Chapter 22 Winter Moss

Chapter 22: Winter Fog Moss

Tan Youming reached into his pocket, surprised to find his phone still there. He fumbled the passcode several times before finally unlocking it.

When Zhuo Zhixuan saw Tan Youming’s name on his caller ID, his scalp prickled with a premonition of unease. The last time Tan Youming himself had called, it was because he and Shen Zongnian had argued.

He urgently gestured “shh” to Xu Enyi and Jiang Ying, who were chatting, and answered the call.

Tan Youming asked, “Where are you?”

“Just crossed the bridge.”

Due to the trouble Zhuo Zhixuan had caused Chen Wan before the New Year, his car and credit cards had been confiscated by his family and remained so. These days, he relied entirely on cadging rides—sometimes from Chen Wan, sometimes Qin Zhaoting. Tonight, it was Jiang Ying’s turn. No one was spared from his mooching.

“Turn around and come back to Puye to pick me up.”

“Huh?”

Jiang Ying, who was driving, glanced over, and Xu Enyi leaned in from the backseat.

Unable to withstand their prying eyes, Zhuo Zhixuan didn’t ask further questions and immediately said, “Alright, wait a moment. We’ll be there soon.”

Tan Youming waited stiffly in the cold wind for twenty minutes before the car arrived. During that time, his phone rang once, but after he ignored it, it didn’t ring again.

As soon as he opened the car door, he was ready to unleash eight hundred curses on Shen Zongnian, but noticing a lady in the backseat, he reluctantly mustered some semblance of gentlemanly conduct and nodded to Xu Enyi.

Zhuo Zhixuan and Jiang Ying exchanged a look, a silent conversation: “You ask.”

“No, you ask.”

Neither had the nerve, so Ms. Xu took the lead: “What’s going on, Young Master Tan?”

“Shen Zongnian’s acting crazy. I’m not going to indulge him.”

Xu Enyi found it hilarious. Jiang Ying, who was driving, had no choice but to ask, “So, Master Tan, where should we take you now?”

Tan Youming was stumped by the question.

He usually lived with Shen Zongnian on Zuoshideng Road. The other properties under his name were just empty shells.

The industrial park was shut down for the holiday, so there was no one there. Zhuo Zhixuan’s family was strict, and Jiang Ying was actually closer to Shen Zongnian. The argument was between the two of them—no need to make mutual friends uncomfortable.

But if he returned to the old mansion, the servants would definitely report it to Guan Kezhi.

So annoying.

Zhuo Zhixuan, sharp, turned around and suggested, “How about we take you to Puli? Ms. Xu probably isn’t asleep yet. You two could play a few rounds of Dou Dizhu (a card game) and have morning tea together tomorrow.”

“No.”

Puli was Shen Zongnian’s property. Going to stay at his hotel right after an argument would be utterly spineless.

Xu Enyi generously offered, “Then how about coming to my place?”

The oil tycoon's daughter owned countless properties, including a villa specifically for entertaining friends.

“I’ve been staying at the old mansion for the Spring Festival. The place is empty anyway—you can add some life to it for me.”

Tan Youming was about to say that old classmates have your back in times of need.

But Jiang Ying and Zhuo Zhixuan immediately said in unison, “No.”

Surprised by their own unison, they exchanged glances. Tan Youming’s anger spiked again.

He kicked the back of the front seat. “Have you two lost your minds too?”

Zhuo Zhixuan scrambled for an excuse: “Brother, believe me, if you step out of that car, the *Haidu Evening News* will write: ‘Top Playboy of Hong Kong Spotted in Taiping Qianwan, reformed rake’s new flame suspected to be oil tycoon’s daughter.’”

“Everyone’s idle during the Spring Festival, desperate for gossip. They’ll spin even a glance between you two as an engagement. How will you explain it when you get home? Do you really need more tabloid rumors?”

“You think I’m afraid of that?” Tan Youming sneered coldly. “A clear conscience fears no accusation. You know exactly how those rumors started, don't you?”

Zhuo Zhixuan winced. “Knowing the truth doesn’t help.”

Tan Youming had many friends since his student days. Whenever his reckless buddies got into trouble and needed to avoid punishment, they’d drag his name into it. The Tan family doted on their son, and influential families were eager to curry favor with them.

Tan Youming was easygoing—as long as it wasn’t a matter of principle, he couldn’t be bothered to call his privileged friends out.

If he were really as promiscuous as the tabloids claimed, Guan Kezhi would have skinned him alive long ago.

Though the Tan family spoiled him, they were straight-laced and traditional, never ambiguous when it came to principles.

“This is different from the usual rumors,” Zhuo Zhixuan said, frustrated. “If you go, not only will you have to explain, but Ms. Xu will too. This involves two families… It’s messy.”

But Xu Enyi said, “I don’t need to explain.”

The young lady was unfazed and free-spirited: “I don’t really care about such baseless gossip.”

Tan Youming immediately agreed, feeling like they were kindred spirits: “Exactly. Why indulge them?”

The two hit it off and made the decision just like that.

Zhuo Zhixuan and Jiang Ying: “…”

Tan Youming only lasted one night at Xu Enyi’s place before he couldn't stand the quiet. He borrowed a yacht from her and gathered friends for a boat trip.

No matter when, Tan Youming always had a crowd at his beck and call.

Still angry, he took the helm for two consecutive days, driving the yacht as if it were a racing speedboat.

The yacht churned up furious white waves, splashing nearby boats and forcing them off course. Several rich kids cursed and sent people to investigate who dared to be so arrogant. The report came back: it was Young Master Tan. They exchanged glances and fell silent.

Someone suggested going over to say hello, but the messenger reported that Tan Youming had blocked a lane, forbidding any boats from approaching. Everyone had to let it go.

Tan Youming raced over a dozen nautical miles, leaving everyone on board seasick. When a towering wave approached, the Dutch captain yelled, “Captain Tan! I'm begging you! Please!”

Tan Youming expressionlessly lifted his sunglasses and returned the wheel to him.

The weather at sea was clear that night, with high visibility of the starry sky. Tan Youming lay on the deck, gazing at the night sky, and surprisingly recognized several constellations—even he was surprised.

He recalled the abandoned Kepler Observatory on Mount Gadolia, a prime spot for watching the Victoria Harbour fireworks and light shows. Many wealthy young men raced on the mountain roads with models and starlets, even fighting to win a smile from their beauties.

On the night of last year’s supermoon, Tan Youming declared he would book the observatory. No one dared to compete with him.

No one knew for whom Tan had splurged that night. The next day, the *Haidu Evening News* listed every actress and model he’d been linked to, analyzing each one, leaving the paparazzi running in circles.

Tan Youming got a good laugh reading it. He had booked it specifically for Shen Zongnian.

And yet, this was how Shen Zongnian treated him. Truly, his conscience had been eaten by dogs.

Tan Youming picked up his phone and glanced at it—not a single message for two whole days.

As the screen went dark, his spirits dimmed along with it. The dark tide of night surged silently, rising bit by bit, as if threatening to drown his mouth and nose, making it hard to breathe.

Tan Youming drifted on the sea in a solitary boat, directionless, with no end in sight.

The signal was weak at night, and the winding mountain road was swallowed by darkness. Shen Zongnian turned the steering wheel halfway, swerving to avoid a tree root toppled by the typhoon.

The Shen family’s old estate was built halfway up Boli Mountain. Gate after gate swung open as the black Bentley advanced unimpeded, plunging into the thick mountain fog.

The upturned eaves, roof beams, and west-facing windows of the Shen residence were adorned with spring couplets, but the lack of life left the ancient house feeling vast and silent. The red decorations carried a faded sense of festivity.

The butler waited in the front courtyard. The rarely-seen young master of the house wore a long black overcoat and seemed somewhat unfamiliar.

Shen Zongnian, tall and long-legged, emerged from the mountain fog of the winter night.

In the dim light, the old butler stepped forward to greet him. “Young master, everything is prepared.”

Shen Zongnian nodded. “Uncle Jiang.”

The butler said, “It’s late. Would you like something to eat first?” Shen Zongnian returned to the Shen residence only once a year, spending a sleepless night in Shen Zhongwang’s main house. Without something in his stomach, the night would be difficult to endure.

“No need. I’ll go straight in.”

Shen Zhongwang’s main house remained exactly as it was during his lifetime—the master’s chair, the Eight Immortals table, traditional paintings and plaques, and the central hall’s main beam.

Shen Zhongwang was bold and forward-thinking. As early as the last century, he had begun doing business with foreigners, expanding his casino hotels from the port to the ring district. Yet his aesthetic preferences remained traditionally Chinese.

A Western clock hung in the center, symbolizing “lifelong peace.” A porcelain vase was placed in the east, and a tung flower mirror in the west, meant to bring “eastern peace and western tranquility.”

Unfortunately, things did not go as planned—the Shen residence was neither “peaceful” nor “tranquil.”

After lighting incense, Shen Zongnian returned to the central hall and sat down. He did not kneel, nor did he have anything to say.

He did not believe in deities watching from above, nor did he believe that the deceased had spirits. When people died, they were simply gone. The living returned during the holidays to pay respects to the elders as a gesture of filial piety.

Shen Zhongwang’s large portrait did not appear intimidating. He stood tall and broad-shouldered, with thick hair, gentle eyes, yet sharp angles and a faint smile at the corners—exactly as Shen Zongnian remembered him.

Tan Youming had once seen his photo and exclaimed, “Wow, your grandfather must have been a total heartthrob when he was young.”

“…” Shen Zongnian couldn’t be bothered with him and quietly put the photo away.

Sixteen years later, he looked up again to meet the old man’s gaze, feeling a rare sense of uncertainty. He wondered whether sending Tan Youming to the Tan family back then had been the right decision.

Once Shen Zongnian made a decision, it was final. He wasn’t afraid of Tan Youming getting angry—only worried that Tan Youming would be hurt.

This was his own process of withdrawal. He shouldn’t let Tan Youming suffer alongside him.

So, if time allowed, Shen Zongnian was willing to accompany Tan Youming step by step until someone new took his place, until Tan Youming no longer needed him at all.

The smoke from the incense curled around his weary brows. Shen Zongnian collected his thoughts and stopped overthinking, leaning back in the master’s chair and sitting quietly until dawn broke in the east.

The eighth day of the lunar new year was an auspicious date chosen by a feng shui master. Direct and collateral relatives came one after another to offer incense to Grandfather Shen.

But the collateral relatives could only stop at the incense burner in the open-air central courtyard to pay their respects—they were not allowed inside.

Several uncles passed through the screen wall and the hanging flower gate, lighting incense, burning paper, and muttering prayers. A black figure suddenly appeared from behind the screen, startling them. The flickering red flame of the incense nearly went out.

Only when the figure revealed his face did the uncles calm down, stammering greetings to Shen Zongnian.

The final incense offering was made at 3:15 PM. Shen Zongnian stayed at the main residence for lunch, sitting at the head of the table. Only after he picked up his chopsticks did the others begin to eat.

The uncles and aunts still allowed at this table were those who had survived the internal family conflict—mostly cowards and fence-sitters who had ill intentions but lacked the nerve to act.

Since they had not truly targeted the young Shen Zongnian back then, the grown Shen Zongnian let them off. After consolidating his power, whether they lived or died, prospered or struggled, no longer concerned him.

Everyone chatted and laughed, creating an atmosphere of superficial joy and false peace.

No one dared mention Shen Zongnian’s parents. Instead, they brought up how their uncle’s grave had yet to be moved back to the Shen family’s ancestral burial grounds, subtly hoping Shen Zongnian would reconsider.

The uncle was the younger brother of the old master Shen Zhongwang. After losing the internal power struggle, he died shortly afterward from rage and despair. Shen Zongnian wiped them out completely, removing his branch from the family registry and forbidding them from being buried in the ancestral graves.

Shen Zongnian asked calmly, “Reconsider what?”

Second Uncle Shen Xiaochang fawned, “That public cemetery is cramped and noisy. Paparazzi are always lurking whenever his family comes and goes. The deceased should rest in peace. After all, he was your grandfather’s own brother—family, in the end.”

It wasn’t that he wanted to help the uncle’s branch. It was just that the Shen family was now entirely under Shen Zongnian’s control. The remaining direct descendants were scattered and weak. If they didn’t form alliances and speak up, their future would be even harder.

Shen Zongnian took a sip of soup and said casually, “Oh, the family that couldn’t wait to pull the plug on their own elder brother.”

“…” Second Uncle forced a smile. “Those meddling paparazzi keep exaggerating and bringing up old news. It’s not good for Huantu or your image.”

Public pressure and moral manipulation had no effect on Shen Zongnian. A man who showed no mercy to family cared little for ethics. He wiped his mouth with a napkin and said, “If they’re unhappy with the current cemetery, I can have someone dig up Shen Zhongliang’s coffin and move it to the cellar. It’s quiet there—perfect for the deceased to rest in peace.”

The table fell silent.

When Shen Zongnian was eight, Shen Zhongliang had ordered him locked in the cellar for three days without food or water. When the truth came out, Shen Zhongliang claimed a servant had accidentally shut the wrong door.

No one expected Shen Zongnian to hold a grudge for so long. Third Uncle Shen Xiaoren timidly tried to smooth things over: “That’s all in the past. Let’s not bring it up. It’s the new year—I wonder how your younger brother is doing abroad. It’s been so long, and he hasn’t had the chance to come back and offer incense to Grandfather.”

Shen Ziqi was the youngest son of eldest uncle Shen Xiaochang. Forced into exile overseas, Shen Ziqi had also been sent abroad by Shen Zongnian.

Shen Zongnian had almost forgotten he had such a distant brother: “If Third Uncle is so concerned, I can arrange for you to visit him in person.”

But there was no guarantee he would return.

Third Uncle fell silent. Second Uncle chimed in earnestly, “Huantu is the legacy of your great-grandfather and grandfather over generations. Family is what you can rely on—blood is thicker than water. Outsiders can never compare.”

The underlying meaning was clearly about Tan Youming.

No matter how fierce the internal strife had been, the winner took all. But they could not accept a Shen family member favoring outsiders over family, serving others like a slave.

Especially in recent years, after Shen Zongnian changed the family trust rules, the old master’s own children received no benefits, while the Tan family profited at every turn.

That hell-raiser in particular—Shen Zongnian obeyed his every word, granting his every wish.

It seemed only a matter of time before Huantu changed hands and bore the Tan name. The direct and collateral relatives could only watch helplessly, seething with envy.

Shen Zongnian looked calmly and slowly at Shen Xiaochang. Shen Xiaochang’s heart sank. His wife quickly tugged at his sleeve, stopping him from saying more.

Everyone at the table knew that Shen Zongnian often ignored other matters, but when it came to the Tan family—especially Tan Youming—it was completely off-limits.

At 3:15 PM, Shen Zongnian entered the main house to offer the final incense.

The corridor was long and deep, with several children who had come with the adults playing. Upon seeing Shen Zongnian, they grew fearful and quietly stepped aside. One of the younger ones even burst into tears for no apparent reason.

Shen Zongnian was baffled and stared at her expressionlessly. The young child cried even louder, sitting down hard right in the middle of the corridor.

"..."

Shen Zongnian walked past without so much as a glance, but after a couple of steps, he turned back and moved the child to the side of the pathway so she wouldn’t be stepped on by passing servants.

On his way out, Uncle Jiang accompanied him to the front courtyard.

"Young master, do come back more often to visit the old master." The butler, having served the Shen family for decades, knew that Shen Zhongwang’s most cherished junior was Shen Zongnian.

Shen Zongnian simply said, "Uncle Jiang, don’t just let anyone in from now on."

The old butler waved his hand. "I understand."

At some point, rain began to fall in the mountains. A servant went to fetch an umbrella, and the old butler hesitated for a moment before asking, "Is the young master doing well at the Tan residence?" Since leaving at the age of twelve, Shen Zongnian had never returned to stay.

The rain grew heavier, dripping steadily against the eaves. Shen Zongnian watched for a while before replying, "Quite well."

The elderly butler, slow, nodded deliberately. "Then I am relieved, and the old master would be relieved too."

"Go back inside. I’m leaving." With a flick of his wrist, Shen Zongnian snapped the black umbrella open and strode into the rain, much like how he had emerged from the winter fog the night before.

Raindrops dampened the hem of his clothes. The old butler watched the young master’s tall but solitary figure, thinking he looked completely soaked, like the moss clinging to the corners of the mountains.