Chapter 76#

“The interim president at Yinghan has been held by Third Uncle’s faction, both sides are trying to reshuffle — but that Fu Jiale, do you remember him, the heavyset one, he’s really not much of an improvement over Fu Weishan. Looking at the current situation…”

Fu Jinchi had claimed Yan Zishu’s recliner by the floor-to-ceiling window, and pulled Yan Zishu down to sit on his lap. When Yan Zishu tried to get up, Fu Jinchi wouldn’t let him — holding on the way you might hold a cat to keep it from slipping off: “Don’t you want to hear how your old company is doing?”

“You’re just pleased with yourself.” Yan Zishu raised an eyebrow. “You think a company that size is going to collapse on the spot?”

“I used to think I’d hold out until that day.” Fu Jinchi said. “I must be getting old. My thinking has grown more moderate.”

“Though a listed group like Yinghan — it has every structural flaw of a family business, and the underlying problems have been building for a long time.” Yan Zishu thought it over, and said, genuinely: “Actually, this should have been an opportunity. If they could bring in a modern professional management model, a proper restructuring would do them good. Otherwise, whoever takes the helm — if they keep their minds off the right things — a decline over the next several years is unavoidable.”

“You’re taking it seriously.” Fu Jinchi half-closed his eyes. “Hyenas can’t stop being hyenas. Besides, I’m not a shareholder anymore. What do you say — should I retire and live cleanly?”

The last part was clearly a joke. Yan Zishu had finally found a stable position on the armrest; hearing this, he patted Fu Jinchi’s arm. “You’ve simply matured. You can set the past down and look forward. Congratulations on entering a new stage of life.”

Fu Jinchi was not someone who absorbed losses gracefully. The grievances of his younger years had always been tallied with the intention of returning them tenfold, a hundredfold. But how exactly did you calculate tenfold? Or was a direct reciprocation enough? When could you finally draw the line?

Yan Zishu had never presumed to make that calculation for him. On this point, as long as Fu Jinchi didn’t push him away, he was content to quietly watch and stay nearby.

Until Fu Jinchi himself reached a place where he could let it go.

On Fu Jinchi’s side, he had not been without a keen awareness of Yan Zishu’s quiet approach.

Yan Zishu was a person whose exterior was cool while the interior ran warmer. He rarely expressed emotion with force, but had his own principles. Toward certain people, he maintained a detachment so complete it was almost transparent — the way you might look at a mannequin in a shop window, with an absence of affect so total it required no effort.

Fu Jinchi didn’t need to go looking for the reasons behind this. If anything, this quality suited him precisely. He found it just right. In which case, he was fully capable of ensuring that those people — Fu Weishan, Ji Chen, whoever else — never appeared in Yan Zishu’s life again.

Unless Yan Zishu himself one day expressed an interest in seeing them.

The winter sunlight outside was cold and pale. The sea in the distance caught it in ripples, white sails dotting the water. Time had gone slow.

Fu Jinchi said, unprompted: “When I’m old — if one day I’m lying in a hospital bed — what will you do?”

Yan Zishu blinked. “Where is this coming from?”

“Just a thought.” Fu Jinchi said. “It’ll happen eventually. Will you look after me?”

Yan Zishu gave a quiet, disbelieving laugh. “I’m sure there’s no shortage of people willing to look after you. How would it ever get to me?”

Fu Jinchi smiled. “Then you had better not give up your place in line.”

“And how would I do that?” Yan Zishu asked, amused.

“I’ll show you.” Fu Jinchi said, with elaborate seriousness. “You establish yourself close to me, you stay at my side, and when I finally fall ill, you move in — and take everything I have. Go live exactly the life you wanted.”

“So I’d only get the money after accompanying you into old age?” Yan Zishu laughed. “Very generous, that. What you’re describing is purchasing several decades of my time — and then acting as though you’ve done me a favor. How is that any different from working for a company?”

“It’s completely different.” Fu Jinchi looked at him with an expression that carried something in it. “Working for a company means you run yourself ragged for it. Being with me means I run myself ragged for you, until the very end. Is there really nothing in that you’re looking forward to?”

“You’re the one who keeps saying disasters last a thousand years.” Yan Zishu looked out toward the water. “Maybe by then I’ll be the one who’s gone first.”

“Don’t say things like that.” Fu Jinchi, who could usually be unbothered by anything, was immediately not unbothered. “What a thing to say.”

He seemed to have grown slightly superstitious lately — certain things couldn’t be said, certain phrases weren’t to be uttered. And then in the next moment, his own mouth would run ahead of him with no such caution. Yan Zishu had gotten used to this, and didn’t bother arguing about the inconsistency.

“I asked around about a few well-regarded physicians in Rongcheng,” Fu Jinchi said, with a slight careful quality now. “After the new year, we can go see them — get you properly looked after and back on track.” He paused. “We could also stay there for a while, if you’re willing. What do you think?”

Rongcheng was one of the mainland cities bordering Hong Kong — lively enough, and with a similar climate, easy to get between the two.

The medical consultation was one thing. But staying for a while — Yan Zishu hadn’t thought ahead about what life looked like from here. He didn’t know what Rongcheng was like.

It had happened something like this: Fu Jinchi found him again, and they were together, and he had simply stopped asking what came next. That was all.

Yan Zishu realized that at some point, without noticing, he had stopped thinking about tomorrow.

He looked at the ceiling for a moment, then said: “That sounds reasonable.”

Though inside, there was a faint blankness — nothing resolving into a shape he could plan around.

Fu Jinchi said: “I’m going to get up. Hold on — don’t fall.”

Yan Zishu stood up from the armrest. Fu Jinchi rose as well and went to the table.

He had left with nothing, and returned with a briefcase. Yan Zishu followed him over, gathered the tabloids he found irritating to look at and pushed them to one side — there were even more of them than the ones Ding Laoxiansheng had brought over. He glanced down as he cleared them.

Ding Hongbo had actually called to explain afterward — the whole thing had to do with an acquisition the Ding Group had just completed, which had stepped on another media company’s interests. The tabloids in question were well-known for inventing stories.

While he was still thinking about this, something was pressed into his hands.

He pulled the contents out of the folder — and lost his grip, scattering pages across the floor.

Most of them weren’t bound together. Several sheets sailed considerably further than others.

Fu Jinchi didn’t seem bothered. He bent down, helped collect them, straightened the pages back into order, and passed them back.

Yan Zishu had also crouched down to gather things. He stayed in that position, looked up: “What is all this?”

Fu Jinchi’s tone was matter-of-fact: “When we go to Rongcheng, my lawyer will come as well. Everything registered under my name — through methods that minimize tax exposure — will be transferred to you, gradually, in stages. The things that can’t be transferred that way are in my will. Those will be yours too.”

Yan Zishu was quiet, apparently working through the meaning of this, or measuring the weight of it. It brought back a memory: early on, he had said something to Fu Jinchi about converting a life-saving debt into monetary terms. That had been a throwaway remark born of irritation.

Or had the whole conversation just now been preamble to this?

He frowned faintly, and simply shifted back from the crouch to sitting on the floor, one hand braced on the carpet.

Fu Jinchi sat down beside him — close, shoulder against shoulder.

Two adult men of considerable height, one knee drawn up, one with legs folded, looking at a room they were both familiar with from this angle they almost never used. Everything familiar had become, from the floor, somehow imposing. The world had grown larger, and they had grown smaller.

Yan Zishu looked at Fu Jinchi and tapped the papers in his hand. “Do you understand what this means?”

“If you mean the disposition of personal assets.” Fu Jinchi said, “I’m not a specialist, but I know the relevant laws and regulations reasonably well. I’ve had a will since the year my mother died. It’s nothing unusual — I never wanted whatever I left to end up going to some random person. Now that there’s an appropriate heir, revising it is a perfectly ordinary thing to do.”

He added: “And I thought — if I’m giving it to you anyway, there’s no real difference between giving it sooner or later.”

“That reasoning is completely backward.” Yan Zishu said, and then, despite himself, propped his chin on one hand and smiled. “You really do know how to make things difficult for me.”

“There’s nothing difficult about it.” Fu Jinchi’s voice carried that particular quality of someone drawing someone in. “You don’t have to think about anything. Sign, and what’s mine becomes yours.”

“No — you’re the difficult part.” Yan Zishu shifted and leaned over, pressing both palms to the floor to support himself, and reached up to cup Fu Jinchi’s face in his hands. They looked at each other for a long moment. Fu Jinchi’s gaze was deep and not easily read. Finally, Yan Zishu let out a breath — something that might have been a sigh. “I’m starting to genuinely not know what to do with you.”

Hearing this, Fu Jinchi seemed faintly surprised. He raised his hand and closed it around Yan Zishu’s hand — the pressure light but certain.

“I won’t be this difficult going forward.” He might not have fully understood what Yan Zishu meant. He said simply: “I’ll work on it.”