Chapter 2
Edward Quan ·
6
For a moment, I almost laughed with fury.
But it was already six twenty. I had no time to waste being angry.
I took my second phone from my bag and called Fu Huaichuan’s private number. Apart from his family, I was the only person who knew it.
It rang for a long time before he answered.
Before I could speak, his tired voice came down the line.
“Jiaojiao. Cancel the dinner.”
“Tonight, I just want a quiet bowl of porridge.”
“Are you sure? We’re meeting President Zhao of Hongjie—”
“I said cancel it!”
His hoarse voice cut me off.
“Lin Jiao, your career always comes first.”
“But Su He is different.”
He paused. His voice softened.
“In all these years, she’s the first—and the only—person to make me porridge to soothe my stomach.”
My lips curved.
“You’re going to destroy the livelihoods of thousands of employees for a bowl of porridge?”
“You wouldn’t understand.”
He hung up.
I quickly stopped the recording.
A flicker of excitement stirred in me.
Without hesitation, I sent the recording and every call and message from that afternoon to the company’s largest investor, Chairman Li.
“Sorry to disturb you, Chairman Li.”
“I need to report an urgent situation. President Zhao of Hongjie has arrived in Hangcheng and invited Fu Huaichuan and me to discuss next year’s contract. Mr. Fu refuses to attend and insists we cancel.”
Less than two minutes later, my phone rang.
Chairman Li.
“Go to the restaurant, Director Lin. Keep President Zhao there.”
“Leave Fu Huaichuan to me. I’ll make sure he comes in person.”
7
Seven fifteen.
Xizi Lake Hotel.
President Zhao glanced at his watch, his smile almost teasing.
“How much longer will Mr. Fu be?”
“If he’s too busy, we can leave it here for today.”
Before he finished, the private dining room door swung open.
Fu Huaichuan stood there, his tie loosened, his face exhausted.
But it was the sight behind him that froze the room.
Su He wore a pink sweater covered in pills, the sleeves marked with grease.
In one hand, she held a pink insulated food container.
With the other, she led a boy of five or six.
Blood rushed to my head.
8
She had brought her son to a business dinner?
And Fu Huaichuan had let her?
I swallowed my anger and turned to President Zhao with a polite smile.
“This is Mr. Fu’s assistant, Ms. Su He.”
“His car had a little trouble on the way, so she brought him.”
Fu Huaichuan nodded.
“My apologies, President Zhao. I’m late.”
I immediately signaled Su He to take the child outside.
She pretended not to see.
Instead, she bent down and cooed, “Be good, Zhuangzhuang. Say hello.”
He ignored her, ran to the table, and reached toward the dishes on the lazy Susan.
“Mom! I want the big prawns!”
President Zhao leaned away slightly. A faint frown formed.
Fu Huaichuan called a waiter.
“Bring a child’s chair.”
9
President Zhao’s expression cooled.
Still composed, he slid the menu toward Fu Huaichuan.
“Order a few hot dishes. You know this place better than I do.”
Fu took it and turned straight to the specialties.
“You like spicy food, President Zhao. Let’s have the chicken with dried chilies, the spicy duck-blood hotpot, and—”
“No!”
Su He cut him off.
“Those are too spicy. Zhuangzhuang can’t eat them!”
“We’ll have steamed fish, prawns with baby corn, steamed egg…”
She glanced at President Zhao with an offensively familiar air.
“Actually, at your age, you should be taking better care of yourself. Spicy food is terrible for your stomach.”
I frowned.
“Su He. President Zhao is from Sichuan. He doesn’t need you lecturing him on his tastes.”
She pouted, looking wronged.
“I’m only trying to do what’s best for him. He hasn’t said anything. Why are you so angry?”
She set the food container down hard in the center of the lazy Susan.
“Try my stomach-soothing porridge, President Zhao! I’ve added astragalus and codonopsis. It’s wonderful for the stomach!”
“One taste, I promise, and you won’t want those spicy dishes anymore!”
Watching her eagerly advertise her porridge, I didn’t know whether to laugh or choke with anger.
President Zhao had eaten every delicacy imaginable.
Was he supposed to be interested in that mush reeking of medicinal herbs?
Did she really think every man would be as moved as Fu Huaichuan by her tender, motherly act?
When President Zhao didn’t respond, she took it upon herself to ladle some out and push it toward his face.
“Just try it. One bite!”
He leaned back, frowning harder.
Fu Huaichuan forced a smile.
“She means well, President Zhao…”
But President Zhao looked at the gray porridge and stood.
“Mr. Fu. Director Lin. Another time.”
10
Fu Huaichuan’s expression changed.
“President Zhao…”
I rose immediately, took an elegant envelope from my handbag, and offered it to him.
“Before you go, President Zhao. I hear your new wife is a Taylor Swift fan?”
Smiling, I nudged the envelope toward him.
“A friend happened to give me two front-row tickets for the Singapore concert. I’m such a workaholic, they’d be wasted on me.”
He stopped, his eyes on the envelope.
I gave a rueful little smile.
“If you don’t take them, I’m afraid they’ll only gather dust at home.”
Fu Huaichuan stared at me.
He knew exactly how I had got those tickets. I had asked the media team to watch for them for three months.
They were meant for our second anniversary.
President Zhao finally gave his first genuine smile of the evening.
“How thoughtful, Director Lin. My wife’s been talking about that concert for a fortnight. The tickets sold out in a second.”
I poured three glasses of liquor and raised mine toward him.
“This one is for you, President Zhao. We’ve been poor hosts tonight. I apologize.”
I drained the glass.
The liquor burned my throat, but I kept my expression composed as I set it down and looked at Fu Huaichuan.
He caught my eye. His brows drew together, but he raised his glass.
“I didn’t handle things properly. Please accept my apology.”
Before he could drink, Su He put out a hand to stop him.
“Mr. Fu! You still have a fever. How can you drink?”
She turned to President Zhao, reproach in her voice.
“He’s this ill and still made the effort to come. Can’t you show a little understanding?”
“Must you force him to drink?”
11
President Zhao’s hand stopped in midair.
His face visibly chilled.
He was about to speak when Fu Huaichuan went pale. Cold sweat broke out on his forehead.
Suddenly, he clutched his stomach and retched.
“Mr. Fu!”
Su He hurried to support him.
“What’s wrong? Your stomach again?”
He shoved her hand away and staggered toward the restroom.
Before the door closed, violent vomiting sounded from inside.
Su He stamped her feet in panic, crying and complaining.
“I told you he couldn’t drink! You just had to force him…”
Then she whipped around and glared at me.
“Happy now, Director Lin?”
Fu Huaichuan emerged, clinging to the doorframe. His face was white as paper.
He didn’t make it back to his seat.
He vomited onto the carpet.
A sour stench filled the room.
Su He’s son began to wail.
“Mom! It stinks! It stinks!”
President Zhao surveyed the chaos with a cold glance.
His eyes settled on me.
“We’ll discuss the partnership another time, Director Lin.”
He turned and left without looking back.
As he passed me, though, he paused and lowered his voice.
“Come to Hongjie next week. We’ll speak privately.”