The BMW sped down the highway, leaving the glittering skyline of Shanghai behind. Two hours later, it crossed the Dongjindu Bridge into the familiar, slower rhythm of the old city.
ng Jie was dropped off first with a quick kiss. Wang Zihao peeled off at Qipan Street with a promise to call. Finally, Chen Yansen guided the car through narrow streets until the faded sign of Guobin Bookstore ca into view.
Winter break had emptied the student quarter. The bookstore stood silent, a relic in the cold air. Inside, Chen Guobin was hunched over the counter, his reading glasses perched low on his nose, lost in a yellow-paged wuxia novel.
Beep beep!
The sharp honk made him jump. Headlights flashed through the grimy window.
"Show-off," Chen Guobin muttered, marking his page. He shuffled to the door, ready to yell at whoever was blocking his storefront.
The driver's window slid down silently. His son's face, sharper and more assured than he rembered, appeared. "Closing ti, Old Chen."
Chen Guobin's irritation dissolved into a weary sigh. "Your mother would have been proud. And then scolded you for wasting gas idling."
"Her ghost can scold later. I'm buying you dinner. Get in."
Chen Yansen didn't wait for an argunt. He killed the engine and got out, leaning against the sleek black hood. He watched his father begin the nightly ritual: stacking unsold weekly magazines, bundling yesterday's newspapers, rearranging the display of bestsellers that never sold.
After a minute, Chen Yansen pushed off the car and walked inside. The bell jingled.
"I can do it," Chen Guobin said without looking up.
"You're slow." Chen Yansen grabbed an armful of books.
"You'll put them in the wrong place. This isn't your internet empire. There's a system." There was no real heat in the words, just the worn groove of an old argunt.
Chen Yansen dumped the books back on the counter and pulled out his phone. Texts from ng Jie. A update from Song Yuncheng about her brother. He replied, his thumbs flying, while his father moved around him in a practiced, lonely dance.
An hour later, the tal shutter screeched as it hit the ground, sealing the silent store.
"Where to? Juhongsheng or Chunshenlou?" Chen Yansen asked, starting the car.
"Anywhere cheap."
"Chunshenlou it is." The BMW purred into motion.
At the restaurant, a young hostess in a tight qipao gave a practiced, apologetic smile. "So sorry, sir. Our private rooms are fully booked. We have a lovely table in the main hall?"
Chen Guobin nodded, already turning.
"Get a private room," Chen Yansen said, his voice flat. "The bill will be triple your minimum. Probably more."
The hostess's smile didn't waver, but her eyes flickered with reassessnt. "Right this way, please. We've just had a cancellation."
The room was overly bright, with a garish golden dragon coiling across the wall. Chen Yansen ordered without looking at the nu: drunken crab, braised abalone, the house special sea cucumber, a whole stead perch. He finished by pointing to the most expensive Moutai on the list.
"I'm driving," Chen Guobin protested weakly.
"I'll hire a driver to take the car ho. Tonight, you drink."
The first dishes arrived. Silence stretched, filled only by the clink of china. It was a familiar, comfortable void between them.
"Your third uncle called," Chen Guobin finally said, chasing a pea with his chopsticks. "Your grandparents want to see you for the New Year."
Chen Yansen took a slow sip of tea. "Do they? Or do they want to see the kid who's suddenly worth a few hundred million?"
"Chen Yansen."
"What? You took there every year as a kid. I rember the way Auntie Liang looked at your shoes. I rember Grandpa asking when you'd get a 'real job.'" He put his cup down with a soft tap. "Tell them I'm busy. Tell them I'm auditing their supermarket's books. That should shut them up."
Chen Guobin opened his mouth, then closed it, a deep weariness settling in his shoulders. He picked up the tiny cup of Moutai and threw it back, wincing as the fire trailed down his throat.
"At your age, you should be remarried," Chen Yansen said abruptly, switching tracks. "Not moping in a bookstore waiting to die."
"Who's moping? I have a life."
"You have a routine. There's a difference. I'm not taking care of you when you're senile. Find a wife. Be soone else's problem."
"I have savings!"
"Enough for a decade in a state-run ho, maybe. I'm talking about a life."
They ate. The abalone was tender, the crab fragrant with wine. Chen Yansen kept his father's cup filled. Slowly, the liquor smoothed the rough edges of their conversation.
"The girl… ng Jie?" Chen Guobin asked, his cheeks slightly flushed.
"Her father runs the Agricultural Bank. Only child. Their assets are… substantial."
"You're planning a rger, not a marriage." There was a hint of old disapproval, but it was muffled by the alcohol.
"I'm planning everything, Old Chen. That's what I do." He leaned forward. "Did you buy more of those Salt Company apartnts like I told you?"
"Two. It's a gamble."
"It's not. It's a certainty. Buy ten more. I'll front you the money. When they redevelop, you buy storefronts. You'll live off rent. A proper retirent."
Chen Guobin shook his head, a stubborn set to his jaw. He wouldn't take his son's money. Not like that.
Chen Yansen understood. Pride was a currency his father had never learned to devalue. He'd do it himself, through a proxy.
His phone buzzed. A photo from ng Jie: a cozy dining table, three bowls of rice, simple ho-cooked dishes. Mom made your favorite pork ribs, the text said.
Chen Yansen: Looks amazing. Can I co over tomorrow?
ng Jie: 😲 Really? Let ask!
A minute later.
ng Jie: She said yes! She's going to the market early!
Chen Yansen: Ah, damn. Can't. My dad's having heart palpitations. Probably the cheap Moutai. Need to take him to the hospital.
ng Jie: 😑 Liar.
Chen Yansen: Day after tomorrow. Noon. I'll bring good wine.
He looked up to see his father watching him, a sad, knowing smile on his face. "You lie as easily as you breathe."
"Only when the truth is less efficient."
Chen Guobin stood to use the restroom. He was gone a long ti.
Sighing, Chen Yansen went to look for him. He found him in the opulent hallway, face-to-face with a bloated, red-faced man in an expensive but ill-fitting suit—Liang Anguo, his uncle.
"...forget your roots! You think a fancy car makes you a big man?" Liang Anguo was sneering, a finger jabbing at Chen Guobin's chest. "My sister married a useless—"
"Uncle Liang." Chen Yansen's voice cut through the hallway like glass. He stepped between them, his posture deceptively relaxed. "How's the supermarket business? Overhead costs killing you? Vendor margins shrinking?"
Liang Anguo blinked, thrown. "What's it to you?"
"I've been looking at the retail sector. Thinking of funding a hypermarket chain. Loss-leader strategy. Crush the local independents first, build scale." He smiled, a cold, corporate smile. "Your location on Qingshan Road would be a perfect first target."
The color drained from Liang Anguo's face. He'd heard the rumors about his nephew's viciousness, his bottomless war chest. "You… you wouldn't. We're family!"
"You stopped being family when you called my father 'useless'. Now you're a business obstacle. Get out of my way."
He took his father's arm, guiding the stunned man back to their room, leaving a sputtering Liang Anguo frozen in the hallway.
Back at the table, Chen Guobin rubbed his face. "You didn't have to do that."
"Yes, I did." Chen Yansen's voice was quiet, final. "No one talks to you like that. Not anymore."
The rest of the al passed in a quieter haze. Chen Yansen called a driver. They rode back to the faded Salt Company apartnts in silence, the city lights painting their faces in passing streaks of color.
Neighbors peeped from behind curtains as the BMW, a sleek black predator, idled in the dusty courtyard. The story would be all over the compound by morning: Old Chen's boy has really made it.
In the cramped, familiar apartnt of his childhood, Chen Yansen finally checked the link his lawyer had sent hours earlier. He clicked it open.
BREAKING: Forr Amazon Senior Operations Manager Zhang Hanhua Arrested in Major Vendor Fraud Probe. The article detailed kickbacks, fake invoices, and counterfeit goods—a systematic milking of the marketplace.
A slow, cold smile spread across Chen Yansen's face. Zhang Hanhua had been the one, months ago, who tried to strong-arm FoxTao off Amazon with threats of delisting. He'd demanded a stake. Protection money.
Chen Yansen had just smiled and nodded. Then he'd anonymously forwarded three years of compiled data—emails, transfer records, warehouse logs—to Amazon's Global Ethics & Compliance team, and copied the relevant regulators.
"Enjoy the food in there, Mr. Zhang," he whispered to the glowing screen. "When you get out, maybe you can get a job at the supermarket I'm about to bankrupt."
He powered off the phone. In the dark room, the only light was the city glow bleeding through the curtains. He hadn't just won a battle. He'd salted the earth.
For Chen Yansen, business and vengeance were the sa thing. And he was just getting started.
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