Chapter 21: Harboring Hidden Intentions (01)

They broke apart. She was losing her breath. She pushed him back.

He Huaisheng stopped and looked at her, then leaned forward one more time and touched the corner of her lips gently before letting her go.

Something moved in Xia Chan's chest. She asked him again: "Why are you here?"

"Hmm."

"..."

His fingertip moved along the corner of her mouth. "...Smells like cake."

"I had birthday cake earlier. Do you want some? I can go get you a piece."

He shook his head.

"Let's go to your car," she said. "My mother might come down."

---

They drove to a quiet road nearby and she parked. The streetlights came through the windows at an angle, enough to see by, but she turned the overhead light on anyway.

"You had dinner with Cheng Zijin first?"

"Yes." He took out a cigarette, lit it, rested his elbow on the open window. The first drag. The night air was hot, and it came in along with the smell of tobacco.

She looked at him. "I want to be clear about something."

"Go ahead."

She paused, chose the words. "Whatever kind of relationship we have, I don't want to start anything with you."

He didn't speak.

"I'm most afraid of being taken advantage of. It's simpler to keep things straightforward."

"You can't afford to be taken advantage of," he said.

Xia Chan smiled. "Of course — you're wealthy. But if I can earn money from you honestly, why would I take the wrong path?"

In the end, it was still fear.

A woman like her mother, Zhou Lan — whose personality had been fiercer in her youth, who had also said she wouldn't be taken advantage of, that she could leave and make her own fortune — had ended up too deep in to get out. The man's smuggling operation, the forged antiques, the auction money-laundering, had all come apart at once, and he'd been sentenced to life in the first instance. When the tree falls, the monkeys scatter; his first wife and the women after her all cut ties. Only Zhou Lan stayed. She used four years of savings to hire lawyers, push the case through appeal, and eventually got it down to twenty years.

She'd also lost everything she had in the process and accumulated a significant debt. What remained were seven cheongsams kept in a trunk, which she refused to sell. She said they were keepsakes.

Xia Chan had spent years living carefully to help pay that debt. Sometimes budgeting for a single box of foundation.

The move from ease to hardship was one thing. Zhou Lan had never fully made it back from that. The old habits, the old expectations — she couldn't shake them. Life had become small and sour around her.

Xia Chan couldn't fully hate her. She'd suffered too much. But she couldn't repeat the pattern either.

He Huaisheng was quiet for a long time and finally said nothing.

They had reached an agreement.

Xia Chan released a slow breath. She knew she could be too rational sometimes. She didn't know whether it was a good thing.

After a moment she asked, "Where are you going? I can drive you."

"Home."

She nodded and was about to start the car when he said, "No—"

He seemed to struggle briefly with something, then took out his phone and typed: Not Jinpu Garden. The one I took you to last time. Huaiyin Street.

She didn't remember the way. She turned on the navigation.

The road was quiet. Only the mechanical female voice telling her to go straight, then turn. He sat in the passenger seat and smoked and looked out.

At the intersection, he gestured for her to stop. "I'll go in from here."

He glanced back at her, said thank you, and got out.

She watched him walk into the alley and disappear. The Chinese scholar trees on both sides were fully leafed now — when she'd been here before, they'd been bare. Dense shade, even in the dark.

The heat outside was still significant, even at this hour.

Somewhere, very faint, cicadas.

---

His new product had gone into production. Xia Chan hadn't seen him for weeks. She assumed he'd gone south.

She wasn't idle. A plot of land in eastern Chongcheng — speculated on for years — had finally gone to tender, to be developed into a commercial center. Corporate groups descended on it immediately. He Qihua intended to bid in partnership with Ju Heguang and had been preparing accordingly.

The secretariat worked overtime. Documents accumulated. Everyone was submerged.

He Qihua announced a five-day business trip south and needed a secretary to accompany him. Several people volunteered. He waved them off and picked Xia Chan.

She ignored the looks this generated in the secretariat, learned his preferences quickly, booked flights and hotels, planned the itinerary. The whole thing was arranged without gaps.

Two days later she was in Guangzhou, at the Kaize chain hotel, accompanying He Qihua to two meetings on the first two days.

On the third day, He Qihua drove himself out of the hotel, alone, and Xia Chan had the day free.

She didn't know Guangzhou well. She didn't know what was nearby. After a moment's thought, she sent a message.

He Huaisheng: You're in Guangzhou?

Xia Chan: Accompanying He Qihua on a business trip.

He Huaisheng: How many days?

Xia Chan: Just one day free. He Qihua went out alone today — I don't know where.

A pause. Then: I understand. If it's just one day, you could go to Chimelong. Do you need me to find you a local guide?

She said no.

He sent an address. Told her to take a taxi there, someone would pick her up.

She went. A black Toyota was parked on the side of the road. She wasn't sure it was the right car, hesitated, then decided to go ask.

The window came down. A person in sunglasses looked at her from the back seat.

Xia Chan felt a complicated feeling move through her. She glanced around the street on instinct, then jogged over and got in. "Why is it you?"

"...The tour guide."

"Aren't you worried He Qihua will see you?"

"...He's busy."

She didn't ask what that meant. "Are you sure this is all right?"

"Yeah."

"Then let's skip Chimelong, it'll be crowded." She hadn't eaten. "Can you find somewhere for breakfast first?"

The driver got the instruction through some silent means and pulled out.

Xia Chan sat for a moment, not entirely comfortable, staring at the back of the front seat. She felt she should say something. She turned.

He had already taken off the sunglasses and was looking at her.

Their eyes met. She looked away.

After a moment she tried again: "Is everything at the company all right today?"

He shook his head.

It felt like small talk even to her. She stopped trying.

The car turned onto a quiet side street. He led her into a small shop — clean, not too full. She looked at the menu and ordered steamed dumplings and crystal shrimp dumplings. He took the order before she could hand it to the waiter and added glutinous rice chicken and rice noodle rolls.

"I can't eat all of that."

"Leave it."

"That's wasteful."

"I'll pay."

"If you pay it's still wasteful." She reached for the menu. He stopped her hand and passed it to the waiter.

The food came. The shrimp dumplings were what she'd hoped for — thin skin, tender filling. She ate with focus. When she looked up, he was watching her.

"Have you eaten?"

He nodded.

"Don't look at me."

He nodded. Kept looking at her.

"..." She considered arguing and decided against it. She let him look and kept eating.

After breakfast they got back in the car. The driver asked where she wanted to go.

"Somewhere less crowded? But still worth going to."

She didn't want to be seen with him somewhere public.

The driver laughed. "Fun places tend to be crowded."

He Huaisheng suggested somewhere. The drive took more than half an hour; they left the main roads and wound through side streets lined with low, old houses, until a huge factory appeared in front of them.

Red brick walls. Two chimneys so tall the tops were unclear.

"This is Mr. He's friend's studio," the driver said. "It's worth seeing."

---

The north wall of the factory was almost entirely covered by a graffiti mural, three stories high. Beneath it, a train carriage sat parked on a track.

Before Xia Chan could walk over to look, a voice came through what sounded like a PA system, from somewhere in the empty space: "You brought me a model?"

Someone jumped out of the carriage door.

A man in his early thirties, refined-looking and easy, wearing something that appeared to have started life as a piece of fabric with three holes cut into it. He walked over, pleased with himself.

"Ban Hao — Ban as in Lu Ban, Hao as in Meng Haoran."

She shook his hand. "Xia Chan — Xia as in Xia, Shang, and Zhou, Chan as in Diao Chan."

He laughed. "Come in, I'll make coffee."

The carriage door was high off the ground. No steps. Ban Hao got up easily. Xia Chan stood below it, calculating. Before she'd worked out the approach, He Huaisheng stepped up beside her and lifted her.

She grabbed the door frame on reflex and pulled herself up. He followed, landing in the carriage without effort.

Inside, the old green train's original layout remained. She and He Huaisheng sat facing each other. Through the window: a section of the mural. A naked man and woman, very large, looking in.

She turned her head immediately to look at He Huaisheng instead.

A click.

Ban Hao lowered the Polaroid camera and slid out the developing photo. "For you. No charge today."

Xia Chan took it.

It had caught her in the exact moment she'd turned to look at He Huaisheng. The expression on her face was complex — embarrassment was in there, and something like curiosity, and something else that she couldn't name from outside it.

She looked at the photo for a moment.

One word came to mind for it.

Scheming.