Dr. Tan loved his husband dearly. He also loved his academic work dearly.
The day after he and Zhang Xingchuan finally cleared the air, his thoughts returned to the great business of graduating. He absolutely had to go back to the university and revise his dissertation, which had received a “conditional pass.”
The difference was that he’d arrived on his beloved aerodynamic racing bicycle, but now Zhang Xingchuan had to drive him back.
If you asked why, the answer was obvious… Tan Xiao just liked riding in Zhang Xingchuan’s car when Zhang was driving.
“When you have a day off, I’ll take you to my place,” Tan Xiao said, rubbing his eyes in the passenger seat. He hadn’t slept well. “I ought to go back and tidy up too. Once I graduate, I’ll have to move out of the dormitory.”
Now he could finally discard all pretense in front of Zhang Xingchuan and openly share everything about his life.
For starters, he owned an apartment too. It was close to Zhang’s house, just two roads away, with Olympic Forest Park sandwiched between them. One day they could literally run over to visit each other.
Zhang Xingchuan had nothing to say about that. Not a single thing.
Tan Xiao glanced at his expression and teased him. “Not happy? How about this young master gives you his apartment?”
Zhang wasn’t actually unhappy, only rather helpless in the face of reality. He played along. “Fine. Give it to me. Don’t forget to pay the deed tax too.”
Tan Xiao laughed. “You’d really take it if I gave it to you?”
“Why wouldn’t I? Anything else? Hand it all over. I’m going to fleece this old-money family for everything it’s worth.”
Tan Xiao didn’t mind at all. “Sure. Everything I’ve got is yours. I fleeced them for it in the first place. I’ll just go back and fleece them again.”
He had lived and studied independently in China since he was a minor. The family trust sent him monthly living expenses, and he could request additional funding when he needed to acquire essential property.
However intelligent and independent he might have been, he was still a child then. His family had sent two stewards to China, one to manage his daily life and the other to manage his finances. They were also responsible for escorting him back to Europe every winter and summer holiday for another round of aristocratic education.
When he came of age, “Julian Doria” was formally added to the list of heirs. He had no shares or voting power in the shipping company, but he began receiving annual distributions.
He sent the two stewards back to Europe as well. They’d crossed oceans to spend their lives working around him. Surely they missed their homes.
Part of his newfound freedom came with age, but a great deal of it was due to Qing University’s prestige. Winning admission to a distinguished institution through his own efforts had given him back control of his life.
Zhang Xingchuan had listened to all this the previous night with an expression of genuine sorrow.
“Young Master,” he’d said, sounding even more miserable than the young master himself, “you have deeply offended me.”
Who hadn’t gotten into Qing University through their own efforts?
Zhang Xingchuan, class of 2008, Department of Computer Science, had graduated and been working for years. He was still too busy to find much time for dating. And what had it all amounted to? His liquid assets were worth less than a single year’s distributions to the young master.
The president sincerely hoped that his young master would stop talking about money. They ought to remain a pure, loving couple, unstained by the vulgar smell of wealth.
The young master thought, Funny. You weren’t saying that when you kept transferring money to me. What a double standard, Husband.
At the university gate, Tan Xiao teased him once more. “Cheer up. Maybe I’ll issue you a supplementary card.”
That was supposed to be Zhang Xingchuan’s line. He hadn’t had the chance to deliver it yet, although he’d always assumed he eventually would. Now the opportunity was lost forever.
Zhang unbuckled his seat belt, got out, walked around the front of the car, and opened the passenger door with a gentlemanly flourish. His words were considerably less gentlemanly. “Get out. See that streetlamp? If you don’t leave this instant, I’m going to hang you from it.”
Tan Xiao roared with laughter and leapt out of the car, throwing himself into a bear hug. Mindful of the university gate, he held Zhang only briefly before letting go.
They stood beside the car and gazed at each other.
Both badly wanted to kiss.
Couldn’t all those passing students shut their eyes at the same time? They’d made it into Qing University. How could they have so little social awareness?
“Will you pick me up tonight?” Tan Xiao asked. “I still want to talk with you.”
“Just talk?”
Tan Xiao thought about it. “And after we’ve talked, you may graciously favor your imperial consort, if you like.”
“Then I’m not coming.” Zhang suppressed a smile. “I need to work overtime. Don’t try to corrupt me with the luxurious decadence of the bourgeoisie.”
“Really not coming?” Tan Xiao asked. “Then I’ll take the phoenix carriage of imperial favor and come collect you myself.”
That afternoon, Tan Xiao went back to his own home and contacted the dealership about servicing his phoenix carriage… No, his Bentley, which had spent the past two months gathering dust in the underground garage.
While he waited for someone to come collect the car, Zhou Ruofei called.
Tan Xiao and Zhou Ruofei didn’t keep in particularly frequent contact, and saw each other even less often.
They hadn’t met since the previous winter, and Zhou hadn’t returned to China at all in the past six months. He had started helping with the family business, which counted as having a job. Between the time difference and Tan Xiao’s healthy sleeping hours and busy days, their schedules rarely overlapped.
Still, years of friendship were there. Less contact hadn’t made them strangers.
Zhou Ruofei sounded furious. “What’s wrong with you? I commented on your Moments post more than ten hours ago! Why haven’t you replied?”
Tan Xiao responded immediately. “What? I didn’t reply? I could’ve sworn I did!”
Sometimes replying inside your head felt so much like actually replying that it was easy to get confused.
That wasn’t what had happened this time. He’d simply been too busy and forgotten. Yesterday, while waiting for Zhang at his house, he’d posted a casual update to share the happy news that he’d passed his defense. Shortly afterward he’d fallen asleep while waiting.
That evening, he had seen Zhou’s comment: Well done. I’m buying you an island immediately.
He’d barely glanced at it when Zhang Xingchuan took his phone away and tossed it aside. The two of them had spent ages wrapped up in each other and showered several times. Tan Xiao had even tried telling tragic stories from his childhood to win a little sympathy, without much success. Mostly he’d managed to leave his poor, lower-middle-class husband speechless with outrage.
In other words, he’d been too busy attending to his husband to reply to an idle rich young man from the Zhou family.
“Yesterday was a little hectic,” Tan Xiao said sweetly. “Brother, don’t hold it against me.”
Zhou Ruofei had delicate, almost androgynous features but a straightforward, impulsive personality. He was quick to anger and equally quick to be soothed. One kind word and he was no longer angry about the unanswered comment.
“Never mind. I’m calling about the island,” he said. “There’s one in Panama that’s pretty suitable. A little small, just over two hundred acres, but it’s never been developed, so you could do whatever you wanted with it. There’s a somewhat larger one in New Zealand with better scenery, and its previous owners left a resort hotel on it. Which would you prefer? Or we could buy both, one each. You pick first.”
When he’d promised an island as a graduation present, he’d meant it. He’d already surveyed the market, and everything was ready. All he’d been waiting for was Tan Xiao to pass his defense.
During his research, Zhou had found himself wanting an island to play with too.
Tan Xiao was a little moved. He listened carefully, considered the options, and said, “If you’re choosing between those two, Panama is better. If you want to buy one, choose that. New Zealand has strict rules about foreign investment. You might only get the right to use the island’s resources.”
Then he changed course. “But whichever one you buy, don’t give it to me. Keep it for yourself. I don’t want it. I haven’t got that kind of time to manage an island.”
“You’re practically finished with your doctorate,” Zhou said. “What could you still be so busy with? Aren’t you going to help your sister? She’d love to have you in North America. She can hold the fort in Europe while you handle things over here. Brother and sister working together, unbeatable.”
“Did she tell you that?” Tan Xiao asked, surprised.
“Does she need to? She blinks and I know exactly what kind of coffee she wants.”
Tan Xiao didn’t believe Tan Yun wanted to bring him to North America at all. Much more likely, Zhou Ruofei wanted to lure him there as bait so he could find excuses to talk to her.
“Impressive,” Tan Xiao said.
Zhou, unaware his plot had been exposed, continued talking nonsense. “When you come to North America, you can stay with me. I’ll take you out every day.”
“No thanks. I’m staying in China. I’m not going anywhere.”
“Well, that’s fine too. You have branches in Shanghai and Guangzhou, and China’s shipping market is tremendously important worldwide. Maybe you’ll be even more helpful to your sister over there.”
He was utterly devoted to Tan Yun. No matter how the conversation wandered, it always came back to getting Tan Xiao to act as her right-hand man.
Tan Xiao had no interest in working for the Doria family. He wanted to shear their sheep, not join their flock.
There was, however, a genuinely difficult question facing him: what exactly did he want to do after graduation? It deserved serious consideration.
“I might not go to Shanghai or Guangzhou at all. I don’t want to work for the family.”
“Then why did you do a PhD in finance?”
“Because I like studying.”
“Then why stay in China? You could continue your education in a developed country.”
Tan Xiao thought for a moment and decided to give him a hint. “I’m in a relationship. I’m staying in China to be with the person I love.”
“…”
Zhou Ruofei let out an ear-piercing shriek. “You’re barely grown up! And you’re dating? Don’t start dating too young, I’m telling you!”
“I’m twenty-four,” Tan Xiao said, torn between laughter and tears. “Brother, how old did you think I was?”
Zhou really had forgotten Tan Xiao was twenty-four, on the verge of graduating with a PhD. Somewhere in his mind, the boy he’d watched grow up was still a child.
“What sort of person?” he asked anxiously. “A classmate? A Chinese girl? A foreigner?”
“Chinese. You’ve met him.”
Zhou couldn’t think of any girl he’d met who might have become romantically involved with Tan Xiao. He puzzled over it for ages.
“Who is she? What’s her family business?”
“Runs a travel agency,” Tan Xiao said, barely holding back laughter. “The one you once said looked more like a civil servant than a company president.”
This time Zhou Ruofei’s shriek reached a pitch fit for a dolphin.
“Tan Xiao!” he roared. “When your sister finds out, you’re finished!”
Tan Xiao moved the phone away from his ear and waited for the shouting to stop. “That’s exactly why I want her to know. You’ll tell her, won’t you?”
He wanted Tan Yun to learn about the relationship through someone else first.
She was extremely busy and rarely had time to chat with Zhou. But if Zhou came bearing the news that her younger brother was dating a man, she’d probably spare ten minutes to hear him out.
Tan Xiao was certain Zhou wouldn’t be able to keep it to himself for long.
And indeed, Zhou had already decided to tell on him.
He also sincerely believed this shouldn’t be concealed from Tan Yun. The sooner she knew, the sooner she could resolve it, rather than waiting until Tan Xiao sank deep into a doomed romance, suffered all the heartbreak, and only then saw sense.
“Little brother,” Zhou said solemnly, “before I tell your sister, think this through. You’re not even gay. Don’t get carried away fooling around. You’ve had your fun, now stop. If your sister gets angry, she might really package you and that president up together and throw you into the sea.”
This is China, Tan Xiao thought. The only things people can casually throw into the sea are shared bicycles.
“I’m not fooling around. I’m really in love. I love my president the way you love my sister.”
“Like hell it’s the same! My love for Sister Yun is pure. You’d better not have been tricked by some old gay creep.”
Who? Zhang Xingchuan?
Tan Xiao nearly burst out laughing at the description, then felt awkward and immediately defended his president. “Nobody’s a creep. He was straight too, and I was the one who fell for him first.”
To be fair, Tan Xiao wasn’t certain which of them had developed feelings first. He simply chose to believe he’d fallen first and had, consciously or otherwise, sent out enough pheromones to reel the president in.
Zhou refused to believe it. “He either wants your youth and looks or your family’s money. You seem so clever, so why are you such a fool?”
“Well, I am young and beautiful, with a gorgeous figure. Anyone who dates me ought to want all that.”
Zhou deeply regretted making an ordinary phone call instead of a video call. Tan Xiao couldn’t see him rolling his eyes so hard they were practically reaching that Panamanian island.
Tan Xiao continued, “When we got together, he thought I was a poor student. He’s not greedy. He’s an exceptionally genuine person.”
Zhou had never met anyone who didn’t love money. Not one person in his entire life. He’d been born the only son of a semiconductor foundry giant, and he loved money. How could anyone not?
Nor had he imagined the brilliant little brother he’d watched grow up could turn into such an easily deceived romantic fool.
They both carried Tan family genes. How was Tan Yun so difficult to fool?
“I’m applying for a flight route immediately,” Zhou said. “I’ll be in Beijing soon to slap some sense into you. Just wait. If I don’t wake you up, I’m not worthy of being your sister’s devoted lapdog.”
That evening, Tan Xiao drove his freshly serviced car to WenCheng to pick up his husband.
While looking for a parking space, he ran into Vice President Sun.
Sun had just entered the parking garage and was walking along the edge toward his car when a gorgeous Bentley he’d never seen before rolled slowly into view. He stopped to admire it. Which executive from which company in the business park had acquired this? That lovely color, the flowing lines, the heavenly engine note. How magnificent.
The car stopped beside him.
Sun’s expectations rose. Had an executive he knew just bought a new vehicle?
The window lowered, revealing Tan Xiao in the driver’s seat.
Sun’s expression soured instantly.
“Hello, President Sun.”
“Hello.”
“Are you leaving? I’m having trouble finding an empty space.”
Sun turned toward his own car, then stopped and came back to the open window. “Did the president lend you this one too?”
“It’s my own car.”
“The president actually bought you this car?” Sun was astonished.
Zhang Xingchuan’s own car wasn’t nearly so luxurious. Sun looked at Tan Xiao with an expression of bitter disappointment.
When Tan Xiao worked under him, Sun had genuinely liked the young man and seen great promise in his future. So talented, and yet he insisted on taking this kind of shortcut. To drive a Bentley so young, what price must he have paid behind the scenes? Was it worth it? What a tragedy. An absolute tragedy.
“…”
Suddenly, Tan Xiao understood. Zhou Ruofei and the Dorias viewed his relationship with Zhang Xingchuan exactly the way Vice President Sun and most people at WenCheng viewed it, only with the roles reversed.
“President Sun,” Tan Xiao said, “this really is my car. I paid for it myself.”
“Where did you get the money?”
Tan Xiao looked a little embarrassed. “Came with me when I was born.”