Inside the resplendent private room, the waves of noise nearly overturned the starry-sky canopy above.
The crystal chandelier scattered colorful halos of light across Zhou Ruo An’s hair, shimmering like ripples on the surface of a lake. The young man lounged lazily against the velvet sofa, cigarette between his lips, watching amber liquor pour endlessly into the champagne tower.
“Happy birthday, Young Mr. Zhou.” A young man dressed head to toe in luxury brands leaned over the edge of the booth. “Cohiba Siglo VI, freshly airlifted in. I specifically had someone detour through Havana to pick it up.”
The expensive cigar carried a distinctive scent of cedarwood intertwined with ambergris. Zhou Ruo An happened to remember Old Master Jin’s teachings, but he couldn’t make out any of those winding, elaborate notes. As far as he was concerned, only the smell of money was truly pleasing to both body and mind.
Zhou Ruo An smiled and raised the cigarette in his hand. “I’m not used to smoking these.” Even so, he accepted the cigar and handed it to the personal assistant beside him. “But since Young Master Gao went through all that trouble to get it, I should at least try something new.” The moment he finished speaking, cheers erupted from the crystal bar counter. Zhou Ruo An turned toward the champagne tower. Liquor overflowed, the pungent liquid winding across the marble surface. Girls in fishnet stockings laughed as they jumped onto the sofas, while young wastrels excitedly whistled.
Lively and absurd.
“Around this time last year…” Zhou Ruo An took a sip of wine, and the cloying sweetness from memory suddenly surged up. That day, Lin Yi had ordered a three-tier cake, an offensively gaudy pink thing with both Doraemon and the God of Longevity standing on top.
“Fucking ugly.” Zhou Ruo An remembered thinking his assessment at the time had been perfectly fair.
Lin Yi’s taste had always been indescribable, yet he himself remained completely unaware of it. He stuck candles into the cake and argued, “Looks pretty good.”
“Happy birthday, Young Mr. Zhou!” The lights in the private room suddenly dimmed, and a custom cake was slowly wheeled out. A Rolls-Royce front end molded from frosting bore a chocolate license plate displaying eight 8s.
Zhou Ruo An looked at the cake and, imitating the tone from his memory, laughed and cursed, “This one’s fucking ugly too.”
“Come on, everyone, let’s take a photo!” someone suggested.
“Fourth Young Master, smile.” The personal assistant, who had only recently started working for him, half-knelt on the carpet and framed everyone in the camera. Before the flash went off, Zhou Ruo An glanced at his phone. The screen was black. No incoming calls.
Leaning against the cake cart, he casually flashed a tacky V-sign just to get it over with, yet he seriously posted the photo to his Moments. A suitable amount of ostentation was sometimes part of doing business too. Barely three minutes after the photo went up, the phone vibrated in his palm. When Zhou Ruo An saw the name “Zhou Ran Ming,” he immediately raised a hand to stop the resident singer’s performance. The private room fell so quiet that only the hum of the central air conditioner remained.
“Uncle?” He answered respectfully. “You’re back from your business trip?”
“Xiao An, happy birthday.” Zhou Ran Ming’s birthday greeting was even more perfunctory than Zhou Ruo An’s V-sign just now. “I saw the photo you posted. Your birthday banquet looks very lively.”
Before Zhou Ruo An could exchange any pleasantries, the voice on the other end continued, “The boy on the far right of the photo isn’t bad.”
Zhou Ruo An’s heartbeat skipped. He was far too familiar with Zhou Ran Ming’s tone. Every time he heard it, it meant someone else was about to become a sacrifice for his selfish gains.
He crooked a finger, and the personal assistant immediately offered him the camera. Zhou Ruo An enlarged the photo, his gaze settling on the far-right corner.
It was a boy in a plain cotton shirt, smiling brightly among the crowd and making the same V-sign, a pale section of wrist peeking from beneath his cuff.
“…Fang Fei.”
Zhou Ruo An could no longer remember where he had first met Fang Fei. Probably at some private gathering or chaotic midnight party. Fang Fei had been nothing more than an insignificant ornament among them, like a pretty pair of serving chopsticks at a banquet—held in one person’s hand today and passed into another’s tomorrow.
The first time Fang Fei truly left an impression on him was at a drinking party half a year ago. That day, Zhou Ruo An had just been “ruined” by Lin Yi, the third button of his shirt still hanging open where it had been torn. He was in a foul mood, so naturally he said little, his eyes full of vicious gloom.
Fang Fei had spent the entire night curled in the shadow behind the song-selection screen, wearing an ash-gray hoodie that looked completely out of place amid the roomful of expensive clothes. He had come with someone else, yet every so often he would sneak a glance at Zhou Ruo An. The instant their gazes came close to meeting, however, he would jerk his eyes away as though burned, glancing around and pretending nothing had happened.
Another clichéd attempt at playing hard to get.
Zhou Ruo An eventually grew irritated by all the staring and glared viciously back, only to find Fang Fei stuffing cherries into his mouth, the pits already stacked into a neat little tower beside the porcelain plate.
“Take away his fruit plate.” Back then, Zhou Ruo An hated gay men so much his teeth itched. He didn’t care how childish or low-level the tactic was; he only wanted a moment’s satisfaction. Yet three to five minutes later, Fang Fei quietly shifted to the other end of the sofa, where his fingertips once again picked up a strawberry.
Shit.
When the gathering ended, the spring rain was thick. Fang Fei suddenly tugged lightly on the corner of Zhou Ruo An’s clothes. Zhou Ruo An waited coldly for him to try some coquettish seduction trick, only to hear him whisper furtively, “Mr. Zhou, there’s a lock of hair sticking up at the back of your head.” His fingertips hovered beside Zhou Ruo An’s hair without daring to touch. “Right here.”
Then he dug a plastic comb out of his pocket. “I took it from the washroom. After you use it, you absolutely have to put it back.”
Zhou Ruo An held the comb and watched the slender figure slip into a taxi. That night, he finally remembered the beautiful boy’s name—Fang Fei. A few days ago, when his assistant had been organizing the birthday guest list, Fang Fei’s name had looked especially conspicuous sandwiched between a jewelry tycoon and a rising private-equity star.
“Should I cross him off?” The personal assistant’s cursor hovered over the Excel spreadsheet.
One more person made no difference. For someone like Fang Fei, who took paid gigs for quick money, Zhou Ruo An didn’t mind giving him an opportunity. He pulled out his phone and dialed the number. “Fang Fei, next week is my birthday…”
“Xiao An, why aren’t you speaking?” Zhou Ran Ming’s voice on the phone had clearly turned impatient. Zhou Ruo An looked back toward the corner and saw Fang Fei stirring his ice cream with a spoon, picking out the dried fruit and eating it piece by piece.
“His name is Fang Fei.” Zhou Ruo An lowered his voice. “Uncle is interested?”
“Mm.” Zhou Ran Ming paused. “Send him to the mountain villa.”
After hanging up, Zhou Ruo An casually accepted a cigarette offered by someone beside him. The music started again. He held the cigarette between his lips, a faint smile resting there while his gaze wound through the smoke, indistinct and impossible to read.
Although Zhou Ruo An was now General Manager of Jinggui Electronics and wielded considerable power, he still held no official position at headquarters. Within the Zhou family’s tangled power structure, if he wanted to truly establish himself, he had to enter the core management team. And in that matter, the only person with absolute authority—the one who could decide the course of his fate—was Zhou Ran Ming, chairman of the group’s board of directors. Only one corner of the enormous, expensive cake had been eaten. Zhou Ruo An extinguished his cigarette against the Rolls-Royce emblem on the cake. The melted frosting wasn’t pleasant to look at and reminded him of the small-time celebrity who had come out of the mountain villa last month. Miserable, yes, but the benefits he’d received afterward had been generous enough.
“A’Jie.” Zhou Ruo An called the personal assistant over and lowered his voice. “Go ask Fang Fei whether he’s willing to go to the mountain villa. If he is, aside from whatever they give him over there, I’ll reward him too.”
“Alright.”
“Also, if he agrees, get him looking a little prettier.” Zhou Ruo An unfastened one cuff button. “Remember to film an unboxing video for the chairman.”
A sharp gleam flashed through A’Jie’s eyes. “Understood. Don’t worry, Fourth Young Master.”