It was nearly lights-out when Song Xiuzhu and Lin Yuan finally returned together.
His most important paper was about to be reported for falsified research data, his recommendation for postgraduate admission would be revoked, and he might even be expelled. Lin Yuan was in a terrible state. He pushed open the door and cast a quick, frightened glance at Lu Congzhi.
Lu Congzhi was brushing his teeth on the balcony. He tipped his head up toward the pillow towel hanging from the drying pole and asked indistinctly, “Binbin, did you wash this for me?”
Yu Binbin immediately claimed the credit. “Who else would wait on you like that?”
Lu Congzhi made a little heart with his fingers. “Love you, bro.”
Yu Binbin made a loud clicking sound with his tongue and gave him a cheeky, flirtatious wink.
…Wen Rui silently closed his eyes.
Lu Congzhi finished brushing his teeth and washing his face, then came over to tidy his desk.
Wen Rui turned to look at him. After several dozen seconds, he suddenly spoke. “I washed the pillow towel.”
“Hm?” Lu Congzhi froze.
Wen Rui enunciated each word. “I was the one washing your pillow towel. Yu Binbin saw me halfway through and snatched it away. I didn’t finish washing it.”
Understanding dawned on Lu Congzhi, only to be replaced by even greater puzzlement. “Why on earth were you washing my pillow towel?”
Wen Rui looked at his long fingers. He’d just made a heart with them. Why wasn’t he making one now?
“You covered that part of yourself with it this morning.” He gave the simplest possible explanation.
Lu Congzhi stared for a while, then burst out laughing. “Every domineering CEO has a cleanliness obsession. Turns out that ridiculous trope is real. Class Monitor, you’re too adorable.”
It was the first time anyone had called Wen Rui adorable, and he was rather unaccustomed to it. He sat stiffly for a moment, gave a low hum of acknowledgment, and only then closed his draft notebook in satisfaction.
He stood. “Let’s vote today on the proposal I made yesterday. I want to transfer thirteen percent of my shares to Lu Congzhi. Who’s in favor? Who’s opposed? Anyone unwilling to waive their right of first refusal, step forward and we’ll discuss it.”
Thirteen percent was worth 130,000 yuan. Song Xiuzhu had every intention of buying it. He could not let Lu Congzhi into the company, or before long he would be the one forced out. He took out his phone and sent a text, presumably to borrow money.
Yu Binbin and Zhou Ming raised their hands together. “No objections from us.”
Wen Rui looked at Lin Yuan.
Lin Yuan said nothing.
Song Xiuzhu raised his head. “Wen Rui, you should notify us in writing and clearly specify the full terms, including the transfer price, payment date, and payment method. A verbal notice like this has no legal basis. We may be a startup, but every procedure should still follow the rules. Don’t you agree?”
He was stalling. Perhaps by tomorrow he could gather all 130,000 yuan. Whatever happened, he would stop Lu Congzhi from joining them. When his own interests were at stake, he could be calculating to the last penny and relentlessly aggressive, nothing like his usual modest, gentle demeanor.
This was Song Xiuzhu’s true face.
Wen Rui’s guard was fully raised.
“You have a point. I’ll issue a formal written notice tomorrow.”
Wen Rui glanced at Lu Congzhi, wondering how he would handle this unexpected obstacle.
In a tank top and shorts, Lu Congzhi lounged on a stool with his long, pale legs crossed and propped on the desk. He looked so relaxed he might not even have noticed the danger approaching.
He turned to Lin Yuan. “Sell me your shares and I won’t report you.”
Lin Yuan had spent the whole day in terror. Hearing this, he felt as though he’d been granted a pardon. He had no idea how bright the company’s prospects were or how formidable Wen Rui’s background was. To him, his 2.5 percent stake was something he could take or leave.
Without hesitation, he gritted his teeth. “Deal.”
“Twenty-five thousand, right? I’ll pay you tomorrow.” Lu Congzhi lowered his long legs and felt around on the floor for his slippers.
Seated beside him, Wen Rui had his instep stepped on several times. It tickled and was rather funny. In the end he bent down to retrieve the slippers Lu Congzhi had kicked under the bed.
The two occupied themselves with that and did not look at Song Xiuzhu.
Song Xiuzhu’s face had turned nearly translucent with pallor. He’d done everything he could to prevent Lu Congzhi from taking a stake, never imagining that Lin Yuan would be the first to ruin his plans. Of course he could exercise his right of first refusal and buy Lin Yuan’s shares himself. But how could he possibly broach that with Lin Yuan?
Was he supposed to say, Lin Yuan, I want to destroy Lu Congzhi. Would you sacrifice your education for me?
What would Lin Yuan think of him? What would everyone else think?
Only now did Song Xiuzhu realize that the vicious things Lu Congzhi had said during the day had not been a simple outburst. They were a series of linked traps. He’d swung his hammer here and there, seemingly without a plan, yet every blow had struck a vital point.
No one could stop him doing what he intended. No one could take away what he wanted. He had already dealt with Lin Yuan, and it was obvious who his next target would be.
Song Xiuzhu went cold all over at the thought.
Wen Rui finally fished the slippers out from beneath the bed, a strand of cobweb hanging from his forehead. Lu Congzhi smilingly wiped it away for him.
Lin Yuan pressed anxiously, “Lu Congzhi, when are we signing?”
Lu Congzhi passed the troublesome details to Wen Rui. “Class Monitor, you draft the contract. Once it’s ready, we’ll settle everything tomorrow.”
Wen Rui nodded. “Fine. Lin Yuan, come here. Let’s discuss the contract terms.”
Lin Yuan hurried over, looking perfectly cooperative.
Song Xiuzhu received a text. He glanced at it quickly, then abruptly said, “Wen Rui, I’ll buy that thirteen percent. You can draft my contract while you’re at it.”
Wen Rui was astonished. For an orphan who hadn’t even graduated from university to raise 130,000 yuan in a few minutes was almost impossible. Yet with that extraordinarily influential orphanage director behind Song Xiuzhu, it somehow seemed plausible.
Wen Rui frowned and looked at Lu Congzhi.
Lu Congzhi’s phone rang. He waved at Wen Rui. “You two go ahead.” Then he hurried out of the dormitory.
The call seemed important.
Keeping matters strictly business, Wen Rui asked Song Xiuzhu, “When will you pay, and how?”
Song Xiuzhu checked the text. “Tomorrow morning. I can transfer it to your bank account.”
Wen Rui nodded. “All right. Wait for my written notice.” As for when the notice would actually be ready, that depended on what Lu Congzhi had planned.
Song Xiuzhu sensed Wen Rui’s partiality and stared at him in disbelief, hurt and reproach plain in his eyes. Given their friendship, surely Wen Rui ought to favor him!
“When will you issue the written notice?” Song Xiuzhu pressed.
“I still have to draft Lin Yuan’s contract. Wait.” Wen Rui’s excuse was entirely legitimate.
Song Xiuzhu had shot himself in the foot, and his expression darkened. He could tell that Wen Rui was now wary of him. Perhaps agreeing to be with him would improve their increasingly distant relationship.
But for the moment, Song Xiuzhu could not bring himself to cross that threshold.
Amid the tangled maneuvering, Lu Congzhi returned. He sat beside Wen Rui, gave Song Xiuzhu a meaningful look, and asked, “You’re buying that thirteen percent? You have the money?”
Song Xiuzhu smiled. “Yes. I do.”
“Borrowed from the director?” Lu Congzhi asked bluntly.
Song Xiuzhu did not answer.
Lu Congzhi looked at Wen Rui, then surveyed the others before speaking slowly. “Everyone, I’ve decided to acquire Lin Yuan’s shares. As one of the company’s shareholders, I have a responsibility to keep our equity structure stable, prevent outside forces from disrupting our governance, and make sure none of our shares end up in the hands of someone beyond our control through a judicial auction. Why am I bringing this up? Because I suspect that money a certain shareholder intends to use to buy shares comes from illegal proceeds and is at risk of judicial confiscation.”
Everyone looked at Song Xiuzhu. He was borrowing the money from the director, whom they all now suspected might have underworld connections.
Song Xiuzhu kept silent. If he launched into a frantic defense with his face flushed, he would have lost.
Wen Rui asked at just the right moment, “Your concern makes sense. What do you propose?”
In his previous life, Lu Congzhi had managed seven or eight companies at the same time. Protecting shareholdings was second nature to him.
“First,” he said, “amend the articles of association to establish a trigger-based share repurchase mechanism. Second, create an expedited channel for executing repurchases. All of us will sign an Equity Repurchase Framework Agreement together, specifying triggering conditions, valuation procedures, payment deadlines, and dispute-resolution arrangements.”
“Third, we’ll sign a Letter of Intent for Priority Acquisition with a particular shareholder. That shareholder must make an irrevocable undertaking: if their equity is lawfully disposed of, they will ask the judicial authority or disposal agency to give the company, or a party designated by the company, priority to buy it on equal terms.”
Lu Congzhi paused to let everyone think.
Song Xiuzhu felt as though needles were stabbing every inch of his body. He knew he was the “particular shareholder” Lu Congzhi meant.
And now everyone was looking at him coldly. He was no longer merely isolated. He had become the common enemy.
After looking around, Lu Congzhi concluded, “The letter of intent can’t directly bind a court, but it sends a clear signal: our shareholders have reached a united position. This plan isn’t meant to punish anyone. It’s meant to protect us all, to protect the work we’ve invested, to keep control of the company from falling into outside hands, and to ensure that every shareholder can still receive fair consideration if they exit in the future. What does it mean to pull together as one? Only when we’ve signed these agreements will we truly be working as one. That’s all I have to say. Who’s in favor and who’s opposed?”
No one came forward to object, not even Song Xiuzhu.
Lu Congzhi was astonishingly experienced at running companies. The others were raw recruits; only he stood like a pillar amid the sea, single-handedly holding back every wave and hidden danger.
Wen Rui was a research-oriented talent, not a manager. Once he’d built his company, he intended to hand it over to a professional executive. He had assumed it would take a long time to train a successor. Then Lu Congzhi appeared.
The extent of Lu Congzhi’s perfection far surpassed Wen Rui’s imagination.
Despite the excitement surging through him, Wen Rui merely tapped the tabletop and asked Song Xiuzhu, “Do you have any objections?”
With that one question, he instantly placed Song Xiuzhu in opposition to everyone else.
Song Xiuzhu also knew that the money the director had lent him might be questionable. He couldn’t object without turning every shareholder against him. If he angered Wen Rui, there were plenty of ways Wen Rui could force him to withdraw of his own accord, to the cheers of the other shareholders.
He couldn’t allow matters to reach that point. But neither could he accept being forced to sign the agreement.
Song Xiuzhu’s thoughts were in chaos, and his silence stretched on too long.
Lu Congzhi offered helpfully, “Song Xiuzhu, why don’t you ask the director whether she could withstand an accusation of embezzlement or having a large amount of unexplained wealth?”
Song Xiuzhu paled, but stubbornly replied, “Lu Congzhi, the director is an honest woman. There’s no way she’s done anything wrong. Everything you say is prejudice and speculation.”
Lu Congzhi smiled carelessly. “I did the math. The director earns 230 yuan a month. Even if she spent nothing at all, it’d take her forty-seven years to save 130,000 yuan. She’s only forty-six now. If there’s nothing wrong, she must have started working as director and drawing a salary while she was still in her mother’s womb, right?”
Song Xiuzhu had no response. He understood more clearly than ever how dangerous Lu Congzhi was becoming. Lu Congzhi intended to destroy the director, and if she fell, he would lose everything too.
Wen Rui nudged Lu Congzhi with his knee and warned in a voice barely above a whisper, “You’re pushing him too hard.”
Lu Congzhi brought his thin lips to Wen Rui’s ear, breathing warmth against it. “Someone just called to say Tang Hu has been working in the Minnan region. He thought I might not believe him, so he said he has a photograph of Tang Hu and will bring it to campus tomorrow for me to inspect. See? If we don’t drive these people into a corner until they lash out, they’ll never reveal a weakness.”
“You’re going to Minnan?” Wen Rui’s heart clenched.
“Mm.” Lu Congzhi nodded.
Wen Rui seized his arm, his voice deep. “Don’t go. Minnan is a gathering place for human smugglers. It’s dangerous!”
Lu Congzhi gently pried his hand away, his gaze resolute. “Class Monitor, this is what my heart is set on. I love money, and I value my life, but some things matter more than money or life. Do you understand?”
Wen Rui did not understand, but Lu Congzhi’s courage had captivated his very soul.