Chapter 45 A Far-Reaching Plan

Chapter 45: Making Far-Sighted Plans

The open day salon was held at a mansion in Kowloon, adorned with Italian glazed tiles, relief enamel bricks, and a covered walkway shaded by banana trees.

Wang Simin wore a pale lavender lightweight suit with pearl-buttoned blazer.

She maintained her polite yet somewhat aloof demeanor. Upon seeing Tan Youming enter, she offered a slight nod.

"Miss Wang," Tan Youming greeted first, "It’s quite lively today."

Wang Simin poured him wine: "It’s just noon, so everyone happens to be free."

Tan Youming accepted the glass, then introduced her: "Zhuo Zhixuan, my friend, CEO of Central Island Hotel."

In Haishi, there was only one prominent Zhuo family. Wang Simin couldn't recall if she and Zhuo Zhixuan had met as children. She extended her hand: "Mr. Zhuo, welcome."

Zhuo Zhixuan returned her handshake: "Miss Wang, I’ve long heard of you."

Wang Simin had someone show them inside for a tour. Zhuo Zhixuan was both impressed and puzzled: "To acquire and revitalize so many stores in less than half a year, and not as a uniform chain—doesn’t that mean the cooperation teams and equipment suppliers have to change frequently?"

Tan Youming simply said: "We’ll ask her later."

Servers brought a new round of refreshments. As the salon began, Wang Simin shed her lazy air, engaging actively in conversations.

Zhuo Zhixuan discussed supplier and supply chain issues with her, exchanged contact information, and found the interaction quite rewarding.

The salon was brief, about forty minutes. As they departed, Zhuo Zhixuan observed the well-matched pair and mused that if a relationship were possible, it could be a good match—at least it would spare Tan Youming the heartbreak he’d witnessed that morning. The memory alone was painful.

Stepping out of the colonial-style villa, they unexpectedly encountered someone, and both were momentarily startled.

The other person smiled first: "Finished already?"

Zhuo Zhixuan glanced at Tan Youming’s expression. Tan Youming looked back at the other person and also smiled: "There should be another session."

The other person replied: "Then I’m not too late after all."

Tan Youming waved: "Go on in."

"See you later."

Only after getting in the car did Zhuo Zhixuan ask: "Have you and Kuang Yang buried the hatchet?"

Back when they were students at Yinghua, the Kuang family sided with Shen Xiaochang. Kuang Yang and another second-generation scion led the ostracization of Shen Zongnian, causing trouble during rugby class and nearly starting a fight. Later, Tan Youming secretly intervened, resulting in Kuang Yang’s broken bones and a month of recovery.

Tan Youming took a sip of water: "What grudges or favors?"

Haishi is a small world, and the social circle is even smaller. No matter how reckless one is in youth, perpetual immaturity is impossible. Even Shen Zongnian himself later had a shallow business deal with Kuang Yang—it’s all about profit above all.

Such opportunists aren’t worth a second glance once revenge is taken.

Yet, ten years later, irrelevant people had reconciled and become mere acquaintances, while the person he once sought to protect most had completely parted ways.

Zhuo Zhixuan turned the steering wheel halfway onto the ring road. Tan Youming said: "Let’s go to Happy Valley (racecourse)."

Zhuo Zhixuan thought he missed Toffee, and since he didn’t want to leave Tan Youming alone, he quickly agreed: "Sure, I haven’t seen Toffee in a long time either."

Even though it wasn’t the weekend, Happy Valley was crowded.

Manager Huang hadn’t seen Young Master Tan in a while and greeted him with a broad smile: "Young Master Tan, Young Master Zhuo, long time no see."

Tan Youming smiled and accepted his cigarette.

Manager Huang still spoke with his heavily accented Mandarin: "You look a bit thinner?"

Tan Youming neither confirmed nor denied: "Busy, that’s all."

"If you don’t come soon, Toffee might start to forget you."

Zhuo Zhixuan said: "Let’s go see."

Toffee was kept in a private stall. When he saw Tan Youming, he ran over and affectionately rubbed his neck against him. Tan Youming showed the first genuinely heartfelt smile he’d had in days.

"At least you remember me."

Toffee was in high spirits and well cared for by dedicated handlers, looking quite impressive. The funding Shen Zongnian had transferred was generous—the manager had even set aside a plot of land in the expensive Happy Valley specifically for Toffee’s rehabilitation and training.

Manager Huang, loyal to those he served, respectfully said: "Mr. Shen is very attentive. Just the other day, he sent someone to personally check and evaluate Toffee’s recovery progress. All indicators are already above his pre-injury benchmarks."

Tan Youming’s smile faded slightly. Zhuo Zhixuan asked: "Has he started entering him in races?"

Manager Huang: "Without Young Master Tan’s authorization, how would we dare? But the trainer says his current ability is stronger than many active racehorses."

Tan Youming patted the horse’s back and said: "Let me see his capabilities with a couple of laps."

Toffee lowered his head obediently. Tan Youming swung up gracefully and mounted smoothly, reined in, and galloped off.

Faster and farther he went. Zhuo Zhixuan worriedly shouted: "Hey, young master, that’s enough, isn’t it?"

Tan Youming ignored him, completing two circuits at gallop before stopping. He dismounted neatly and instructed Manager Huang: "Take off the stirrups, saddle, and these reins, and throw them all away."

The horse’s tack was still the set chosen together with Shen Zongnian back then.

"Replace them with new ones. Have someone move the horse to Yingxi tomorrow—he’ll be kept there from now on."

"Use trainers and veterinarians from Yingxi too. If anything comes up, contact me directly."

Manager Huang was taken aback: "Tomorrow? What about Mr. Shen—"

"Just tell him as it is."

Only then did Zhuo Zhixuan realize that Tan Youming hadn’t come today to ride.

He hesitated, wanting to dissuade him, but seeing his friend’s resolute expression, he couldn’t bring himself to speak.

Sometimes Tan Youming’s decisiveness exceeded his expectations. Dividing assets in a divorce was one thing, but why fight for ownership too?

Sigh.

As dusk fell, Zhuo Zhixuan saw him home at the estate: "I’m heading off. Call me anytime if you need anything."

Tan Youming waved without turning around and walked into the deepening twilight.

The Audi turned around and drove onto Dutch Boulevard.

At 8 PM, the South Shore District had already shed its daytime bustle. A black Bentley was parked in front of Qin Zhaoting’s shooting range club.

Passing through the shooting range and climbing wall, the club’s second floor was a fencing hall. When Shen Zongnian arrived, Zhao Shengge had already changed into his fencing uniform, holding his helmet in one hand while choosing a foil.

Seeing him in a suit and tie, he must have been coming straight from formal engagements. Zhao Shengge didn’t even look up: "Requesting assistance and still late."

Shen Zongnian ignored the remark, heading straight into the locker room to change into his fencing gear.

They were fencing with foils, a style easier to defend than attack. Zhao Shengge took the initiative, thrusting straight at Shen Zongnian’s throat. Shen Zongnian feinted, retreating only to advance, immediately countering with a strike toward Zhao Shengge’s torso—a clear provocation.

Having faced each other for years, they knew each other’s styles intimately. For a moment, their blades became a blur, clashing with the clang of jade meeting jade, sparks flying as the foils crossed.

There was no referee, no scoring—just pure practice.

Shen Zongnian hadn’t had the chance to learn fencing in the Shen family. It was only after coming to the Tan household that Tan Zhongshan hired instructors. Fencing, shooting, horsemanship—he and Tan Youming studied under the same masters.

After several exchanges and a few draws, Shen Zongnian lowered his foil, removed his protective gear, and walked over to the side to grab a bottle of water, twisting the cap off to drink.

Zhao Shengge grabbed a bottle too, casually asking, “How much does Jiang Ying have available?”

Shen Zongnian caught his breath, hands on his hips, and gave a number.

Zhao Shengge was blunt: “That’s nowhere near enough.”

Guangxun’s market value was enormous. Tan Youming was demanding three times the market value, with no stock options and a strict deadline.

Raising that much cash in such a short time was a tall order—financing guarantees, selling off assets—all of it took time.

Shen Zongnian took another swig of ice water, not beating around the bush: “Then loan me more.”

“Haven’t I lent enough already?” Zhao Shengge raised an eyebrow. Money wasn’t the issue. “Chen Wan’s private lab is applying for inspection and licensing next month.”

Frequent large loans and guarantees in personal accounts could complicate financial credit checks, adding layers of scrutiny that might delay the lab’s approval process.

Shen Zongnian, in a less-than-ideal mood lately, retorted, “If you don’t have the money, then don’t talk.”

“…” Zhao Shengge asked politely, “So what do you want to do?”

Shen Zongnian was succinct: “Get the money.”

Zhao Shengge gazed at the city lights outside the window, the glow illuminating his brow and nose. “Honestly, even if you don’t buy it, Tan Youming will still make a fortune.”

Turning a gazelle into a unicorn, Guangxun was now a hot commodity.

Shen Zongnian shook his head. “It’s not the same.”

Zhao Shengge, all about the money, said, “There’s no difference.” It was all about the money.

Shen Zongnian wasn’t afraid of Tan Youming losing out—Tan Youming would never come out short. He took another sip of cold water and said quietly, “I’m afraid he might regret it one day and want to buy it back.”

If the shares were scattered among others, it would be next to impossible to reclaim them, even with money—others might not be willing to sell.

Zhao Shengge paused, frowning.

So Guangxun was Shen Zongnian’s safety net for Tan Youming. Now that Tan Youming no longer wanted it, Shen Zongnian was shelling out a fortune to buy it and hold it himself. If Tan Youming ever wanted it back, Shen Zongnian would give it back for free.

Zhao Shengge suddenly recalled an Easter during their time at Yinghua, when the school held an Easter egg decorating contest. Tan Youming had painted quite a few eggs but was dissatisfied with all of them. “Throw these away,” he said. “I’ll start over.”

Shen Zongnian glanced at them. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” Tan Youming replied, resting his brush irritably. “They all look terrible.”

Shen Zongnian did as asked and disposed of them all.

On the final day of the competition, Tan Youming regretted it. “Actually, that butterfly egg was the best. I should’ve kept it.”

Watching Tan Youming agonize over his decision, Shen Zongnian waited until the last moment before slowly opening his own locker. “Pick one,” he said.

Tan Youming was stunned. The drawer was filled with every egg he had painted—butterflies, foxes, ugly ones, pretty ones.

Guangxun was like those Easter eggs—a safety net Shen Zongnian had prepared for Tan Youming, no matter the cost.

Seeing it as sheer madness but knowing further discussion was pointless, Zhao Shengge nodded understandingly, half in admiration, half in mockery. “Oh, playing the long game, huh?”

Shen Zongnian had had enough. “Are you insane?”

Zhao Shengge didn’t mind, knowing Shen Zongnian just wanted to make Tan Youming happy. “Will it work?”

Shen Zongnian looked out the window at the towering buildings. “I don’t know.” But he had nothing else to offer—if it could calm Tan Youming down even a little, it was worth a try.

Shen Zongnian tossed the empty water bottle and headed for the showers.

Zhao Shengge stood alone in the empty hall for a moment, deep in thought. After a while, he pulled out his phone, sent a message to his assistant, and then grabbed his sports bag, heading to the locker room as well.

By the time they left the venue, it was past ten. Zhao Shengge asked Shen Zongnian, “How are you heading back?”

“I’m driving.”

“Oh.”

Shen Zongnian didn’t ask in return, not giving Zhao Shengge the chance to say, “Chen Wan is picking me up.” He simply pressed his car key, got in, and drove off onto the main road.

Zhao Shengge walked to the roadside and opened the passenger door of a Rolls-Royce Cullinan. Chen Wan, who was on a work call, turned and smiled at him, hanging up to ask, “How did it go?”

Zhao Shengge shook his head.

Chen Wan thought for a moment. “Should I try talking to Youming?” Lately, in their group gaming sessions, everyone had been letting Tan Youming win.

“Won’t work,” Zhao Shengge said, buckling his seatbelt. “Those two—no one can interfere.” It had been that way since they were kids.

The next day, while in a meeting with Jiang Ying, Shen Zongnian received a message from Zhao Shengge—a social media profile.

Shen Zongnian hadn’t expected Zhao Shengge to put him in touch with this person. He forwarded it to Zhong Manqing, asking her to reach out.

After reviewing several business plans until he was dizzy, Jiang Ying set them down on the table, rubbing his temples. “What is it?”

Shen Zongnian said, “Zhao Shengge found Old Ghost Luo.”

“Old Ghost Luo?” Jiang Ying stood up, stretching as he stood by the high-rise window. “The Luo family’s pawnshop handles all sorts of business—lots of connections, high liquidity. But Old Ghost Luo is a questionable character.”

“If Zhao Shengge pointed him to me, there must be a chance.” Shen Zongnian was ready to explore any option. “I’ve asked Zhong Manqing to feel things out first.”

Jiang Ying misted the orchids in Shen Zongnian’s office with a long-necked watering can. “They’re dying.”

Shen Zongnian glanced at them. The orchids weren’t his, but despite regular care from the cleaners, they continued to wither, as if bent on dying.

Jiang Ying, though moving in both legal and illegal circles, had a soft spot for greenery. He moved the orchids to a sunnier spot. “I’d still advise against it.”

It wasn’t about who they borrowed from—whether Old Ghost Luo or some other sketchy lender, it was like drinking poison to quench thirst.

"You know him better than I do," Jiang Ying lowered his gaze, tidying up dead petals. "You can't possibly not understand that this is just the first step."

Even without involving Huantu and Pinghai, simply disentangling their personal joint investments and partnerships would be a seismic event in itself.

Over twenty years of intertwined interests, more complicated than a divorce or splitting assets—tugging one thread could unravel the entire fabric.

Moreover, these two are now like gamblers at the table: one keeps raising the stakes while the other matches every bet. The cards are getting bigger and bigger, and the situation is spiraling out of control.

"Now it's Guangxun. How do you plan to handle what comes next?"

"Will Tan Youming just let it go? You know his temper best."

"Even if you're willing to hand him money, Haishi doesn’t have that many 'eastern walls' for you to tear down (to borrow from to pay debts)."

Shen Zongnian remained indifferent, resolute: "There’s enough time ahead. I can handle it." As long as Tan Youming wants it, he’ll find a way to get it.

Jiang Ying stood behind the ink orchid, paused for a moment, adjusted his glasses. Though refined in demeanor, his words were cutting: "If you’re thinking of touching the overseas account, you’re truly digging your own grave."

How the assets in that overseas account came to be, even Tan Youming might not know. Only Jiang Ying had seen Shen Zongnian during his exile—dodging Shen Xiaochang’s pursuit, narrowly escaping the Italian mafia. When they met in Tuscany, Shen Zongnian was already half-dead, barely clinging to life.

"Playing with fire will get you burned," Jiang Ying grew serious, the usual kindness in his demeanor fading. "Can't he see clearly? Can't you?"

Jiang Ying genuinely didn’t understand: "Does it have to come to this? You’ll have nothing left. What will you do when you get there?"

Shen Zongnian raised his chin, unmoved. He never acted without certainty: "I know what I’m doing." He could survive no matter what.

A petal fell from a gladiolus. Jiang Ying frowned, about to argue further, when the office door opened. It was Qiao Rui: "Mr. Jiang, you’re here too."

Shen Zongnian asked, "Looking for me?"

"Yeah," Qiao Rui loosened his tie. "Just got out of a meeting. Want to grab lunch?" They’d been in meetings all morning and had more in the afternoon. He wanted to discuss some project ideas during the break.

Shen Zongnian glanced at Jiang Ying: "Stay for lunch?"

Jiang Ying’s eyes shifted between the two, then he nodded. The three of them entered the elevator together. Jiang Ying considered asking about who would handle the energy project, but since assessments and investigations were still confidential until finalized, he dropped the matter.

The employee cafeteria had three floors and was packed during peak hours.

Zhuo Zhixuan took his lunch break to accompany Tan Youming at Pinghai: "Manager Huang has a sharp eye. Have you really lost weight?"

Tan Youming: "Not really." His appetite had been off lately, but he still ate three meals a day. He wasn’t stupid enough to let trivial matters affect his health.

Zhuo Zhixuan served him a bowl of soup, noticing him staring at his phone: "What’s up?"

"Yingchi has a show the day after tomorrow. Li Baihao reserved a table."

After Li Baihao announced it in the group chat, he privately messaged Tan Youming, earnestly urging him to attend, with sincere and enthusiastic words.

Tan Youming suddenly remembered that the group originally had nine members. Xie Zhenlin had already left. He wondered if Li Baihao still remembered him and how he was doing now.

"Tan Youming?"

He snapped back to attention: "What?"

"Are you going?"

Tan Youming set down his chopsticks, took a sip of tea, realized it was lemon tea, and pushed it aside. He wiped his mouth with a napkin and said indifferently, "Sure, why not?" The bustling city, drowning in revelry—he loved it most.

Zhuo Zhixuan opened his mouth to speak, sighed inwardly, and simply said, "Eat a bit more."

On Sunday, Tan Youming arrived at Yingchi as promised.

Yingchi was the largest den of extravagance on the island.

The higher the membership level, the more privileges one enjoyed. A Cayenne stopped in front of the Kun Gate (main entrance). A long leg emerged from the car door—Tan Youming, dressed in a shimmering silk shirt, his face devoid of expression.

The Class A membership butler had already been waiting to escort him through the water gate.

A figure in an Armani shirt flashed by ahead, arm in arm with a woman in a cheongsam. Before Tan Youming could make out who it was, they had already reached Section B.

Li Baihao had reserved a table in the center of the second floor. Tan Youming navigated the scene of debauchery with practiced ease.

His arrival was quickly noticed. Someone stood up with a smile to greet him. The central seat had been reserved specifically for him, and Tan Youming took it naturally.

A friend nearby had his arm around a woman. Tan Youming lifted his eyelids and quipped, "Does your wife know?"

The man was taken aback, then laughed, pouring him a drink: "Who’s pissed you off this time?"

Tan Youming ignored the offered drink and poured his own.

Soon, the performance began. Tan Youming, accustomed to such spectacles, found his mind wandering. He barely registered what was happening on stage or the cheers from the audience.

In his aimless gaze, he suddenly met a pair of dark, cold eyes—sharp as a blade.

His fingers gripping the glass turned pale. Tan Youming frowned deeply. What was Shen Zongnian doing here?