Chapter 10 The Sheepdog

Chapter 10: The Sheepdog

Tan Youming hung up the phone, looked up, and saw her. He extinguished his cigarette and smiled, saying, “How is this brushing me off?” He pointed to the glass of Leroy wine in her hand. “Isn’t it to your taste?”

Kang Yatung stared straight at him, and Tan Youming returned her gaze with a faint, composed smile.

She had indeed helped him significantly, but Pinghai had also promised substantial benefits to her family. Tan Youming didn’t feel he owed her anything.

Matters of interest were about give and take. As for anything else, it shouldn’t be mixed into business—one thing at a time.

Kang Yatung’s father had been promoted this year, and she herself was about to take up the role of CFO in the family business. Riding the crest of success, she had no shortage of talented suitors courting her. Unimpressed by his act, she set down the glass of red wine. “Even a token of gratitude that everyone receives is something you’d boast about?”

“Oh, come on,” Tan Youming said, maintaining his good temper with an old classmate and pretending to plead. “Just tell me directly what you want.”

Kang Yatung looked into his eyes, which resembled peach blossoms with a subtle, lingering charm. She tapped her finger lightly on the stem of the glass. “At the Huakang opening ceremony last time, Pinghai was the only investor absent.”

“Hey—” Tan Youming raised his hands in surrender, keeping himself clean of any commitment. “But Pinghai sent an entire square’s worth of flower baskets.”

Kang Yatung was no pushover either; a woman who’d grown up at the negotiation table, she was a force to be reckoned with. “Everyone knows you sent them precisely because you didn’t show up.”

Tan Youming had no comeback. “Why accuse me like that? Fine, tell me how I can make it up to you. I’m willing to redeem myself, but I have no way to make amends, CEO Kang. Give me a clear indication.”

“How? Well, since Pinghai owes this debt, you, as the CEO, should repay it. No time like the present.”

Tan Youming was both accommodating and unyielding. “Not tonight. Shen Zongnian’s overtime is almost over.”

Kang Yatung mentally rolled her eyes. It wasn’t just tonight—it was every night.

For years, he hadn’t even bothered to change his excuse. Back in their school days, it was always “I’m going to play ball with Shen Zongnian,” “waiting to have dinner with Shen Zongnian,” or “studying with Shen Zongnian.”

As if Tan Youming ever studied! What a joke.

She wasn’t without pride. Raising an eyebrow, she feigned offense. “Then what should we do? You didn’t show up last time. Wouldn’t people laugh at me behind my back?”

Tan Youming chuckled softly. “Who would dare laugh at you? I’d be the first to set them straight. How about this: send a director to the press conference later this month—not even a deputy CEO. The tabloids will know it’s because you can’t be bothered with me.”

Kang Yatung watched him quietly for a moment before breaking into a smile. See, this was Tan Youming. He would give you gifts, but only the same ones everyone received. He’d help you find a way out and protect your reputation, but nothing more.

A man could be either a gentleman or a scoundrel. Tan Youming, however, was the type outsiders praised as charming and considerate, unaware that he drew clear boundaries. He could reject you without earning your hatred, leaving you instead constantly remembering his kindness. How infuriating.

“Tch, I’m not that bored.” People like them were accustomed to speaking in hints and implications, with layer upon layer of subtlety and indirection. Even when expressing themselves, it was always three parts jest to seven parts propriety.

Kang Yatung, bold and unrestrained, clinked glasses with him. “Still trying to get me to accept your invitation? Get in line. I’m leaving.”

Tan Youming played the role of gallant escort, accompanying her back to the main hall. “Shall I have someone drive you?”

“No need. My driver is waiting downstairs.”

“Alright,” Tan Youming saw her to the door. “Take care.”

Li Baihao had been searching for him for a while before spotting him coming up the spiral staircase. Glancing at the departing car outside, he whispered, “Is Sister Kang still not giving up?” From their school days till now, it had been years.

Tan Youming frowned slightly. “Don’t talk nonsense. We were discussing the press conference.”

He added, “After the transition, Huakang will be the largest distributor, and Kang Yatung’s appointment as CFO has been finalized.”

Li Baihao immediately stopped gossiping and accompanied Tan Youming back to the main hall. “You’ve been gone forever just to see her off. They’re definitely going to make you drink.”

Tan Youming didn’t mind. He had a high alcohol tolerance, was easygoing, and never refused a drink. During a break, he took out his phone to check.

“Tsk, checking in with your watchdog again?” The group had long resented Shen Zongnian’s authoritarian ways. If they were to trace it back, they’d known Tan Youming since they were in diapers, while that Shen guy had only arrived at the Tan household when he was twelve at the very most.

“Pfft,” Tan Youming laughed and punched the guy playfully. “Who dares to check on me?”

The other man, still discontented, was about to say more when someone nearby tugged his sleeve.

Once, a friend who thought he had strong enough ties to Tan Youming had made several divisive, undermining remarks in front of him. After that, they never saw that friend around Tan Youming again.

Tan Youming was an unparalleled friend, but one should never be foolish enough to touch his one and only reverse scale.

When the Bentley stopped on Paul Avenue, it was peak hours at the club. Parking was a nightmare. Shen Zongnian, worried Tan Youming might not find him, simply got out of the car to wait.

After half an hour, he finally saw Tan Youming emerge, surrounded by a few people. Tan Youming had his jacket draped casually over his shoulder, a faint smile playing on his lips.

The companions accompanying him also noticed Shen Zongnian across the street. They stopped where they were, seeing him off no further—a tacit understanding that had been in place for over a decade.

They wouldn’t cross over, and Shen Zongnian wouldn’t approach.

Tan Youming bounded over in a few quick steps, slinging an arm around Shen Zongnian’s shoulders. “Sorry to keep you waiting, my bad. Tonight—”

A playing card suddenly fluttered down from inside his jacket. Shen Zongnian glanced down and saw the King of Hearts.

They had been playing cards.

The knight cards favored by casino hostesses—whoever received a card could make a request of the giver, each scent laden with sexual undertones.

Tan Youming had been frequenting clubs since his teens, mastering the arts of romantic entanglements. If not for Guan Kezhi ordering Shen Zongnian to keep an eye on him, it was hard to say what he might have become.

It wasn’t entirely unfounded that Tan Youming’s dubious friends jokingly referred to Shen Zongnian as the “Sheepdog” behind his back.

Shen Zongnian coldly pushed Tan Youming away, his gaze fixed on the lipstick and wine stains on his collar. “Next time, call your driver. Don’t call me.”

Tan Youming stared at his retreating back, muttering, “Damn, what’s with the temper?”

His head spinning and legs unsteady, he bent down to pick up the King of Hearts—the card he’d hidden to avoid giving away—and tossed it into the trash.

Staggering into the passenger seat, he draped Shen Zongnian’s jacket over himself and played with the other man’s tie, wrapping it around his wrist.

Tan Youming closed his eyes, massaging his temples. Drunk as he was, he still tried to interrogate others. “What were you up to tonight? Why didn’t you share your location?”

Shen Zongnian remained silent. He had just come from a teahouse at the theater.

Wu Cisheng’s gathering—attended by dignitaries and elites. Given the sensitive timing, alcohol was avoided. Instead, they found an elegant spot to drink tea and listen to two Cantonese operas: *The Princess’s Flower* and *The Purple Hairpin*.

Wu Cisheng was a veteran of three generations at Pinghai, a sworn brother of Tan Zhongshan, and the mentor he had found for Shen Zongnian and Tan Youming.

From their first steps into the securities building to their first major international case, from negotiations and mediation to market manipulation and buying low—he taught them everything, good and bad, righteous and wicked.

As childhood friends, brothers, and now disciples, both addressed Wu Cisheng as “Teacher.”

After three cups of Jin Jun Mei tea, the group casually discussed affairs of state. Haishi was a jewel of a port but also a treacherous shore—littered with gold yet fraught with peril and intrigue. Shen Zongnian spoke little, listening more, silently calculating in his mind.

After the students had left, two elderly men—both older than Wu Cisheng—waited for their cars. Thinking everyone had gone, they chatted idly.

“The Tan family is stepping down, yet Old Wu is bringing that Shen fellow into the fold.”

“Well, bringing the Tan kid around now would be inconvenient. Using the Shen guy as a decoy is perfect. He’s always been a stepping stone for others—destined to be a target.”

“That old fox Tan Zhongshan really raised a fine watchdog to guard his precious son.”

Still a vicious beast—the Zhang family got bitten and took a pound of flesh, and even after all these years, they still haven’t recovered.

Shen Zongnian wiped his hands with a tissue and waited until their car was out of sight before strolling out.

The next day, Tan Youming woke up late, hungover and with a headache. Shen Zongnian left a driver for him and drove off first in a pickup truck.

Tan Youming looked at the breakfast keeping warm for him and kicked the chair, cursing, "What a fucking petty mindset he has."

Shen Zongnian didn’t have time to hold a grudge over that. His morning schedule was jam-packed, with a regular meeting in the industrial park at 10:30 sharp. Before it even ended, Zhong Manqing was waiting outside: "Mr. Shen, Mr. Gao is in the reception room."

Shen Zongnian nodded. Without even time for a drink of water, he handed the documents and the suit jacket he'd taken off to her to bring back to the office, then went down to the 34th floor alone.

Gao Huakui stood up when he saw Shen Zongnian: "Zongnian."

"Granduncle." Shen Zongnian took the main seat.

"Zongnian, I discussed the matter we talked about last time with your great-aunt, and here’s what we think—would this work?"

Gao Huakui was somewhat nervous, even though he was nearly two dozen years older than the man across from him: "Let Weihao write you an IOU. We’ve already arranged for his cars and properties to be auctioned. As for the shares... let him keep them for now."

"And about the family office position—do you think you could help arrange it? You know how your Aunt Guan is. For us relatives, it’s hard to bring this up."

Relatives aren’t afraid of poverty, but they fear stupidity. Gao Huakui’s son, Gao Weihao, had recklessly made a betting deal with underworld figures, and when it fell through, he faced having his limbs broken. In such a situation, Gao Huakui’s first thought was to ask Shen Zongnian for help.

"If Weihao really joins the family office, his salary and shares will all go toward repaying the debt. The Shen and Tan families have worked together so much—if anything comes up, he can also support you in meetings and repay you."

"Granduncle," Shen Zongnian tried to tone down his sharpness in front of Tan family elders but remained direct, "Cousin Weihao’s real estate assets are mostly in Kwun Tong and Kwai Tsing. They won’t fetch good prices at auction."

Shen Zongnian didn’t care about the money and had the means to deal with the underworld figures, but having Pinghai shares in their hands was an eyesore. Guan Kezhi had long intended to reclaim them.

However, Gao Huakui was the brother of Tan’s matriarch Gao Shuhong and the uncle of Tan Zhongshan, so Guan Kezhi couldn’t easily speak up.

Shen Zongnian acted as the sheepdog, the guard dog, and the executioner’s blade: "Granduncle, I don’t want money—I only want equity. The acquisition price can be increased by two percent. Cousin Weihao can get three times more than what his company would fetch at auction."

Gao Huakui hesitated. He looked up at the young man sitting in the shadows—capable, reliable, but also somewhat cold: "As for the family office matter, Granduncle, I’m not a Tan, nor am I a member of the investment committee. I have no say in family office affairs."

Gao Huakui opened his mouth to speak but stopped. Shen Zongnian indeed wasn’t a Tan, but everyone knew that when Tan Youming took over Pinghai, it was Shen Zongnian who helped him restructure the family office’s organization.

Tan Youming had even invited him to join, intending to convert the family office into an MFO, but Shen Zongnian declined.

Dealing with incompetent relatives, Shen Zongnian adopted a carrot-and-stick approach: "If Cousin Weihao is interested in finance, Huantu’s investment bank has a few positions. I can have HR send you the details—ask him if he’s interested."

Even after stripping the shares, Shen Zongnian didn’t want to leave Gao Weihao to cause trouble at Pinghai. It was safer to keep him where he could keep an eye on him.

Gao Huakui nodded repeatedly. An admin staffer saw him out of Huantu. As soon as he left, Shen Zongnian contacted the family office.

"Check Gao Weihao’s credit records. List any issues, and if there are none, find some."

"Also, impound all business licenses and qualification certificates under his name."

Though it was called the Tan family office, Shen Zongnian held the real power. The person on the other end responded respectfully.

Finally having time to return to his office for a drink of water, Shen Zongnian tackled a dozen pending tasks with efficiency and clarity. But missing a few calls from Tan Youming gave the latter an excuse to gripe.

"You’re busier than the Chief Executive!"

Tan Youming climbed into the passenger seat, taking off his tie and jacket and tossing them into the back.

Shen Zongnian ignored him, steering onto Poly Avenue. Tan Youming picked up the phone from the console and started scrolling through it, regardless of whose it was.

"Why are they always looking for you? Stop indulging them," Tan Youming said sarcastically after taking a gulp of iced tea from the glove box. "What’s Gao Weihao going to do at Huantu Investment Bank? Be a security guard?"

He was baffled—why were their relatives latching onto Shen Zongnian one after another?

Shen Zongnian had spent the morning dealing with family matters and replied bluntly, "If I’m playing chauffeur, why can’t he be a security guard?"

"..." Tan Youming said, "I’ll message the family group telling them to stop bothering you."

Shen Zongnian snatched the phone back with a swift motion: "Don’t cause trouble."

If those people didn’t bother him, they’d bother Tan Youming. The White Crane Hall’s demands were relentless, and he never let Tan Youming get involved.

Tan Youming was momentarily stunned by the phone snatch but tried to argue further. Shen Zongnian stepped on the gas and pulled up at Left Secretary Road: "I have business tonight. I’ll drop you off downstairs."

"What business?"

"Work business."

"What kind of work business?"

Shen Zongnian warned him, "Don’t start anything."

Tan Youming didn’t care if it was work or personal: "Send me your location when you arrive."

Shen Zongnian ignored him: "Auntie left dinner in the warmer. Eat it and take the soup from the fridge to finish."

With all the recent social engagements, Shen Zongnian stopped making him that awful frozen lemon tea and had Auntie prepare ginseng soup to nourish his stomach.

"Heat it in a pot, not the microwave. Leave the dishes—don’t worry about them."

Tan Youming unbuckled his seatbelt without a word. The soup was disgustingly bitter.

Shen Zongnian parked the car, expressionless: "Don’t let me catch you pouring it down the sink."

Tan Youming was annoyed by his lecturing tone and slammed the car door shut.

Shen Zongnian didn’t indulge him either, turning the car around and driving off. Tan Youming, irritated by his abruptness, grabbed the edge of the car window on Shen Zongnian’s side.

Shen Zongnian tapped the brakes lightly and glanced up at him through the window.

Tan Youming thought for a moment but couldn’t find anything to pick a fight about. Annoyed, he waved his hand dismissively and let him go.