Chapter 73#

The end-of-year festive atmosphere in Hong Kong was always elaborate. Unlike the mainland, Christmas here was a genuine holiday for local residents.

Yan Zishu hadn’t grown up observing it, but there was an old saying about adapting to local customs. Having been here long enough, he’d found himself mildly infected by the holiday spirit — the commercial streets had strung up little lights a full month in advance, and it was difficult to be entirely immune to it.

Last year at this time, the day had passed for Yan Zishu like any other — slipping by quietly in the middle of overtime.

This year, unless something went wrong, he would probably spend Christmas with Fu Jinchi.

Saying it out loud, that was somehow difficult to picture.

It felt strangely unreal.

Before that, though, there was Thanksgiving at the end of November — which Fu Jinchi would certainly not make it back in time for. On Ding Laoxiansheng’s side, however, things were rather livelier: his children and grandchildren had agreed to visit Stone Drum Island that day, and the whole family was planning a barbecue.

Somewhat unexpectedly, Yan Zishu was also invited.

His first instinct was to decline — turning up at someone else’s family gathering as an outsider felt like an imposition.

But the event had something of a party character to it as well, an excuse to enjoy the island, and apart from family there were friends coming too, including the youngest granddaughter, who was bringing a classmate. One more person wouldn’t make a difference.

The more compelling reason was that Ding Laoxiansheng had evidently heard about the unpleasantness with his grandson Ding Hongbo, and seemed to want to make amends. Yan Zishu, who knew how to handle people, reasoned that a firm refusal would look as though he were still nursing a grudge.

Better to go, show his face, and slip away early.

And there was one completely unprincipled additional reason: barbecue. Everyone loved it. Hong Kong food tended toward the clean and light — not much that was rich, spiced, or intensely savory in everyday life — so a proper grill, with all the smoke and char, was a comparatively rare pleasure.

On the Thursday of Thanksgiving week, the Ding family booked out the outdoor grill area by the beach.

By the afternoon, the place was in full noisy swing. Children ran and chased each other, eating and playing; people brought friends who were and weren’t known to the others, but on the surface everyone was cordial enough. A generally harmonious atmosphere.

As a result, few members of the Ding family paid particular attention to Yan Zishu — a greeting, and that was enough.

He settled unobtrusively at the furthest, least conspicuous grill station, slowly turning skewers of chicken wings over low heat while looking down at his phone to check whether any news had come out yet about Fu Weishan’s second-instance hearing. Nothing had.

While he was still searching, an email arrived containing a link.

He confirmed the sender, clicked through, and the browser opened.

He had his old phone and network back, and no longer needed to live under a different name, so the investigative channels he’d used before were available again.

Fu Jinchi had previously mentioned that Fu Xiaoyu had been arrested at a drug gathering — but the specifics of an arrest like that typically wouldn’t be publicly reported.

However, since the story had already circulated through the usual circles, something had clearly leaked.

The link led to an unlisted community network platform in the eastern district. Yan Zishu logged in with the account and password attached in the email, and found a post with a video embedded. The further he scrolled, the more peculiar his expression became.

The footage looked like it had been taken secretly by a service worker — very shaky, the audio chaotic, the lens peeking through a gap at the private room door: a roomful of men and women in various states of undress, already under police control, sitting, crouching, scattered everywhere.

Suppressing the urge to rinse his eyes, Yan Zishu did manage to locate something resembling Fu Xiaoyu among them — identified mainly by build and movement rather than face, recognizable but very obviously not himself, eyes unfocused and overstimulated in a way that wasn’t normal.

More or less everyone in the room was in the same condition, each being shouted at by police while still visibly restless and barely restrained.

This was… Yan Zishu’s brows drew together tightly. No wonder Third Uncle had reportedly been in such a state. This was genuinely what they meant by bringing ruin upon yourself.

Though watching it didn’t produce any particular satisfaction.

He locked his screen quickly as someone came over. Looking up, he found Ding Hongbo, who settled onto a stone stool next to him with a dark expression.

Yan Zishu composed himself and maintained his usual courtesy: “Mr. Ding — why aren’t you over there grilling with everyone?”

“My grandfather told me about last time.” Ding Hongbo said abruptly. “It seems there was a misunderstanding. Based on what he told me, I’d thought you wanted to apply for a position at the group’s main office. It appears that was another mix-up.”

“If it was a misunderstanding, clearing it up is all that’s needed.” Yan Zishu said politely — though he suspected Ding Hongbo had been sent over with a firm hand from his grandfather.

“I want you to understand,” Ding Hongbo said, in the manner of someone explaining something, though the overbearingness never fully left his brow, “that the Ding Group’s main office doesn’t take in just anyone. The bar has always been high. My grandfather’s philosophy is outdated — his sense of personal obligation might lead him to try and do favors, but in practice, that only brings in people who’ve entered through the wrong door. As a manager, there’s no way I could simply agree to that kind of request.”

Anyone else would have needed a moment to realize that Ding Hongbo was, with extraordinary indirectness, explaining why he had previously found reasons to lose his temper at Yan Zishu.

Yan Zishu had no particular expectation of an apology — but this explanation required decoding three layers before the meaning emerged, which rendered it rather pointless.

He tilted the corners of his mouth upward, looked up at Ding Hongbo with clear, mild eyes, and said something with an edge in it.

“Mr. Ding, is it a Hong Kong thing — the habit of looking down on people?”

Ding Hongbo’s brows immediately snapped together. “What is that supposed to mean? Who exactly is looking down on anyone?”

“You see — I just casually put a label on you, and it’s made you angry.” Yan Zishu’s manner remained perfectly pleasant. “Of course, that kind of statement is never fair to make. But I wonder if you might consider what it feels like for other people when you approach them with certain assumptions already formed?”

Ding Hongbo, who hadn’t expected to be caught off guard like this, found himself with nothing to say.

Having received a rigorous elite education since childhood, Ding Hongbo was rarely confronted to his face with the phrases looking down on people or assumptions about others — he certainly didn’t see himself as fitting that description, and the suggestion produced genuine irritation. His upbringing, however, prevented him from letting it show.

Yan Zishu smiled, offered him a skewer, and smoothly changed the subject: “Here, these are ready — want to try one?”

Ding Hongbo took the skewer, ate it, but his mood had deteriorated considerably, and he quickly found a pretext to leave.

The two of them probably just had incompatible temperaments, if even a reconciliation attempt could fail this thoroughly.

Watching from a distance, though, Yan Zishu noticed that among the younger generation of the Ding family, Ding Hongbo was clearly the central figure. Several cousins hovered around him, teasing him, pushing him to bring his girlfriend home to meet the family. He apparently had someone he was at the stage of discussing marriage with, and older relatives were joining in the ribbing — projecting forward from engagement to wedding to number of children.

There was something inadvertently amusing about this — even the eldest grandson of a wealthy family could not escape the pressure to marry and reproduce.

Not that Ding Hongbo seemed particularly averse to it. He was the conventional type, and probably viewed establishing a family and continuing the line as obligations he was expected to fulfill.

Yan Zishu observed the daily life of this wealthy household for a while longer, grilled his own skewers in the corner — they were actually rather ordinary — and eventually decided it was probably time. He said his goodbyes to Ding Laoxiansheng, cited tiredness, and left.

Making his way along the beach toward the exit, he passed the usual changing area for swimmers. He had walked by it countless times. This time, he unexpectedly heard Ding Hongbo’s voice coming from behind the partition.

It was a weekday, and the beach wasn’t busy. Ding Hongbo had apparently found this quiet spot at some point to make a call. He was speaking in English, his tone carrying a note of frustration that had raised his volume.

“Lisa, I’ve told you this many times — I’m not saying you don’t matter to me. I just have a lot going on with my career right now, it’s a critical period, and I really need to be fully focused. Can you try not to be so demanding? No — of course I love you. But I’m also genuinely very busy. Can you understand how important a career is to a man?”

The distinct flavour of the classic deflecting boyfriend made Yan Zishu’s foot, which had been mid-step forward, pause in hesitation.

He hadn’t been trying to eavesdrop — but if he continued in that direction, even taking a roundabout path, Ding Hongbo would see him pass from the front, and the man was clearly in the middle of an argument with his girlfriend. Bumping into each other at this particular moment would be another awkward scene for both of them.

While he was still deliberating, Ding Hongbo spoke again: “If you’re absolutely certain you want to break up, I’m sorry to hear it — but I’ll accept it.”

Yan Zishu didn’t have time to retreat. Ding Hongbo had ended the call at speed and was already rounding the corner, walking directly into him.

Both men were briefly silent.

Seeing who it was, Ding Hongbo’s expression darkened further. “Were you listening to my call?”

But this was an instinctive reaction rather than a deliberate accusation — more like the automatic defensiveness of someone caught in the act. Even Ding Hongbo seemed to register almost immediately that he’d overreacted; he raised a hand to his forehead. “Sorry — I was out of line. I genuinely have been in a bad mood lately.”

They walked together along the path beside the beach for a stretch.

Yan Zishu’s pace was unhurried, and Ding Hongbo fell into step beside him. After a moment, he said: “What you said earlier — about me looking down on people. I did think about it. That wasn’t my intention, but your perspective may have a point. If I caused you any inconvenience, I can apologize.”

Yan Zishu remarked lightly: “In my view, if Mr. Ding could simply say less, he would probably find he was considerably more liked.”

He said this with the ease of someone making a neutral observation, not someone picking a fight. At least Ding Hongbo didn’t bristle at it.

He only said: “Regarding the phone call you just heard — please don’t mention it to my grandfather.”

Yan Zishu gave him a sideways look. “Is it that Mr. Ding is the one trying to end things, or that he’s been broken up with?”

At these words, Ding Hongbo stopped dead in his tracks, standing there like a post planted in the sand, staring at the waves coming in.

“I — ah — does that reflect badly on me?” he asked, after a moment.

“I didn’t really hear very much,” Yan Zishu said.

“The truth is… I did it on purpose.”

Perhaps certain things were easier to say to someone you barely knew — someone who didn’t quite matter. Ding Hongbo pressed his lips together briefly, then said, his voice lower than before: “Lisa and I were matched by my grandfather. We’re a suitable match in every practical sense, we’ve known each other for years, and I honestly can’t find a reasonable objection to her as a prospect for marriage. But I don’t want to marry her, and this is the only way I can hope that she’ll be the one to end it.”

Yan Zishu thought immediately of Ding Laoxiansheng complaining that his grandson went through one girlfriend after another, always leaving the girl with grievances.

And now the grandson himself, as the person behind the pattern, was clearly the one feeling equally aggrieved and constrained.

Perhaps the wealthy truly had their own internally consistent set of problems.

He thought for a moment, then said: “You do, in principle, have the right to simply decline on the grounds that you don’t want to.”

“But even if it weren’t Lisa,” Ding Hongbo said, “it would be some other equally suitable woman — what’s the difference? What I don’t want is to spend my life married to someone whose world revolves around which luxury brand released its latest season, what expensive piece of jewelry they acquired at the last auction, with nothing in their head otherwise — someone who cares about nothing beyond spending extravagantly and showing off.”

“The inner workings of your social circles I may not know much about,” Yan Zishu said. “But I can say with some confidence that with that attitude, you certainly won’t end up with the wife you’re hoping for.”