Upon entering the car, Fang Li held the guitar with care. He expressed satisfaction with his new possession. He mentioned that in the past, he had only used borrowed guitars while with Ding Haoyang, and that this was the first guitar he owned.
Once they arrived home, Fang Li went to his room with the instrument. Qin Weidong could hear fragments of music through the closed door. He called Fang Li for dinner, but received no response.
Suppressing his irritation, Qin Weidong opened the door and entered the room. “Have you played enough? Come and eat.”
Fang Li was in the midst of playing a melody. “Did you see the sheets I left on the sofa before we went out?” He noted their absence.
“No.”
Still holding the guitar, Fang Li replied, “Then go ahead for now. I will come out to eat in a moment.”
However, shortly after, Fang Li exclaimed in surprise. Qin Weidong reached down and took the guitar from him. “Dinner first,” Qin Weidong stated.
Fang Li pouted and said, “Seriously, you are too controlling.”
Qin Weidong did not respond to the teasing, but said, “If you continue to ignore me, I can be even more controlling.”
Fang Li raised his hands in surrender. He seemed to acknowledge Qin Weidong’s controlling nature.
During dinner, Fang Li appeared preoccupied with a melody in his thoughts. He recalled a conversation with Wu Ke at the nightclub, who had stated that every notable band needed an original signature piece. This required writing both the lyrics and the melody.
Fang Li enjoyed creating small musical fragments. He remembered Wu Ke complimenting his natural talent when he heard him play.
Qin Weidong observed Fang Li’s absentminded eating and regretted the purchase of the guitar.
“You like music?” Qin Weidong asked.
Fang Li nodded while eating. “I think so. I learned a bit from Ding Haoyang and the others. When I play, I tend to forget everything else. My focus narrows to the melody—as if I can follow it or even create it.”
He continued, “It is as if it listens to me. It responds to what I want. Is that not remarkable?”
Qin Weidong listened to Fang Li’s description of his engagement with music, noting the rare display of genuine joy and fascination. Qin Weidong recognized that Fang Li seldom expressed such strong interest in anything.
Qin Weidong often found himself carrying the weight of their shared world on his shoulders. Fang Li, in contrast, possessed a remarkable nonchalance, as if the grand tapestry of life held little that could truly ruffle his feathers. And yet, when Fang Li’s pickiness did surface, it could be so exasperating as to inspire violent thoughts.
But then there were those other times, when Fang Li’s easygoing nature bordered on the absolute. It was as if he lacked any firm principles. Anything was acceptable; this way or that, he could always manage to make do.
However, the tone in Fang Li’s voice just now resonated differently with Qin Weidong. He could sense a genuine spark of enthusiasm, a true liking for this newfound pursuit.
Whenever Fang Li found something that captured his interest, Qin Weidong typically allowed him the space to explore it. Yet, a contradictory feeling often arose within him–a subtle displeasure when Fang Li’s interest became too intense. Whether it was a fleeting fondness for rabbits or a deeper connection with music, the pattern seemed to repeat itself.
Catching the thoughtful, slightly frowning expression on Qin Weidong’s face, Fang Li playfully tapped his chopsticks against Qin Weidong’s arm. “Hey, what’s with that face? Are you seriously getting jealous? You’re being completely ridiculous…”
Qin Weidong looked up, his gaze neutral, offering no verbal response. Fang Li chuckled, emboldened by Qin Weidong’s silence. “Ding Haoyang and Wu Ke both said I’ve got real talent on the guitar. I only need to hear a song a couple of times and I can pretty much play it. You know,” he added, a hint of wistfulness in his voice, “if I hadn’t left, I might have even written a song for the band by now!”
A clear, unmistakable spark of pride flickered in his eyes as he spoke, a rare and precious sight. Smiling broadly, he continued, “Hey, Qin Weidong, don’t you think this might actually be the very first thing in my entire life that I’m genuinely good at?”
He reflected on his past endeavors—managing the chaotic affairs at the mine, his lackluster attempts at studying, his unsuccessful ventures trying to earn money independently. He had failed at them all, either making a complete mess of things or inadvertently making them worse. But now, with this guitar in his hands, a fragile sense of confidence had begun to bloom within him. It was a strange and wonderful sensation—the realization that there was, indeed, something he possessed a natural aptitude for.
Qin Weidong gazed at the unmistakable gleam of pride shining in Fang Li’s eyes. In that moment, a familiar wave of affection washed over him, and he simply couldn’t bring himself to utter a refusal.
“If you want to play, then play here at home,” Qin Weidong conceded, his tone carrying a hint of resignation.
He had relented. He didn’t particularly like it, but what else could he do? Fang Li clearly enjoyed it. And at least with Fang Li under his own roof, nothing too reckless or unpredictable was likely to occur.
“I knew it! You’re the absolute best!” Fang Li couldn’t help but exclaim, a surge of triumphant joy bubbling up within him. Knowing that Qin Weidong wasn’t going to stand in his way anymore, he threw his arms around Qin Weidong’s neck in an enthusiastic embrace. “Honestly, after what happened last time, I really thought you’d never let me sing or play again. And that look on your face just now? Totally confirmed my fears.”
Qin Weidong gave a dry, unimpressed snort. “So, you do possess some awareness of social cues after all.”
“Haha!” Fang Li burst into unrestrained laughter, then quickly ran back to his room and returned, clutching his new guitar protectively. He flopped down into a nearby chair, still comfortably full from dinner, and then audaciously propped both of his legs up across Qin Weidong’s lap.
Qin Weidong stared at this blatant act of overstepping his boundaries and gave the top of Fang Li’s foot a sharp, playful slap. “Getting awfully bold all of a sudden, aren’t we? Finish digesting your meal before you start strumming.”
“Who told you to be so soft-hearted and say yes to me?” Fang Li grinned, a sly little fox indeed, his bare feet swinging playfully in the air. “I’m full. Really full. You keep eating. Just sit here and keep me company.”
Qin Weidong reached out to give him a light swat, but as his hand brushed against Fang Li’s bare feet, he noticed how cold they felt. Instinctively, he pulled them onto his lap, warming them with one hand while the other continued to wield his chopsticks and finish his meal.
By the time Qin Weidong had eaten most of his dinner, Fang Li had nearly filled half a page of his musical draft. It was getting late—Fang Li usually retired early—so Qin Weidong gently picked him up and pressed a light kiss to the corner of his lips. “I’ve got a dinner meeting tonight, so I need to head out for a little while. Can you manage showering on your own?”
Fang Li nodded readily. “Go take care of your business. I understand—dinner meetings are just part of work, and work is how we earn our living.”
Qin Weidong was slightly taken aback by his understanding tone. “So agreeable all of a sudden?”
Fang Li smiled sweetly. “You bought me a guitar and you’re letting me play it. Of course I’m going to be agreeable.” He knew perfectly well that if Qin Weidong hadn’t indulged his musical whim, he would be presenting a very different demeanor. Qin Weidong simply chuckled at these small, mischievous games of his.
After a brief pause, Fang Li added casually, “Oh right—could you give me Feng Hui’s phone number? He mentioned he might bring Qi Jian over sometime. It’s almost New Year—do you think they’ll be coming soon?”
“You actually want them to come?” Qin Weidong asked, a hint of surprise in his voice.
“I just want to ask if Qi Jian is coming,” Fang Li clarified. “I don’t really have any friends around here, so if he’s coming for New Year, at least I’ll have someone to talk to.”
“Alright. Just check my phone.”
Fang Li hopped down from Qin Weidong’s lap. As he did so, Qin Weidong casually reached out and adjusted the collar of Fang Li’s shirt, which had become slightly askew. “Soon, you’ll need to go back for a follow-up appointment at the hospital. You hear me?”
The mere mention of the hospital sent a wave of unease through Fang Li. Just the thought of those cold, sterile surgical instruments cutting into his chest and stitching him back together made his stomach churn uncomfortably.
“After you’re done with this really busy period at work,” Fang Li said, already rummaging through his coat pocket for Qin Weidong’s phone. “If you keep talking about it now, I absolutely won’t be able to sleep tonight!”
Seeing that Fang Li clearly wanted to avoid the topic, Qin Weidong let it drop—for the time being. He knew he would have to take the initiative and find a few of the most reputable doctors from the provincial hospital to arrange a proper and thorough consultation for Fang Li.
As the New Year drew closer, Qin Weidong found himself increasingly swamped with work. Qin Zijie’s unexpected and unwelcome interference had added a significant layer of complexity to his plans, forcing him to consider and strategize even more than before.
Just before the official holiday break, Chaojiang Company made a public announcement regarding the upcoming auction of the mining rights to the Fengxin Mine. The moment the news hit the market, it was like tossing a handful of irresistible bait into a teeming fishpond—the waters of the business world instantly churned with anticipation and excitement.
Although the announcement came as a surprise to many within the industry, the groundwork laid by Chaojiang Company’s earlier acquisition of the Nanpan mining area had already prompted speculation that they might eventually open bidding on the Fengxin Mine.
Chaojiang specialized in the development and evaluation of metal resources, while its powerful parent company, Kunshan Holdings, primarily focused on the actual mining of metallic mineral resources. Fengxin Mine, however, was a sandstone-slate mine, primarily used for construction materials. Moreover, Kunshan was still publicly stating that they were in the process of evaluating the substantial gold deposit discovered in Nanpan. If their true intention was to commence operations at Nanpan after the New Year holidays, the required investment could easily soar into the hundreds of millions of yuan—having their resources and attention fully occupied would be entirely understandable.
Therefore, when the news of the Fengxin Mine auction finally broke, numerous companies operating in the stone and gravel business began eyeing the opportunity with considerable eagerness. After all, Fengxin Mine boasted a controlled resource reserve of a substantial eighty million tons, not to mention the detailed resource survey report that had been officially issued by Chaojiang itself.
Almost overnight, Qin Weidong’s name—the individual assigned to spearhead this significant auction—began circulating widely throughout the industry. In Chinese business culture, personal connections and relationships hold immense weight, and with the Spring Festival rapidly approaching, a multitude of interested parties attempted to schedule dinner meetings with him, hoping to gain an edge. Yet, even managing to get on his schedule didn’t guarantee a coveted slot.
Inside a luxurious car, Qin Zijie slammed the company’s officially signed approval documents against the tinted window in a fit of frustration. “Damn it, Dad! Is this Qin Weidong even remotely competent? Just as I suspected—someone born into poverty simply can’t see beyond the small amount of immediate money right in front of their nose. Fengxin Mine has nearly eighty million tons in reserve! If Chaojiang developed it ourselves, we could easily extract a few million tons every single year. Do you even grasp how much our stock value would skyrocket then?”
Qin Dejiang, seated calmly beside him in the car, inquired, “You mentioned that this auction of Fengxin Mine was Qin Weidong’s own proposal?”
“Who else could it possibly be? The guy clearly doesn’t know the first thing about the intricacies of mining operations. He’s been busy with this for months now, and what—he genuinely believes that selling it off for a relatively high price somehow makes him some kind of financial genius?” Qin Zijie scoffed. “Selling it off might appear to be a quick windfall, but sandstone mining could conservatively sustain operations for at least sixteen years. Sixteen years—does he even comprehend the long-term implications of that? That’s the kind of myopic, short-sighted thinking you invariably get from someone who was raised in abject poverty!”
Qin Dejiang carefully examined the documents in his hand. Inside was the comprehensive resource assessment and the suggested starting bid meticulously prepared by Chaojiang’s own project division. The opening bid for Fengxin Mine was strategically set at one hundred million yuan, with a lease term spanning thirteen years. The entire auction process was being professionally handled by a company called Zhengcheng.
There was also a detailed analysis report on several of the prominent companies expected to participate in the bidding. As his eyes scanned down the page, finally resting on the signature of the responsible party who had compiled the report, he read aloud slowly, a hint of surprise in his voice, “Qin Weidong?”
“That’s right. Why do you ask?” Qin Zijie responded, his frustration still evident.
Qin Dejiang looked intently at the signature once more, a thoughtful expression creasing his brow. “Do you happen to know where he’s originally from?”
“I vaguely remember. HR mentioned he hails from some tiny, insignificant backwater, a poor rural area somewhere,” Qin Zijie said, clearly puzzled by his father’s sudden line of questioning. “Dad, why are you asking about that all of a sudden? What’s the significance?”
It had been an exceptionally long time since Qin Dejiang had last encountered that particular name. For a fleeting moment, the connection didn’t immediately register in his mind.
Then, a fragmented memory surfaced. He recalled a conversation with a cousin who had once worked closely alongside Qin Zhengrong. This cousin had mentioned that, in his younger years, Qin Zhengrong and his wife had been blessed with an only son—a boy named Qin Weidong.
Tragically, the child had been kidnapped at a very tender age and had vanished without a trace. So many years had since passed, each one layering on the silence of absence, that everyone had tacitly accepted the heartbreaking reality: the boy was, in all likelihood, no longer alive.
A subtle relaxation spread across Qin Dejiang’s features. After all, people sharing the same name were hardly a rarity in this vast country. “Which companies have formally expressed interest in the bidding process thus far?” he inquired, his tone now purely businesslike.
“Jiahe, Lichuang, Wanlei… I believe there are four companies in total at the moment, Dad. If they truly intend to proceed with this auction, shouldn’t we consider reaching out to one of them beforehand? Perhaps establish some common ground?” Qin Zijie suggested, his ambition barely concealed.
Qin Dejiang remained cautious, his years in business having taught him the value of prudence. “Thoroughly investigate the background of each of these companies. Uncover precisely what this Qin Weidong—or rather, whoever is truly pulling the strings behind him—is ultimately seeking to achieve. Let’s observe the nature of the game they are playing. Once we have a clear understanding of their motives, it won’t be too late for us to make our own strategic move.”
Qin Zijie clearly believed his father was being unnecessarily cautious, perhaps even bordering on paranoid. “Come on, Dad, really think about it logically—who in their right mind would willingly relinquish such a potentially lucrative project? Not even Kunshan, with all their resources.”
Then, his thoughts veered in a different, equally self-serving direction. “By the way, Dad, I’ve heard through the grapevine that the Nanpan Mine contains a massive gold deposit. Could you perhaps ask Uncle to put in a good word with that contact he has in the provincial government? Let me go over there and take a look. I mean, we are family, after all—even if the ties are somewhat distant, the blood still connects us. And it certainly wouldn’t negatively impact my current responsibilities at Chaojiang. I can’t possibly remain stuck at a relatively small company like Chaojiang forever. All it would take is a single word from him. Qin Zhengrong holds such an incredibly high position within the province, and he doesn’t even have a son of his own. Sooner or later, who else would he naturally turn to…”
Qin Dejiang fixed his son with a look of profound disappointment. “You truly are utterly hopeless. Do you honestly believe that the Nanpan acquisition deal was put on hold merely because they were facing a temporary shortage of funds?”
He continued, his voice tinged with bitterness, “And you actually think that Qin Zhengrong is someone you can simply approach with such blatant self-interest? If he ever hears you speaking with such undisguised opportunism, don’t even dare to dream of remaining as a deputy manager at Chaojiang. You’ll be packing your bags and heading straight back to the countryside where you belong. Use your head for once in your life, you fool!!”
Axolotl Translations 
Leave a comment