Chapter 4 A Pair of Doorplates

Chapter 4: A Pair of Nameplates

Camera flashes popped incessantly, spotlights, like gleaming white swords, sliced across the path ahead. The two men stood side by side on the church's red carpet—one stern and commanding, the other effortlessly composed.

Tan Youming, with his devil-may-care demeanor, was clearly seasoned in handling the media: "If everyone paid close attention during the meeting, Director Huang expressed high praise for the technical exchanges and collaborative support extended by Huantu and Pinghai to innovative, cutting-edge enterprises like Qianshi."

"The report presented at the meeting highlighted that Huantu and Pinghai consistently rank among the top performers, whether in terms of the project's contribution to local economic output growth, tax and profit revenue, increased industrial value-added, or their role in promoting industrial transformation, integration, and intelligence."

"Or," he paused slightly, "does anyone here question the tribunal's commendations?"

The stained-glass windows of the spire church shimmered with kaleidoscopic colors, reflecting in Tan Youming's 'peach-blossom' eyes and hair. The subtle, shifting power play in the room mirrored the light and shadow on the windows, flickering between bright and dim.

The reporters' microphones and long lenses receded slightly. Tan Youming smiled: "If there are no further questions, then I invite everyone to look forward to what's next. Huantu and Pinghai welcome oversight and encouragement from all sectors of society, and we will continue to uphold our social responsibilities, working alongside our peers to foster a flourishing and diverse market environment in Haishi."

"Will today's meeting impact the collaboration between Huantu and Pinghai?"

Tan Youming dismissed the question with ease: "Naturally, it will have a positive, encouraging, and well-regulated influence."

"Studying and interpreting the spirit of the meeting will guide Huantu and Pinghai toward more stable, standardized, and efficient modes of cooperation, striking the optimal balance between market demands and social responsibility."

The reporters fell silent for the moment.

Tan Youming draped his suit jacket over his arm and began to descend the stairs, clearing a safe path for Shen Zongnian behind him: "The merger of certain industries between Huantu and Pinghai is driven by considerations of capital and technological complementarity, fully aligning with the policy directive to enhance social resource utilization efficiency and conserve energy."

At this point, Tan Youming suddenly let out a feigned "tsk," feigning puzzlement with a hint of reproach: "Ah, didn't you all do your homework before coming? It's easy to see from our financial reports and market surveys from the first half of the year. After the merger strategy was implemented, redundant costs were reduced across multiple manufacturing sectors, production efficiency improved, and the market prices of some products could be reduced, ultimately benefiting consumers."

"Not to mention the annual output value, environmental indicators, and the breakthrough in foreign technological barriers," Tan Youming gestured expansively, speaking with authority, "Page 32, Issue 9 of *Finance Horizon*, seven pages of exclusive in-depth analysis," he added with feigned frustration, "You probably didn't buy it, did you?"

No one could resist Young Master Tan’s playful banter. The old Haishi media saying, "When Young Master Tan smiles, even typhoon-ridden islands clear up," was no exaggeration. His blend of charm and firmness made some reporters laugh sheepishly.

"It's alright," Tan Youming nodded understandingly, "Pinghai's assistants will send a copy to each of your news agencies later. Everyone is welcome to read it, so we can have more productive discussions next time we meet."

"As for whether Minglong’s market share has been surpassed—" Tan Youming suddenly stopped, his gaze falling upon the provocateur who asked the question, "Perhaps you should be directing that question to Mr. Zhao."

When someone usually full of smiles suddenly has their smile vanish, the pressure becomes palpable.

The questioner choked up—clearly, he didn't dare approach the crown prince.

Just as everyone thought Tan Youming felt offended, he suddenly broke into a congenial smile, pointed at Shen Zongnian, who had walked slightly ahead, and pleaded gently: "Alright, I can't keep the boss waiting. Let's chat another time." His tone was gentle but firm, so no one dared stop him again.

The sunlight followed Tan Youming’s dashing figure as he quickened his pace to catch up with Shen Zongnian. Shoulder to shoulder, they disappeared from view.

No one saw the smile vanish from his face the moment he turned away.

It wasn’t until the black Bentley sped off that someone came to their senses, sounding both annoyed and resigned: "He slipped away again."

Tan Youming seemed to have spoken at length, but in reality, his words were watertight—all empty pronouncements, bureaucratic jargon that circled back on itself, leaving nothing substantial for the reporters to write about, at least not what they wanted.

The "Big Three" had always been the Waterloo for financial journalists in Haishi. The crown prince never gave interviews or allowed photos, appearing as elusive as a dragon's head without its tail. Shen Zongnian’s words were venomous—if you asked 800 words, he might reply with ten, including a punctuation mark. Tan Youming seemed the most approachable but was actually the best at dodging questions. Every conversation felt pleasant, but upon reflection, it was all the playboy’s art of circling around and responding without substance.

A reporter flipped through her camera, trying to pick today’s usable photos. Staring at the two handsome faces, she suddenly recalled her first year on the job when her mentor advised: "While others focus on cracking Minglong, I want you to keep an eye on these two."

Her mentor, knowing she was new to the city, asked: "Do you know who they are?"

She took the newspaper and exclaimed—who didn't know the two scions of the Tan family? The cold-faced fierce god Shen Zongnian and the smiling peach-blossom Tan Youming. Their younger faces occupied half the page, the young masters still green at the time, shoulder to shoulder, one frowning, the other smiling.

Years later, no pen dared write about them like that anymore.

The black Bentley drove through Burlington Road. The luxury summer billboards had been taken down, but the large-leaf redbuds and palm trees on the heat island remained lush.

The cold-faced fierce god and the smiling peach-blossom attended to their respective work in the back seat of the car, the earlier spectacle leaving no ripple in either of their hearts.

They had weathered greater storms; these small splashes meant nothing to them.

The customized Bentley’s back seat had been modified earlier for spaciousness—business seats and workstations, each occupying one side.

Shen Zongnian skimmed rapidly through internal system emails while relaying the key points of the morning’s policies to the general office, instructing his assistant Zhong Manqing to arrange an expanded executive meeting.

Laptops and photography weren't allowed at the morning meeting, which lasted three hours, yet Shen Zongnian’s notes were concise. Only a few lines were sent back to Zhong Manqing, capturing all the essentials.

Tan Youming, from the moment he sat down, had someone identify the 23 media outlets present today. He skimmed rapidly through their funding networks and sent a message to his assistant Yang Shiyan.

"Release three exchange slots for the Lychee Bay Phase II open day. Remove *Haishi Jingwei* and *Xinjie News* from the list."

Yang Shiyan reminded him: "*Haishi Jingwei* is the stationed platform for our new project."

Tan Youming didn’t care: "I know."

The outwardly aggressive reporters were merely paper tigers; the real knives came from behind-the-scenes stakeholders.

The fastest way to divide the media was to make them compete for firsthand information.

Today, Tan Youming gave them face in public, but behind the scenes, he would teach them a lesson.

Yang Shiyan understood and said no more, replying with acknowledgment.

The sound of keyboard taps and email notifications filled the car. Shen Zongnian and Tan Youming attended to their respective work, undisturbed until a short message notification interrupted their focus.

Tan Youming set his laptop aside, stretched, and yawned, leaning his warm weight against Shen Zongnian’s leg.

"No sense of posture," Shen Zongnian pushed away the shoulder leaning against him. Perhaps because he had made lemon tea last night, Tan Youming caught a faint scent of lime on his hand.

Ignoring the remark, he leaned against him limply, casually picking up Shen Zongnian’s phone to check social media: "Ms. Guan wants us to deliver the return gift for great-aunt today."

In recent years, Ms. Guan and Tan Zhongshan had gradually shifted the responsibility of family social engagements to them.

"Mm," Shen Zongnian replied without looking up from the screen, "I’ll go to Pinghai after work."

Though rumors painted Shen Zongnian as someone who recognized no relatives, over the years, he hadn’t missed a single Tan family event—ancestral worship, family gatherings, weddings, funerals, or birthdays. He could barely recognize his own relatives, but he was quite familiar with the Tan family’s.

Tan Youming rubbed his temples: "We have a meeting at Jianxin this afternoon."

Jianxin was a company established after the partial merger of Huantu and Pinghai, with Huantu holding a slightly larger share. Tan Youming hadn’t been wrong earlier when he told reporters that Shen Zongnian was his boss.

Tan Youming presumptuously made demands of his boss: "Take two hours off. We still need to pick out gifts for the young ladies."

As lunchtime approached, Burlington Road saw a small peak in traffic. The black Bentley bypassed the interchange and headed toward the Pinghai compound. Tan Youming told the driver: "Stop at the entrance. No need to go in."

The compound was vast, and going through several security checkpoints only to return to Huantu would eat into their lunch break.

Shen Zongnian, still focused on his emails, didn’t look up but said directly: "Drive inside."

The driver immediately hit the accelerator.

Once the car stopped, Tan Youming took his jacket, draped it over his arm, and stepped out. After walking a few steps, he turned back and knocked on Shen Zongnian’s window.

Shen Zongnian rolled down the window, lifting his eyelids as he waited for him to speak.

Tan Youming gestured toward his parking spot with a chin lift. “Grab my cigarettes for me.”

Shen Zongnian didn’t even glance over, coldly tossing back a “No” before raising the car window and telling the driver, “Go.”

Tan Youming got the door slammed in his face as the Bentley sped off.

Jiang Ying arrived at Huantu in the afternoon, just as Shen Zongnian finished assigning tasks to the executives regarding the merger and acquisition review from the morning meeting.

Zhong Manqing escorted him to the office, and Shen Zongnian gestured toward the guest sofa with a tilt of his chin, signaling him to make himself comfortable.

“The account holder you asked about last time—it’s been traced. The surname isn’t Shen,” Jiang Ying said, dressed in a black shirt, looking refined and polished, though his family had connections on both sides of the law, with eyes and ears all over Haishi. “But if you suspect it’s held on someone else’s behalf, based on the current leads, there’s no way to prove it.”

Shen Zongnian nodded; he had already guessed as much.

“Also,” Jiang Ying adjusted his glasses, rational and sharp, “about the slot for the Nordic energy cooperation agreement—what’s your real take? Give me the bottom line. The Yao family is interested too.”

Shen Zongnian: “It has to go through committee. I can't make that call alone.”

“Don’t give me that corporate talk,” Jiang Ying leaned back on the sofa and crossed his legs, unafraid of him like outsiders were. When Shen Zongnian was exiled overseas, it coincided with the Jiang family’s move to legitimize their business and shift to Nordic regions. Jiang Ying had unintentionally lent a hand when he came across an injured Shen Zongnian, so their relationship was fairly close. “I’m asking for your personal opinion.”

“If I had no intention, why would I put it on the agenda?”

Jiang Ying put it together: “So, this morning—you did it on purpose?”

Shen Zongnian usually ignored irrelevant people and matters. In the past, a simple brush-off would have been his limit. But this morning’s pushy “Haishi Jingwei” was backed by the Yao family’s media empire.

Shen Zongnian didn’t elaborate: “Let them interpret it however they want.”

Jiang Ying understood now, and asked whether this was part of Huantu’s strategic expansion or strategic shift. If the energy project was successfully signed, which key person would be stationed in Nordic regions? During Shen Zongnian’s moment of silence, Jiang Ying suddenly looked out the window and paused: “Faye?”

Shen Zongnian’s office floor-to-ceiling windows faced Burlington Avenue, where several department stores and luxury boutiques on this street belonged to the Tan family.

On the prime advertising spaces of the department store promenade, massive digital billboards hung—ground screens, horizontal screens, and vertical screens all displayed posters of the same person. The 3D holographic screen was exceptionally clear, radiating a 360-degree view across the surrounding major parks.

The surrounding skyscrapers seemed to support Faye’s skirt. This newly crowned Golden Ear Award winner was the new quarterly luxury series endorser signed by Pinghai, and the same person Tan Youming was photographed having dinner with last month.

According to TCB reports, Pinghai signed Faye at twice the usual rate for endorsers, making Old Tan’s efforts to charm her quite apparent.

Author's Note:

Little Tan didn’t draw any brain-tigers or turtles in today’s meeting.