Futile Devices Scans

In a small county town on the borderlands, Zhou Ruo An sat alone, drinking in silence.

The weather was cold. The roadside stall had been covered with a plastic canopy, trapping the warmth in a space no larger than a few feet. Sitting inside, one didn’t feel the chill.

At the table next to him sat a group of half-grown boys. It was likely school break, and they had gathered to make noise together. Their table was piled high with meat, yet what they drank was soda. Zhou Ruo An watched them with amusement—but as he kept watching, his smile slowly faded. Turning back, he poured himself another glass.

“Hey, brother, can I try one of your cigarettes?” One of the boys leaned over, grinning as he asked.

Zhou Ruo An took a sip of alcohol and turned his head. “How old are you?”

“Seventeen.” The boy paused, then added, “I’ll be eighteen after the New Year.”

Zhou Ruo An suddenly thought of the new rule at Lin Yi’s billiards hall—no cigarettes or alcohol sold to anyone under eighteen.

He downed his drink in one go, picked up the cigarette pack from the table, and tossed it over. “Keep it. Smoke it after the New Year.”

The boy caught the pack and glanced at the label. “Whoa—Huazi!”

Elio’s Notes: 华子, Zhonghua cigarettes

The others crowded around immediately, huddling together as if appraising treasure.

The two tables weren’t far apart. Zhou Ruo An reached out and took one cigarette back, lit it, and said with a smile, “The first time I smoked, I was about your age.”

Leaning back in his chair, he exhaled slowly, watching the boys through the haze of smoke—seeing, faintly, his younger self in the scorching heat of summer…

That day, he had scammed a bit of money and bought a pack of cigarettes for Lin Yi.

He tossed it over, waiting for praise. Sure enough, Lin Yi froze for a moment. “Huazi? Why’d you buy something this expensive?”

Back then, Zhou Ruo An was sixteen, and Lin Yi was seventeen.

Seventeen-year-old Lin Yi was thin and unpolished, his features sharper, a hint of fierceness that couldn’t be hidden. But when he smiled, there was a brightness to him.

Zhou Ruo An squatted by the roadside, imitating him, watching the bustling pedestrians pass by, putting on a deliberately cocky front. “Got a bit of money—figured I’d show off.”

He laughed, and Lin Yi laughed too, clutching the cigarettes to his chest, reluctant to smoke them.

It was only after Zhou Ruo An insisted that he finally opened a pack. Lin Yi smoked carefully, savoring every puff for several seconds, almost wanting to smack his lips audibly.

“Is it good?” Zhou Ruo An asked eagerly, waiting for his verdict.

“Feels like I’m smoking gold.”

Zhou Ruo An laughed. “Bullshit.” He grabbed Lin Yi’s wrist. “Let me try.”

Zhou Ruo An remembered how Lin Yi had lowered his head, staring at the hand gripping his wrist, thinking for a long moment before finally removing the cigarette and passing it over.

That had been Zhou Ruo An’s first cigarette—and the first one they shared. His conclusion was simple: cigarettes weren’t all that great, but Huazi was perfect for showing off.

Coming back to the present, Zhou Ruo An smiled faintly. In his current circle, smoking Huazi was considered low-class. So although he often carried cigarettes, he never shared them—except, apparently, with a few sixteen-year-old kids at the next table.

The thick cotton curtain at the stall entrance was lifted, and a gust of cold wind rushed in, swirling beneath the tables before slipping up people’s pant legs.

Zhou Ruo An was lightly dressed. He crossed his legs together to keep warm, cigarette in hand, and looked at the person who had just entered. “Is it done?”

The man who entered had the surname Ren, with the given name Yu—Ren Yu, the assistant assigned to Zhou Ruo An by Zhou Jing Tao.

Ren Yu was twenty-seven, a sharp and capable man. He had worked at Shengkai Foreign Trade for four years, climbing to the position of deputy director in the executive office. Just as he was about to rise further, he had been reassigned as Zhou Ruo An’s assistant. As others put it, a fallen phoenix paired with a chicken—and, unfortunately, a sickly one with no prospects.

With glasses, a suit, and slicked-back hair, Ren Yu carried himself with even more polish than Zhou Ruo An.

Clearly disdaining the roadside stall, he stood by the table and replied, “It’s done.”

Just as Ren Yu was about to say more, Zhou Ruo An cut him off. Pointing to the plastic stool across from him, he said, “Sit.”

Ren Yu glanced at the stool, reluctantly took a seat, and was about to speak when the disposable cup in front of him was filled again with alcohol.

It was locally brewed beer, two yuan a bottle—not particularly good, but not terrible either.

“Have a drink.” Zhou Ruo An tilted his chin slightly, his tone indifferent.

“I don’t drink.” Ren Yu refused.

Zhou Ruo An smiled faintly. “I’ve seen you drink red wine, champagne, and Wuliangye. Why is it that when it comes to me, you suddenly don’t drink?”

Ren Yu didn’t bother hiding the arrogance in his eyes. “I’m here to assist Fourth Young Master with work, not to drink with you.”

“In that case, you can go back.”

“Really?” A trace of hope slipped into Ren Yu’s voice.

Zhou Ruo An nodded, as if pleased for him. “Really. But I’ll need to submit a report to my father, saying you’re incompetent, lazy, disobedient to your superior, and that you insulted my parents.”

Ren Yu immediately grew agitated. “That’s slander.”

“Exactly.” Zhou Ruo An still wore the same smiling expression. “And what can you do about it? I may be the least favored member of the Zhou family, but getting rid of you would still be effortless.”

Ren Yu fell silent, his face dark. After a moment, he picked up the disposable cup and drained it in one go.

“A wise man knows when to yield,” Zhou Ruo An said, as he refilled the cup. As the beer poured in, he added quietly, “I’ve only been in the Zhou family for a month. A holiday gift that hadn’t made it into Old Master Jin’s house in three years—I delivered it. And now my father has assigned me the electronics factory case. Stick with me, Ren Yu—you won’t lose out.”

As soon as the cup was filled, Ren Yu drank again. Setting it down, he looked at Zhou Ruo An. “Fourth Young Master, do you really think the electronics factory matter is a good opportunity? The reason President Zhou sent you is because, in his eyes, the situation is already beyond saving. Sending you is nothing more than treating a dead horse as if it were still alive.”

He tapped the table with his finger, eager to shatter Zhou Ruo An’s naïve outlook. “That factory produces integrated circuit boards for us, exported to Russia. Recently, a batch had key components go missing. The quantity isn’t large, but reordering them will delay production. On top of that, the workers are striking over compensation issues. The factory has already been forced to shut down. If the order isn’t completed before the end of the year, and we fail to deliver on time, Shengkai will lose all credibility in the Russian market.”

Annoyed by the noise from the neighboring table, Ren Yu leaned closer and continued, “This factory falls under our third branch’s management. The eldest young master has been here, the second young master too—but the workers still refuse to resume work, and those missing components are nowhere to be found. From what I know, the executive office has already begun drafting an apology letter to the Russian side. In other words, the company has accepted failure. And now President Zhou sends you here—doesn’t that mean he’s just toying with you?”

The cigarette in Zhou Ruo An’s mouth had burned down to the filter. Holding it between his teeth, he looked slightly roguish as he smiled. “If no one else can fix it, and I do—doesn’t that make me even more impressive?”

“Ren Yu” he called seriously, “sticking with me is a gamble. Either you die miserably, or you rise to the top. Think it through. But if you choose to sit here and drink with me, then I expect absolute loyalty.”

“Don’t rush your decision—we’ll observe each other first.” Zhou Ruo An stubbed out his cigarette in the crude ashtray and asked, “The company I told you to register—and the documents—are they done?”

Ren Yu sighed softly and patted his briefcase. “The business license and the related operational fake documents are all here.”

“Good.” Zhou Ruo An called over the waiter and paid for both tables. Amid the noisy chorus of thanks, he turned to Ren Yu and said, “Since you like putting on airs, tomorrow we’ll go meet those striking workers. You’d better keep that composure.”

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