Chapter Forty-Seven: Human Calculation or Divine Providence

The recent disturbance, though alarming, ended without real danger. Still, after such an upheaval, no one was in the mood to eat. Zhao Zejun wanted to have a private conversation with Jiang Xuan regarding the issue of Ren Jifu. With less than three months left before the demolition, and not all the houses acquired yet, Ren Jifu had made it clear he intended to cause trouble. This unstable factor needed to be dealt with immediately.

The two girls, having just been frightened, probably had some private confidences to share. So Zhao Zejun called Yu Zhe, asking him to take the other students who left earlier to Junzi’s street-side restaurant for crayfish, saying his own group had some urgent business and wouldn’t be joining.

After putting the two girls into a taxi, Zhao Zejun climbed onto Jiang Xuan's motorcycle, heading off in another direction.

Neither Zhao Zejun nor Jiang Xuan noticed that just as they left, a Cadillac with provincial plates and an Audi 200 began to follow. The Audi tailed Erzi’s van, while the Cadillac followed Xia Yubing’s taxi.

Inside the taxi, the quiet and gentle Zhou Yuanyuan asked Xia Yubing, “You have good taste. Be honest, what’s his background?”

Xia Yubing pursed her lips in a smile and responded, “Which ‘him’ are you talking about—Yu, Zhao, or Jiang? My dear sister-in-law?”

“Don’t play dumb! I mean your ‘him,’ Miss Xia!” Zhou Yuanyuan retorted, unwilling to back down.

At the mention of “Miss Xia,” Xia Yubing’s lips curved slightly, her expression complex.

Apparently not wishing to dwell on the subject, she changed the topic. “What do you think of Jiang Xuan? Should I set you two up?”

“That ‘wife’ he called me was just an excuse to start a fight,” Zhou Yuanyuan replied after a moment’s thought, certain, “Jiang Xuan is very masculine, but he’s not the one I’m looking for.”

Xia Yubing looked at her profile and shook her head. “You’re just too picky.”

“And you’re not? Anyone can see Jiang Xuan is just following Zhao Zejun’s lead. Earlier, the fight was fierce, almost deadly, and yet with a simple command from Zhao Zejun, Jiang Xuan let go immediately. And seven thousand yuan for a house! Not just us—even those self-important brats in the compound, when they were Zhao Zejun’s age, couldn’t possibly pull together seven thousand yuan on their own. You’re the one with high standards. You never fancy anyone, but when you do, it has to be the very best.”

A slight shadow crossed Xia Yubing’s face. “What’s the use? He’ll definitely stay in Southern Jiangsu Province.”

Zhou Yuanyuan hesitated, then took Xia Yubing’s hand, speaking with the earnest tone of an older sister. “Bingbing, after I went to art school, I saw and experienced a lot. There’s something about Zhao Zejun I can’t quite fathom—he’s not like any of our peers. If your mother’s family is willing to support him, he could go far. You could talk to your mother. It doesn’t have to be the capital; Southern Jiangsu can have plenty of opportunities too. Besides, if you study in the provincial capital, we could see each other more.”

“You don’t know my family’s situation…” Xia Yubing began, but then nodded. “I’ll think about it. Honestly, who knows what the future holds? I think Zhao Zejun put it well: live each day fully, and let the future take care of itself.”

“Really?” Zhou Yuanyuan’s eyes widened in surprise. “Bingbing, you really seem different now—much more open and optimistic.”

“Life makes us grow,” Xia Yubing replied with a gentle smile.

Zhou Yuanyuan gazed at her, sighing softly, “I’ve always envied you, ever since we were little.”

“And I envy you, free to travel with the theatre troupe,” Xia Yubing replied.

“Oh, right! I almost forgot—give me Zhao Zejun’s phone number, will you? Don’t get me wrong, the song he sang in the private room was really good. I want to ask him for the score and lyrics. Our school’s filming a youth documentary and needs a theme song. I think this one’s perfect. Does he have a cell phone?”

“He does. I’ll text you his number.”

As the two young women chatted in the taxi, the Cadillac followed at a measured distance, only turning away down another road after the taxi stopped at the gate of Amber Villas where Xia Yubing lived.

Inside the Cadillac sat two men. The driver, the younger of the two—perhaps not yet forty—wore expensive designer clothes, but his bearing unmistakably marked him as a military man.

The man in the front passenger seat wore an ordinary gray suit, so nondescript he could have blended into any crowd, easily forgotten at a glance.

After watching the girls enter their building, the driver pulled over and lit a cigarette.

“Not showing up for your daughter’s eighteenth birthday—aren’t you afraid she’ll hate you forever?”

The middle-aged man in the passenger seat looked toward the entrance of the Amber complex, smiling ruefully. “My position makes it inconvenient to appear. Coming here today is already a mistake.”

The driver frowned, discontented. “Brother, I really don’t get you. With your rank and seniority, you’d have been a department head upon retiring, and with a little help from your wife’s family, you could easily be at bureau level by now—maybe even running your own district. Yet you insist on staying in this shadowy business. After all these years, it’s no exaggeration to say your family’s fallen apart. Why? Honestly, if you’d just step down, we could help you. In five years, maybe not the richest, but certainly a major player.”

The middle-aged man fell silent for a while, then smiled self-mockingly, his tone gentle. “I’m too much of an idealist, too used to being a soldier. I’m not cut out for business. My wife used to look down on me for that, thought I was naïve. But I always felt that, hard as some things are, someone’s got to do them. Why not me?”

“Soldiers…” The driver snorted with a trace of sarcasm. “Only those with rank are considered ‘people.’ With money and power, then you’re really ‘somebody.’ Look at those old veterans from the front lines—missing arms, missing legs—who cares about them? Damn!”

The middle-aged man maintained his harmless, gentle smile and did not argue further. “If you really care, help me look after my daughter. Wu Li is prone to extremes, and I worry my daughter will have a hard time with her.”

“Seems the girl’s in love lately,” the driver chuckled.

“It’s not a bad thing for young people to have a little experience. If the boy’s decent, let it be. If he’s up to no good, you handle it,” the middle-aged man said with his usual smile.

“Understood! Mission accepted!”

...

In a quiet park, the motorcycle stood parked to one side as Jiang Xuan and Zhao Zejun smoked together.

Jiang Xuan was well-versed in the art of playing a part—any girl could feel like a princess in his presence, but that didn’t mean he was interested in any of them. The number of women he’d called “wife” could fill a platoon.

After a few casual words about Zhou Yuanyuan and Xia Yubing, their conversation shifted to the day’s events.

“Have you decided how to handle it?” Jiang Xuan asked.

Ren Jifu was a problem that had to be dealt with—the question was how, and what negative consequences might result. At the end of the day, Zhao Zejun was just an ordinary citizen; he couldn’t act like a fantasy novel hero, smashing his enemy’s head and crying out, “You drove me to this!” If possible, Zhao Zejun preferred not to break the law at all.

Action was necessary, but it had to be done with finesse. Neither he nor Jiang Xuan’s hands could be stained with blood. Otherwise, it would remain a lurking danger for life, outweighing any short-term gains from acquiring property.

After going through half a pack of cigarettes, Zhao Zejun had formulated a plan. He looked up and asked, “All those guys today work for Boss Song. Do you think there’ll be trouble from him?”

As long as Boss Song and his people stayed out of it, Ren Jifu was just a stray, much easier to handle.

“Don’t worry. Boss Song definitely won’t back him,” Jiang Xuan replied confidently.

“You’re sure? I don’t want to take out the small fry and have some big boss, especially one unrelated, come after us. What about this ‘Brother Dahong’—will he go to Boss Song to stir up trouble?” Zhao Zejun smiled.

Jiang Xuan grinned, flashing his sharp white teeth. “What you said last time really inspired me. Boss Song uses me because I stand out! The crazier I act, the more important I am to him.

“As for Dahong, don’t worry. Anyone can watch over a casino for Boss Song. Dahong’s got his own habits, and Boss Song’s been fed up with him for a while. He only keeps him around out of old loyalty from the coal mine days. The casino business is filthy; if I wanted in, Dahong wouldn’t stand a chance. He won’t dare make a fuss.”

“Call Dahong and ask what exactly Ren Jifu’s relationship is with them,” Zhao Zejun said.

“Sure.” Jiang Xuan pulled over, took out his phone, and the moment he dialed, the calm Jiang Xuan disappeared, replaced by a brash, cocky, muscle-headed gangster, shouting into the receiver, “Damn you, Dahong! What’s your problem? If you can’t handle your turf, I’ll take over…”

Soon, he had the information: Ren Jifu owed five thousand at the casino and worked there as a low-level fixer—barely even a lackey. Neither the casino nor Dahong would back him; in fact, they wanted him to pay up as soon as possible. As for Boss Song, he had never even heard of Ren Jifu.

It was good news, but Jiang Xuan’s expression was oddly amused, caught between laughter and exasperation.

“What’s wrong?” Zhao Zejun asked.

Jiang Xuan stifled a laugh. “Don’t worry about Ren Jifu. He won’t be bothering us for a while.”

“Why not?” Zhao Zejun asked, puzzled.

Jiang Xuan struggled not to laugh. “Erzi was upset after I beat him up, so he took it out on Ren Jifu—kicked him out of the car just as an Audi came up from behind and smacked right into him. I called Dahong just as he got the call from Erzi. The driver and Erzi took Ren Jifu to the hospital. The doctor says several ribs are broken, his right thighbone is shattered—he won’t be on his feet for months, and even then, he’ll have a permanent limp.”

“What the…?!” Zhao Zejun was dumbfounded.

The two stared at each other in shock for a long moment.

It was just as people said: Man proposes, but Heaven disposes. All his careful plotting, and with a flick of fate’s finger, the problem was resolved entirely.

He looked up at the sky. He’d better not curse Heaven so casually in the future—you never know when it might look his way.

Man acts, Heaven observes.

But even with Heaven watching, what must be done still needs to be done.

“You should drop by the hospital and see exactly how he’s doing—ask the doctor when the earliest he could be discharged might be. Also, have Junzi visit him regularly, keep an eye on him,” Zhao Zejun instructed.

“Still planning to go after him?” Jiang Xuan asked.

Zhao Zejun’s lips curled into a faint, slightly sinister smile.

After several encounters, he’d seen the rogue in Ren Jifu’s bones—someone like that, as long as he’s alive, could always cause trouble. Maybe not immediately, but if he dared show up when the demolition was underway, Zhao Zejun’s scheme, cooked up while smoking just now, would come in handy.

Demolition, after all—how could it proceed without a few troublesome tenants meeting their fate?