Chapter 15 Drawing Near

Chapter 15 Getting Closer

Xie Chong went to Jingdezhen early the next morning and arrived at one in the afternoon.

Someone said that profiteer Chen was gnawing on spicy chicken feet at a small eatery next to the factory, so he went over to take a look.

Chen the profiteer wore a pair of glasses and looked like a decent enough guy, roughly the same age as Xie Chong, with a bit of a West Coast swagger. Xie Chong had done his homework before coming—this man was born in the Northeast, later lived in America, and was close with the local Chinese community. He had some shady money behind him.

Who doesn't have a little dirty money?

Xie Chong turned around and headed to the factory.

Lawyer Wang Xianhe was already waiting at the factory gate—a woman around forty, with short hair, glasses, a shirt and trousers, and stiletto heels. Very sharp.

"You're early, Lawyer Wang," Xie Chong said.

"I just saw you go to that little restaurant," Wang Xianhe said. She knew Xie Chong—he was a big kid at heart, always curious. That Chen guy had gotten under his skin, so he'd want to first see what kind of person he was dealing with. By now, he'd already torn the guy apart in his head and gotten it out of his system.

"I'll keep my mouth shut. Lawyer Wang, just handle the compensation directly," Xie Chong said, hands in his pants pockets. After "gearing up" the night before, he was calm and composed. That Chen kid might be tough, but he mainly did business outside China, unlike Xie Chong, who knew the ins and outs of doing business in China.

Lawyer Wang was very courteous, first discussing compensation with the factory manager, laying out the contract and the grounds for the claim. In the small-goods export trade these days, there was a common consensus: whoever got their goods made first and shipped overseas first would get the jump on future orders. That Chen guy had probably figured that out and deliberately came to poach Xie Chong's business.

The factory manager was cooperative, admitting they'd delivered late and accepted the liability.

Then Lawyer Wang added, "Good, so you're owning up to it. Now, we also need a timeline for when our goods will go into production—let's sign an addendum."

"That goes without saying."

"Good."

Xie Chong didn't say a word the whole time.

He absolutely had to get this batch out first, but he was also going to take the compensation. He thought fast and planned to box that Chen profiteer in.

Once Lawyer Wang had finished negotiating, Xie Chong suddenly got a hard look on his face.

"Do you still want to do business?" Xie Chong slammed the table. "Don't think you've got a monopoly on this mold!"

"It's not that," the factory manager said apologetically. "Let me be straight with you, Mr. Xie—this isn't about money. I owe someone a favor, and I've got to pay it back first."

"I don't give a damn about your reasons!" Xie Chong stood up and walked out. "You deal with it!"

As he walked out, that Chen fellow had already finished his spicy chicken feet and was coming back, walking straight toward Xie Chong. Xie Chong pretended not to know him, cursing in his head: Look at that sorry piece of work.

The Chen fellow also pretended not to recognize him. Both of them walked past, noses in the air.

Wang Xianhe asked Xie Chong, "You're really not going to try to find a win-win with him?"

"If I talk to him now, he'll get too big for his britches. Once I've got the upper hand, I'll make him come crawling to me."

"Alright then." Wang Xianhe glanced at her watch. "I've got somewhere else to be. How many days are you staying in Jingdezhen?"

"About three days."

"Good. Stay in touch."

Xie Chong saw Wang Xianhe off and then wandered around Jingdezhen. Foreigners loved Jingdezhen stuff—a set of dishes that cost two or three hundred yuan at home would sell for three to five times as much overseas. You could buy them in bulk, ship them by truck and sea, and they'd hit foreign store shelves within a month.

He wandered around Jingdezhen on his own, in a great mood. He hated business schmoozing—at those dinners, everyone lied, everyone bragged about how awesome they were, and Xie Chong found it utterly disgusting.

When he was alone, he could do whatever he wanted, even sit by the road and soak up the sun. Across from him, an old man was selling bowls. Xie Chong walked over to take a look—holy cow, those bowls were all one-of-a-kind, glazed and painted by hand.

The paintings were traditional Chinese gongbi—fine brushwork—and two bowls were the most beautiful: a little girl with her hair in a bun chomping on watermelon on the back of an ox, and a kid in a summer bib fanning himself with a palm leaf under a grape trellis on a summer night. The little ox looked a lot like the one from earlier.

Xie Chong asked the old man, "How much for these two bowls?"

"Five hundred each."

"Five hundred for the pair?"

The old man shot him a glare and turned away. "Not for sale!"

"Selling or not?" Xie Chong asked again. "If not, I'm leaving."

"Not for sale!"

"Oh, then just wrap 'em up for me." He had zero pride—he wouldn't even try to haggle once more, afraid the old man would cuss him out.

The old man snorted and wrapped up the bowls for Xie Chong. Though he seemed grumpy, he wrapped them meticulously. He handled those two bowls like they were his own treasures: first wrapping them in three layers of soft paper, putting them in a box, then adding a layer of foam. He gave it a shake—nothing moved—then turned to his little table with teapots and brushes, picked up an old-fashioned name card, and asked Xie Chong, "Is it a gift or for yourself?"

"What do you mean?"

"If it's a gift, I'll write who it's for. If it's for you, I'll sign your name."

That stumped Xie Chong.

These little bowls—sure, they were art, but for a grown man, they seemed a bit dainty to actually use. As for giving them away, he didn't know who to give them to. Qian Song never ate at home, and Jiang Wu didn't like little trinkets like these...

"Forget it. Just write the name of the piece."

The old man shook his head and sighed. Xie Chong asked, "What are you sighing about?"

"Sighing that you're all alone with nothing to tie you down."

That stung, and it made Xie Chong so mad he turned to leave. "I don't want them!" After a few steps, he couldn't stand to leave those two beautiful bowls behind, so he turned back, paid, and walked off with them.

Jingdezhen was full of amazing stuff.

He kept browsing—a small plate with raised carving that changed color when you poured water on it, a little fish that looked alive, swimming around inside; a slim blue-and-white porcelain vase, perfect for a single lonely flower, minimalist and cool; a chubby piggy bank with a colorful little Pixiu painted on it, festive and cute...

The only problem was: Xie Chong had good taste, and everything he liked was expensive. Handmade stuff already cost more, and the ones he picked were the cream of the crop. In under two hours, he'd dropped nearly ten grand.

Clutching his haul, he decided to drop it off at the hotel first, then head back out.

That evening, he went out for snails and ran into the old man again. The old man was drinking alone and still remembered Xie Chong, ribbing him: "Here comes the lone wolf!"

Xie Chong shot back, "I'm not some lonely guy."

"You don't even know who to give your stuff to," the old man said. "Even if a name popped into your head..."

"They don't deserve it," Xie Chong said. "Why do I have to give good stuff away? I'll keep it for myself!"

Too lazy to deal with this chatty old man, he turned and walked off. Weird.

He had very few friends, and giving them to clients as gifts felt like those people were just posers who pretended to appreciate art—they didn't deserve them.

Just then, his phone rang. The caller ID said "First Baturu of Yakeshi." He picked up and said flat out, "What's up?"

Mou Wen said, "Our company is hosting a client appreciation dinner at the International Grand Hotel. We'd be honored to have Mr. Xie join us."

"Does your industry also hold client appreciation dinners?" Xie Chong said. "Can you even get repeat business from that?"

"We can!" Mou Wen said. "My mentor just said: other companies might not be good at it, but our clients are all well-off—owning three or five properties is no big deal for them. For example, Mr. Xie, you probably have other real estate too. What if you want to renovate someday? What if Mr. Xie gets tired of living in Wanliu and wants to move to a big villa?"

"Why not just give me wings?" Xie Chong snorted. "When is it?"

"The evening after tomorrow."

"I won't be around the day after tomorrow," Xie Chong said. "I can't make it..."

"Oh..." Mou Wen sounded a little disappointed. The company was ranking everyone on how many clients they brought in and how many they converted on the spot, with bonuses for the top three. She wanted that bonus badly.

Xie Chong heard the disappointment in her voice and asked, playing dumb, "What's wrong?"

"It's just... we're being ranked too... if you don't come... do you have any friends who could come?"

"No," Xie Chong said. "These banquets are the worst. None of us go to those. Can't help you there. Bye."

"Bye." Mou Wen hung up and went back to scanning the client list. The invites clearly weren't going well. The clients she'd been assigned weren't great—the good ones all went to the big-name designers. Xie Chong and four other clients were people she'd helped Lin Weisen with during her internship. Lin Weisen knew she was close with them, so he offered to hand them over to her.

Of those, two said they didn't have time, two were on the fence, and Xie Chong had flat-out said no.

Mou Wen wasn't having it. She was determined to call all fifty people on that list.

Lin Weisen was heading out for the day while she was still on the phone. He told her to go home, saying these appreciation dinners were just an excuse to network, and she shouldn't take it so personally.

"Let me try a little more." Mou Wen lowered her voice to Lin Weisen. "HR said this counts toward the annual Outstanding Newcomer Award. I want that award, Mentor. If I win Outstanding Newcomer, the company will give me clients with big properties and big budgets."

Mou Wen said, full of ambition, "I have to be first at everything."

She'd always been like that—never hiding how competitive she was. Because she wanted to win, she worked harder than anyone else.

Lin Weisen said, "Then keep calling. I'm heading home." He mimed cradling a baby in his arms. "I need to get back in time to put my little one down for bed."

"Go on," Mou Wen said. "I'll leave once I'm done calling."

Mou Wen was willing to put in the real, grind-it-out effort. Other people might not care about the numbers, but she did. If she worked her ass off and lost, she could live with it. If she didn't and lost, she'd regret it.

It was like senior year of high school, cramming with a blitz of practice tests. Mou Wen was naturally smart and got good grades, but she never let herself slack off. She did practice exams—national, local, the special Huanggang editions—all of them. After the first pass, she'd pull out the ones she got wrong and drill those; then she'd do a second pass. Back then, she barely did anything for fun. When she closed her eyes, it was all math formulas, Chinese passages to memorize, English vocab...

Her classmates said she didn't need to push so hard, and her teachers worried she'd snap under the pressure. But Mou Wen said, "I won't break."

The more practice questions she piled on, the less she feared exams and the more confident she got. It wasn't until after the college entrance exam that she asked Ge Yunqing if she could go to the grasslands.

That summer, she stayed out on the grasslands.

She fed horses, herded sheep, and milked cows—every day was packed. The prairie winds were strong and the sun was brutal. When she finished her break and showed up for college orientation, she was a sun-darkened girl who flashed a row of white teeth when she smiled. It took a long time for her skin to get back to normal.

All that hard work on the grasslands paid off too. It gave her a strong body. Before her classmates even opened their eyes, she was already up—running laps, memorizing passages. Every day felt so full.

The department head said of her: it's rare to find someone who's both smart and willing to do the unglamorous grunt work.

She kept at the unglamorous grind until ten at night—any later would've been rude. Then she sat at her desk "reviewing" client files, determined to memorize every last one.

On the day of the dinner, she wore a white formal dress and stiletto heels. The outfit was on loan from Chu Ling.

Chu Ling went to meetings all the time and kept a few formal outfits on hand. Mou Wen was taller than Chu Ling, so the long dress that had been floor-length on Chu Ling revealed her slender ankles on Mou Wen, and the heels made her stand even taller. Afraid she might wobble, she'd practiced walking in them at home for a long time the day before.

No one was there to back her up, so she had to hold her own ground. She stood there like a little white poplar tree, impossible to miss.

As she greeted clients at the entrance and escorted them to their seats, she recognized her own clients first and called them by name warmly. She'd also done her homework on conversation topics, so from the door to the table, there was never an awkward silence.

Mou Wen had learned in advance that a Mr. Liao had just purchased a luxury mansion. When Mr. Liao arrived, she hurried over to greet him from a distance. Mr. Liao felt as if a gentle breeze had blown toward him—he hadn't expected the person who'd called to invite him to be someone like her.

Mou Wen could tell Mr. Liao didn't dislike her, so she said that if he found the banquet boring, she could sit outside with him for a while. The ice cream outside was really good. Mr. Liao agreed.

As the check-in was winding down, she saw Xie Chong.

He pushed open the door and walked in, one hand in his pants pocket, striding briskly up to Mou Wen. Mou Wen was stunned—she hadn't expected him to suddenly show up.

Seeing her frozen in place, he asked, "Where do I check in?"

Mou Wen snapped back to reality: Xie Chong was here. Her attendance count had gone up by one, and she was now tied for first place!

A smile burst across Mou Wen's face instantly. Her gratitude toward Xie Chong was overwhelming—she almost wanted to kneel down and kowtow to him.

In that moment, she liked Xie Chong even more. He felt like a hero straight out of a movie. Her heart was filled with joy!

"You came back early?" Mou Wen asked with a beaming smile, her tone softer than usual.

"Yeah, it ended early." Xie Chong picked up the pen to sign his name. His handwriting was bold and forceful—standing out distinctly among the deliberately practiced business signatures around him. Even the colleague handling check-in couldn't help but praise it: "What beautiful handwriting."

"Thanks. Where's the welcome gift?" Xie Chong asked.

"We have extras!" Mou Wen said as she bent down to get one. It was only then that Xie Chong took in her outfit for the day—she looked like a different person, poised and elegant. Except for the bloody marks rubbed raw on her heels.

He looked away, took the gift bag, and asked, "Got another one? A friend of mine will be coming by later."

Mou Wen's eyes went wide, joy already spilling out of them in every direction. Xie Chong noticed she was always like this—whenever something happy happened to her, she let her joy fly out, filling the whole world with her delight.

"Thank you, Mr. Xie, for signing in for your friend first." Mou Wen handed him the sign-in book, her movements a little too eager and ingratiating. Xie Chong signed for Qian Song, glanced at Mou Wen once more, and walked away.

When Qian Song arrived, he complained to Xie Chong in a low voice: "This damn China World Trade Center is so congested. I said I wouldn't come, but you insisted."

"We'll grab a drink nearby later," Xie Chong said.

Qian Song shut up immediately. Mr. Xie was treating him to drinks in the priciest part of the city.

Mou Wen had vanished.

Xie Chong had something he wanted to tell her, but she was nowhere to be seen. His gaze swept the room, searching for that little poplar tree. Qian Song asked who he was looking for. He said, "No one. I'm just seeing if there are any business opportunities here."

Qian Song said, "Bullshit. If you were looking for business here, you'd already be going table to table toasting. You wouldn't be standing here glancing around!"

Mou Wen's boss came over with the company's renowned designers to toast. Naturally, a newcomer like her wasn't part of that. Lin Weisen made the introductions, and the boss toasted Xie Chong and Qian Song with humble pleasantries: "You two really have extraordinary bearing—so young."

"So eye-catching."

The two of them sat there like living billboards for a segment of Beijing's privileged sons who hadn't been spoiled rotten.

Yes, the boss had met many people. Among Beijing's "second generation," some had been ruined by indulgence, some hadn't. Those who sat here with upright bearing and commanding presence were a rare sight.

Xie Chong didn't say much, just clinked glasses with the boss.

After the pleasantries ended, he wanted to leave but felt he should say goodbye to Mou Wen. He called her phone—no answer—so he had to go look for her. Qian Song asked where he was going. He said, "I drank too much. I'm going to throw up. Wait for me here."

He searched the hotel for a long time, all the way down to the ground-floor lobby.

In the hotel's western-style bar, he spotted Mou Wen's back.

She sat across from a man, smiling and chatting with him. She leaned slightly forward, as if she were interested in him.

The man dressed modestly, but his bearing was anything but ordinary. He wore glasses, looked about thirty, and had a refined, bookish air. Mou Wen was gesturing animatedly as she talked, and the man nodded in agreement.

Xie Chong thought Mou Wen's manner had a hint of eager, fawning desperation, and he felt she didn't need to stoop to that. He walked over to the tall potted plant behind them and eavesdropped for a moment. Mou Wen was asking:

"Mr. Liao, when are you planning to start the installation? How about we sign a letter of intent today?"

"Sure," the man named Liao agreed readily. "Can I designate you as my designer?"

Mou Wen was overjoyed inside. She rubbed her palms together and nodded: "Yes! This will be the first standalone villa I've ever designed on my own!"

First time in her life. A standalone villa.

In Beijing, there's always someone better, and there's always a higher mountain to climb.

Everyone knows this.

In that instant, Xie Chong realized Mou Wen only needed him to fill a seat; she didn't expect him to bring in new business. She'd already targeted someone, done her homework ahead of time, and while others were eating and toasting, she'd seized the chance to pull the client aside.

Mou Wen never did anything without a purpose. She was truly clever, knowing exactly when to put in what kind of effort. He was just an extra bit of effort on her part.

Xie Chong wasn't surprised by her behavior.

He turned and walked away.

By the time Mou Wen finished with Mr. Liao and got back to the banquet, Xie Chong was already gone. She called him, but he hung up.

Then she sent him a message: "Mr. Xie, I really didn't expect you to come today, and you even brought a friend. I'm truly grateful to you, really. This time, first place comes with a bonus. Would it be too bold to treat you to a meal? As a thank-you."

Every word was polite and proper, not overstepping any bounds. It was a message she'd edited over and over before sending.

Strangely, Xie Chong didn't reply to her message.

She headed home from the banquet, something weighing on her mind, and kept checking her phone. While washing her face, she left the phone nearby. When it lit up, she immediately picked it up—it was Chu Ling asking if everything had gone smoothly. She dried her hands, replied to Chu Ling, and then put the phone down.

In the shower, the hot water hit her ankle, and the pain made her flinch. She looked down at her battered feet—blisters on her toes, and her heels raw and bloody. She whimpered in self-pity, hopping on one leg back to the bed.

She kept checking her phone, but Xie Chong never replied.