Chapter 6 Western Redbud

Chapter 6: Hong Kong Orchid Tree

The dense foliage blocked the light, obscuring their expressions.

The sun blazed, yet there was a single patch of shade—a deep, green canopy that swallowed human figures whole.

Tan Youming lifted the child in his arms, waving and mouthing, "Come here."

Shen Zongnian seemed not to notice, calmly replying to his aunt, "No."

Tan Youming frowned, then called out again, clearly and distinctly, "Shen Zongnian, come here."

Just then, someone at the mahjong table won a hand, and the courtyard erupted in noise. Shen Zongnian, perhaps still unheard, offered no response, simply standing there, holding Tan Youming’s gaze from afar.

One in shadow, one in sunlight; one bright, one dim.

Tan Youming suddenly felt the tree was impossibly distant—though right before him, it seemed separated by an unbridgeable chasm.

A raging green river—he couldn’t cross it, and Shen Zongnian couldn’t cross over either.

Cicadas chirped incessantly, one after another, stirring anxiety and irritation. Shrouded in the dense cicada hum, they felt trapped—screaming, growing hoarse, the noise growing louder and louder, indistinguishable and inescapable.

Without a moment’s thought, Tan Youming immediately put down the child, strode over, grabbed Shen Zongnian’s arm, and demanded sharply, "Didn’t you hear me calling you? Why didn’t you come over?"

He was always so open and straightforward, so self-assured. Tan Youming gripped too tightly, leaving finger marks on Shen Zongnian’s arm. Shen Zongnian said nothing.

Those peach-blossom eyes narrowed and lifted, clear and sharp. Just as Shen Zongnian thought Tan Youming was about to lose his temper, the other suddenly leaned in, tilted his head, and with a playful grin, said, "If you won’t come over, then I’ll come to you."

Shen Zongnian paused, his throat bobbed. His narrow eyes were pitch-black, emotions swirling in their depths.

He didn’t move, so Tan Youming remained standing very close to him in the sunlight, holding on.

The tropical sunlight was still, yet long, stretching out like a century—a silent, slow, but protracted tug-of-war. No one could say exactly when this struggle had begun.

Only, Shen Zongnian didn’t realize that the one he was confronting wasn’t Tan Youming, but himself.

It was he who had been pushed to the edge of light and shadow, violently torn in two.

The cicadas’ chorus grew denser, overwhelming, drowning out the surrounding noise. The child Tan Youming had set down seemed to be crying, but Tan Youming didn’t hear. Suddenly, he reached out, moving even closer to Shen Zongnian.

Shen Zongnian’s heart jumped. Frowning, he suddenly grabbed Tan Youming’s wrist. "What are you doing?"

"A petal," Tan Youming’s expression was frank and puzzled as he opened his palm.

It was almost October, yet the Hong Kong orchid tree still bloomed brilliantly, like clouds or sunset hues. A soft breeze swept through, and purple-pink petals drifted down, settling on Shen Zongnian’s shoulder.

Flowers and leaves rustled as they fell, stamens dropping along with them, like a secret buried in the soil, kept tightly under wraps.

The flower-admirer, carefree and thoughtless, even laughed and sighed, "What a pity."

Tan Youming broke free from his grip and continued brushing the petals from Shen Zongnian’s shoulder.

The child’s crying grew louder, but Tan Youming still didn’t hear. His expression was focused and serious, but his hands were fidgety—his fingers and the back of his hand accidentally grazed Shen Zongnian’s neck and earlobe.

Shen Zongnian held his breath, his thin lips pressed tightly together, unaware that the veins on his neck bulged more prominently. His hands clenched unconsciously into fists, but he could not, no matter what, bring himself to push the other away.

Unaware, Tan Youming picked up the last petal and held it up before him, smiling with curved eyes. "Shen Zongnian, it smells so good."

Shen Zongnian’s pupils narrowed.

Suddenly, the clouds in the sky scattered, and sunlight finally fell completely upon both of them.

The grass was green and lush, petals scattered all over. Two petals from the same branch drifted, twirled, and fell, nestling together quietly until the warm golden light gently, completely, and thoroughly enveloped them.

The two stood under the tree, whispering and touching. The adults at the mahjong table didn’t find it strange—when Tan Youming was young, right in this courtyard, it was common to see him riding Shen Zongnian like a little dog.

As dusk fell, a lively dinner ensued, with hosts and guests alike enjoying themselves. When it was time to leave, they were given many gifts. Tan Youming ate and took some, as if it were a grand homecoming, even more extravagant than a New Year’s visit to the maternal family.

The Bentley drove down Friendship Street, flanked by tall buildings, the road narrowing until it extended to the harbor, where a bilingual street sign stood. Even at night, many tourists were taking photos.

The car gradually slowed. Tan Youming pointed through the window at a corner shop selling claypot coffee and said, "Shen Zongnian."

"Pork chop bun."

Shen Zongnian glanced at him—Tan Youming had already had two extra servings at dinner—and was speechless. Tan Youming wore an expression that said, "Think what you want." "Since we’re here."

Shen Zongnian kept his eyes on the road, turning the steering wheel slightly to avoid pedestrians. "It’s hard to park."

"Then forget it." He wasn’t really hungry anyway, just remembering that the last time he’d eaten one was when he was very young. Tan Youming leaned back in his seat and picked up Shen Zongnian’s phone again to mess with their friends in the group chat.

Then he noticed the car stopping at the corner. "Hmm?"

Shen Zongnian had searched for a while before finding this corner to park, though it was a short distance from the coffee shop. He unbuckled his seatbelt and said to Tan Youming, "Stay in the car."

Tan Youming put his phone away, resting his arms on the window frame, chin on the back of his hands, watching Shen Zongnian get in line.

The claypot coffee shop, brewed over a charcoal fire, had been in Haishi for decades. Tourists flocked to it, and the line was long. Shen Zongnian towered over the crowd, ignoring attempts at conversation and not using his phone, simply waiting patiently and seriously. The hem of his long coat fluttered in the sea breeze, the dim harbor streetlights highlighting his sharp features, like a vintage poster.

The evening breeze at the cape made Tan Youming momentarily dazed. When he was young, he used to think Shen Zongnian was like some kind of moss or fern, growing in damp, dark ditches, its branches and leaves harshly and randomly pruned, nearly uprooted. But at some point, a giant tree had grown from that moss—tall and straight, with broad shoulders, like a cedar that could weather any storm but always seemed a bit lonely. It didn’t need sunlight, just a little dew and air, standing silent and still in the rainy night, day after day, without making a sound.

Tan Youming was a magpie passing by, head held high, tail raised, looking around. Along the way, there were many greener, livelier, more vibrant trees, but for some reason, he still perched on this one’s branches.

Because of this magpie, the cedar survived even in the tropics.

The sound of cables echoed from the street corner as a red double-decker tram moved along the tracks on Friendship Street. Its warm yellow lights were like mobile fireplaces in the autumn night. In the distance, pointed yachts shuttled back and forth on the sea.

Tourists excitedly boarded the tram.

This year marked the 120th anniversary of Haishi’s tram system. Several lines had been decorated with a cartoon pink pig theme, carrying well-dressed youth with blank expressions to Central or Admiralty daily.

It had been many years since Tan Youming’s first and only tram ride. Back then, Shen Zongnian had just arrived at the Tan household. Tan Youming skipped class with him, first riding the "sunset rollercoaster," then sneaking a taste of curry fish balls, and nearly stepping onto the Ferris wheel before being summoned back by Guan Kezhi’s twelve urgent decrees.

Doted on since childhood, Tan Youming was confined for the first time in the ancestral hall to reflect.

"Do you have any idea what’s at stake right now? How many people are looking for Nianzai!"

Tan Zhongshan hesitated to speak. Little Tan Youming knelt before the statue of the Goddess of the Sea, not talking back, head bowed, eyes red.

Shen Zongnian wanted to step forward and tell Guan Kezhi that it was his idea to go out, but Tan Zhongshan held him back by the shoulder.

It seemed that from that day on, Tan Youming stuck to Shen Zongnian like glue. He stopped going to the alleys at the end of the street, no longer participated in school fairs. He became like that persistent koala in the zoo, firmly clinging to one tree, refusing to move an inch, no matter the wind, rain, or passing of time.

Two more trams passed by.

Shen Zongnian walked back with hot coffee and pork chop buns. Across the street, he saw Tan Youming leaning out of the car window, waiting for food, looking very much like some kind of animal—lazy, but with bright eyes.

Shen Zongnian couldn’t help but think that if he had never come to the Tan family, the other might have had a more carefree, unrestrained, and brilliant youth.

Rather than clinging to unfinished childhood street food cravings after all these years.

But fortunately, Tan Youming can still have an unrestricted future.

Traffic light countdowns ticked like an hourglass, enveloping all of Hong Kong Island in a sense of urgency that made people feel restless and hurried, their steps quickening without a break.

Tan Youming ate the coffee and bread from Friendship Street all the way to Baoli Avenue. Shen Zongnian glanced at him in the rearview mirror and said, "If you can’t finish it, just leave it."

"Don’t waste it." Shen Zongnian had braved the winds and stood in a long line to buy it, so Tan Youming didn’t want to throw it away.

Shen Zongnian said nothing.

Sure enough, within two minutes, while waiting at a red light, Tan Youming raised the bread to Shen Zongnian’s lips: "Uh... I’m full, you finish it."

Shen Zongnian gave him a sidelong glance.

Tan Youming brought his hand closer: "Eat it, eat it, don’t waste it." As if he had been the one who stood in line to buy the food.

Shen Zongnian turned his head away, refusing to be fed, and took the remaining bread himself, finishing it in a few bites.

In November, with the Bay Area Chamber of Commerce’s leadership change approaching, the palm and Hong Kong orchid trees along Central Avenue in Haishi were trimmed neatly and overnight. The landmark high-rises and billboards on the main island all replaced their glamorous model posters with promotional materials about the candidates and voting.

After the Chamber of Commerce transition, trade associations across various industries would soon follow with personnel and power shifts.

Huantu and Pinghai have long been inseparable collaborators in many fields such as culture and tourism, real estate, and healthcare. Changes in the trade associations would affect environmental reviews, rating assessments, and policy support and incentives for multiple projects.

Mid-month, Shen Zongnian personally led the team for the second half of the year’s key project teams to a meeting at Pinghai.

Representatives from Huantu, Pinghai, and Jianxin each took one side of the table.

"The Sunset Island project has been approved by vote," the director chose his words carefully, "but it’s unclear whether the other side intends to deliberately delay it during the transition period, leaving it for the next official to sign."

Sunset Island is a land reclamation project in a specially designated maritime area, carrying significant responsibility. It’s understandable that an outgoing official, wanting a smooth exit, might be reluctant to take on additional accountability.

Shen Zongnian looked down to compare the two documents in his hand: "At which stage are the procedures stalled?"

"Second review stage," but the exact bottleneck was unclear. Afraid of being held accountable, the director suggested, "Should we try to call in some favors and inquire about the regulations?"

"No need to ask." Shen Zongnian had personally overseen projects of this scale before and knew the process inside out: rating, approval, rating, committee review, with the chairman’s signature at the end. Whether this was being used as an excuse or not, the first three stages involved association interference. With everyone busy maneuvering for position during the transition, no one had time to spare.

Shen Zongnian: "Focus on North Point Bridge and the new tax-free port."

Those were joint regional development projects for the Bay Area, representing the showcase for urban development. No matter how much infighting occurred, all parties had to ensure their smooth progress.

Other matters had some flexibility, but "this cannot afford any mistakes." Especially at this critical juncture.

His decision was final. The senior executives coordinated among themselves: "Understood."

Next, reports were given on progress in healthcare, real estate, urban construction, and culture and tourism. Affected by the current situation, the progress was less than satisfactory. Shen Zongnian did not hold anyone accountable for delays but instead asked pointed questions.

Though few, the questions were critical, putting the respondents under significant psychological pressure and creating a tense atmosphere.

To be fair, Shen Zongnian was not a difficult leader to work with. Externally, he was strong and accountable; internally, he was pragmatic and willing to delegate. He did not micromanage professional matters and provided support for project needs, no matter how unusual the requests.

He even personally inspected and oversaw critical projects during periods of severe weather like typhoons, floods, and mudslides, boosting morale.

It was just that he was too taciturn and had a strong presence, which made him seem authoritative even without anger.

Shen Zongnian’s tone was calm and not harsh: "Pre-sales and legal are waiting for the association’s standards. How long will this gap last? How will it be managed? Is there a plan?"

He then pointed to real estate and urban construction: "If peak periods overlap, the room for negotiation will shrink. If midstream and terminal stages can’t connect, who will take priority? Is there a contingency plan?"

The room fell silent. After letting them stew in anxiety, Tan Youming finally stepped in to break the ice: "Have we considered starting with public welfare projects?"

The executives finally lifted their heads slightly.