn’t got their dates mixed up, that this wasn’t some cruel April Fools’ joke that had been delivered two months late.

Of everyone in the building, only a very small number of people had any idea what had happened today.

Yan Zishu was, in some sense, half of one. But he was only half because the investigation unit had done nothing more than ask him questions, and he had done nothing but answer them. He had been able to infer the general direction of the wind, but hadn’t anticipated consequences this severe.

It was like a spark falling onto dried leaves. Everything had ignited and consumed itself with extraordinary speed.

*

Yan Zishu’s reminder to Director He to keep the PR team on overtime proved, indeed, to have been timely.

Less than two hours after Fu Weishan was taken away, there came the familiar situation that had a tendency to trigger Jack’s cardiac events.

It was the evening traffic peak, the time when engagement was at its highest across every platform. Trending topics began to appear, climbing in rapid succession:

#YinghanGroupMoneyLaunderingStorm#

#YinghanGroupSmugglingAllegations#

The substance: Yinghan Group had again fallen into crisis, facing allegations including money laundering, smuggling, and — most notably — the claim that they had illegally facilitated the removal of cultural artifacts from the country. The company’s legal representative, chairman, and executive president Fu Weishan had been taken away by public security and customs enforcement agencies in full public view for questioning.

A boulder into still water. The wave was immediate and enormous.

It was obvious that even as Fu Weishan was being taken away, content accounts and bot networks had already been ready to go — the framing was definitive before any facts were confirmed. Someone with malicious intent was behind this, and had been ready to move the moment the opportunity arose. The pattern resembled what had happened before the New Year, only this time the momentum was considerably more overwhelming.

Within the surge of public opinion, there were a few faint voices calling for patience — pointing out that being a suspect was not the same as being convicted, that everyone should await the official investigation before drawing conclusions. These voices were drowned out almost immediately in the crowd’s enthusiasm.

It was hard to blame the crowd for being extreme. Yinghan had spent the better part of the year accumulating negative press. The memory of the Ma Trading Association money laundering incident was still recent.

The accumulated weight had reached its breaking point. Most people were predisposed toward the worst interpretation.

If terms like money laundering or smuggling were dry enough to leave some people unmoved, the accompanying allegation — that Yinghan had helped other parties smuggle cultural artifacts out of the country — struck a very different nerve.

Cultural artifacts, heritage objects, national treasures: these topics had a way of triggering straightforward patriotic sentiment in people who might otherwise feel no particular connection to a business scandal.

Was there substance to it? Was this rumor?

Every day without a definitive statement was another day of rising public outrage.

Director He — never mind the general public — was also urgently, anxiously asking: had the company actually done this or not?

Director He hadn’t been in the role long enough. On this particular question, Yan Zishu had considerably more clarity.

Director He watched with a certain deflated feeling as Yan Zishu efficiently located the materials from the spring auction of two years prior, placed them on the desk, and spread them open.

With the door of the CEO’s suite closed and only the two of them inside, Yan Zishu lowered his voice, fingertip moving across the page: “This instrument — Song of Pines Over Ten Thousand Valleys — is regarded as a masterpiece by the Tang dynasty Leishi workshops. The soundboard is paulownia, the back is Chinese fir, and it bears imperial inscriptions from the Qing dynasty. Two years ago it sold at auction for close to two hundred million yuan — at the time it set a record for ancient qin sales. It has been in our exhibition hall ever since.”

Director He knew, in a general way, that many headline-making lots were largely theatrical. He hadn’t thought much about the specifics. “So you’re saying—”

“The collector who purchased Song of Pines is a Chinese-American. But under our cultural heritage protection laws, this instrument is a classified artifact and cannot be taken overseas. So he bought it, but couldn’t take it away.” Yan Zishu explained. “He’s a personal friend of CEO Fu’s, so Yinghan offered to store it for him for three years. I’m afraid he never let go of the idea of getting it out.”

Director He felt a cold sweat beginning. “So they were caught trying to smuggle Song of Pines out? And was our company involved in this or not?”

Yan Zishu patted his shoulder. “Director He — whether we were involved or not, even if the company were bold enough to do such a thing, we wouldn’t dare know about it.”

Director He came back to himself. “You’re right. Exactly right. This has nothing to do with us. We defer to the official investigation.”

His tone had lowered, slightly, involuntarily. His posture had done the same.

There was something about that hand on his shoulder that had, somehow, been faintly reassuring.

At that moment, someone knocked at the door. Yan Zishu went to open it.

Fu Xiaoyu came in carrying a plastic bag, wearing an unconvincing expression of concern: “So you’re still here — still at it, are you?” He had clearly been sent by Third Uncle, and was being as casually manner as ever, but the serious atmosphere from the two men inside immediately made him feel out of place; he rubbed his nose awkwardly. “My dad figured you’d be at it all night, so he sent some food.”

The bag contained takeout boxes from the shop downstairs, bought without much thought. Yan Zishu looked at a greasy pig’s trotter with its fur not entirely removed, and felt no appetite whatsoever. Director He also laughed without humor, broke apart the disposable chopsticks, and said thank you without touching them.

Fu Xiaoyu didn’t notice any of this. He was here on a mission to extract information from Yan Zishu.

If not for wanting to keep up appearances, Third Uncle might have come in person.

Yinghan Group was caught in a massive vortex. The trending topics were everywhere, the story spreading wildly, much of it unclear — and with Fu Weishan personally taken away, there was no choice but to start gathering information from Yan Zishu, who knew the situation.

But sending his son to do it suggested Third Uncle had somewhat overestimated Fu Xiaoyu’s ability to extract anything meaningful.

The sheer urgency of their posture actually led Yan Zishu to conclude, rather firmly, that Third Uncle was probably not among the initiators of tonight’s events.

Which made sense. Third Uncle was motivated by greed — that had always been transparent. He had no affection for Fu Weishan, but he would never have chosen a method this destructive — the key issue being that it was destructive to himself as well. Company and shareholders sank together, rose together. An event this large meant a collapse of business and an evaporation of share value that hurt every single one of them. No one came out ahead. This was the definition of mutual assured damage.

If Third Uncle’s current state could be imagined, he was probably somewhere at home in a fury he hadn’t even had time to fully vent.

This wasn’t taking a slice of Third Uncle’s cake. This was cutting into the flesh of the man himself.

So the person capable of this kind of action — so extremely self-destructive, so completely indifferent to collateral damage —

There was no one else it could be but Fu Jinchi.

As expected, Fu Jinchi’s approach remained as extreme as ever. When it came to Third Uncle’s alliance, he could sell even a supposed ally without hesitation.

But at the thought of Fu Jinchi now being on the verge of a complete break with Third Uncle, Yan Zishu felt a moment of dislocation — this too had arrived without warning.

He was still turning this over when Fu Xiaoyu pulled him aside: “Get in touch with Fu Jinchi when you can. My dad needs to speak to him.”

Yan Zishu raised his eyes, and lied without changing expression: “I can’t reach him either. He blocked me a long time ago.”

Fu Xiaoyu frowned sharply. “Are you serious? What the hell, I said all along that guy was no good.”

Yan Zishu feigned surprise: “You can’t reach him either? Did he block everyone? What is he trying to do?”

Fu Xiaoyu was impatient: “How would I know what he’s doing? He stirred up the hornet’s nest and then ran!”

Ran.

Yan Zishu’s attention sharpened at the word. He thought of the last time Fu Jinchi had vanished.

That episode had not been a pleasant memory — it had been full of an anxious, clinging uncertainty that was as thick as glue. He couldn’t blame Fu Jinchi for it, given the circumstances, but when a person could disappear without a word, it spoke of an absence of understanding, trust, and communication between them. Perhaps it had been around that time, without him realizing it, that an unease had quietly taken root.

But looking at it now — Fu Jinchi seemed to have become rather practiced at this.

After getting rid of Fu Xiaoyu, and with a prediction now forming, Yan Zishu tried the number regardless of whatever friction existed between them. Sure enough: out of service. Voice call, same result. The phone apparently wasn’t even switched on.

He asked Director He to try as well. Same outcome.

He hadn’t been blocked, then — but all calls were being declined entirely.

Fu Jinchi had vanished again. This time, the scope had expanded to include everyone.

Director He was confused about why he was suddenly being asked to contact a board director and had no idea he was only one phone call away from the person behind the evening’s events. Yan Zishu had no time to explain at length. He then made several other calls, including one to Golden Phoenix Terrace — all of which confirmed it: from the moment Fu Weishan had been taken away, Fu Jinchi had gone completely dark.

Once he had established this, he found himself unable to identify the feeling settling over him.

He had been able to predict this. He had known it was likely. Fu Jinchi would naturally go to ground after having dealt Fu Weishan this blow and made enemies of Third Uncle and every other affected party. He had to wait somewhere quiet, or else face an unbroken barrage of calls.

But in this moment, Yan Zishu realized: whether Fu Jinchi was passing him in a crowded room and looking through him, or speaking cruel and cutting words directly into his ear — neither of these things had cost him as much, emotionally and mentally, as this — the man simply vanishing.

He went back and forth: worrying whether Fu Jinchi was all right. Then catching himself, coming back to clarity, remembering that he was not, at present, someone Fu Jinchi had any reason to trust — and therefore had no claim to know where he was.

He fiddled with his phone. Something occurred to him. He opened the private messaging app they had used for their secret communications.

But Yan Zishu looked at the blank screen of the interface, and found he didn’t have the courage to send anything. He closed the phone again.