Getting beaten pays better than ghostwriting?
Only Song Foxiang could think like that.
Song Shao suggested demanding 100 million, aiming to put “President Xie” in a tough spot. Who in their right mind would pay 100 million to settle for minor injuries?
If “President Xie” refused, Song Shao had a slew of arguments ready to go.
Song Shao had planned his next moves, but he never anticipated his uncle Song Foxiang’s bizarre logic surpassing his expectations.
Bargaining after an outrageous demand? That’s for businessmen. Editor Song, a man of letters, didn’t care for such tactics.
With President Jiang backing a hefty compensation, daughter Song Chan not objecting, and nephew Song Shao suggesting “100 million,” Editor Song was convinced: it was time to reassess his worth!
If everyone says I’m worth that much, then I must be.
Editor Song lay calmly on his hospital bed as Assistant Qi wheeled Xie Jinghu in, followed by a police officer from the station.
Xie Qian and Jiang Xuekun deliberately lagged behind, giving Song Foxiang ample chance to make his bold demand. Jiang Xuekun, especially, needed to arrive later to avoid an awkward position—neither helping Xie Jinghu haggle nor siding against him would look good.
Xie Jinghu’s face was dark.
Song Foxiang squinted, sneaking a peek at him.
“President Xie, about this…” Assistant Qi prompted softly.
Xie Jinghu took deep breaths to steady himself, “…I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have acted impulsively and hit you!”
Wow!
Song Foxiang’s squinted eyes widened slightly.
He’d never seen an apology delivered with such gritted teeth, as if Xie Jinghu wanted to rush up and hit him again.
Song Foxiang sneered inwardly but groaned aloud, “Chan, my head hurts. Quick, call the doctor.”
That Xie, the plagiarist dog, could copy his hospital act but not his shameless pain-calling face.
Go on, Xie, try groaning too. I cry headache; dare you cry about that kind of pain?
Song Foxiang was smug.
Men understand men. Even if they can’t perform, they’ll claim they can.
Xie Jinghu’s face darkened further.
If the police officer weren’t there, Xie Jinghu would’ve charged at Song Foxiang again.
Faking a concussion? He’d beat Song Foxiang into a real one.
Want to stay in hospital? Beat him into a year-long stay, and Xie Jinghu would gladly cover the medical bills!
“President Xie—”
Assistant Qi, anxious, held Xie Jinghu’s wheelchair firmly to prevent another outburst.
Master Xie had spoken; what could President Xie do but apologise?
If he hit Song Foxiang again, the losses would be even greater.
Glancing at the officer, Assistant Qi spoke first, “Editor Song, our President Xie is sincerely apologising. Name a compensation amount. We’re open to discussion.”
Assistant Qi was cautious, fearing a retort from Song Chan.
But Song Chan wouldn’t.
Her cousin Song Shao was there.
Both Song Chan and Song Foxiang looked to Song Shao. When it came to specific sums, the father and daughter were too thin-skinned.
Assistant Qi didn’t take Song Shao seriously, but Song Shao boldly demanded 100 million, calm as ever.
“100 million?!”
Assistant Qi laughed in disbelief, “Do you even know what 100 million is? Officer, this is extortion!”
In 2005, 100 million in Chengdu could buy a house outright—unless it was a villa—and even then, only a new lift-equipped flat would cost that much!
So young, yet so brazen to extort.
The local police, used to mediating disputes, found the amount absurd and leaned toward Assistant Qi, asking Song Foxiang to name a more reasonable figure.
Kids might not grasp what 100 million meant, but adults should!
Song Foxiang only moaned, claiming a headache.
Assistant Qi fumed, and the officer chimed in, but Song Shao wasn’t fazed, “Officer, President Xie’s assistant said we could discuss, so we proposed 100 million. If President Xie can’t afford it, we’re open to lowering it. The final amount needs both sides’ agreement, right?”
Since it was a negotiation, both had to agree. Song Shao admitted 100 million was negotiable, softening the officer’s expression.
“But you can’t just demand 100 million. That’s outrageous!”
The officer wanted Song Foxiang to speak, but Song Foxiang played the coward, leaving it to his youthful nephew. Song Shao explained the 100 million demand, “You’ve seen my uncle’s condition. His physical injuries may heal, but the psychological damage could linger. You may not know, my uncle’s a writer. To put it grandly, President Xie’s punches broke his pride. Can a writer without pride create good work again? So, President Xie ruined my uncle’s career. With my uncle’s fame, his future royalties would’ve easily exceeded 100 million!”
Song Foxiang was indeed a somewhat known writer.
At least in Chengdu.
The police station was near Chengdu Publishing Group, so the officer knew of Song Foxiang’s reputation.
But acknowledging his fame didn’t mean agreeing with Song Shao’s claim—that a beating shattered his pride and ruined his career? Too far-fetched. Even a judge wouldn’t buy it in court!
“Young man, your claims lack legal basis.”
The officer cautioned Song Shao, who smiled, “Then I’ll scale it down. President Xie’s punches harmed my uncle’s personal reputation, which is hard to price. If President Xie is willing, he can stand at my uncle’s workplace—where it happened—let my uncle throw a few punches without resisting, and we’ll call it even. No apology or compensation needed!”
Uh…
The officer, usually the one reasoning with the public, found Song Shao’s point oddly compelling.
Xie Jinghu beat Song Foxiang suspecting an affair with his wife. Without an apology, Song Foxiang’s name would stay tarnished.
The 100 million was probably a bluff, just to force Xie Jinghu’s stance.
“Young man, hitting people is wrong…”
“Then I’ll concede further. Have President Xie write a letter of apology, read it publicly at my uncle’s workplace to clear things up. That’ll do.”
That was feasible.
By the end, Song Shao’s demands dropped, abandoning money entirely. The officer felt the Song family was sincere about resolving the issue.
But glancing at Xie Jinghu…
Oh, President Xie seemed to have other thoughts?
Xie Jinghu was livid.
From Song Shao’s talk of breaking Song Foxiang’s “pride,” Xie Jinghu wanted to mock him.
What pride does a ghostwriter like Song Foxiang have?
This guy could never write anything good, yet dares blame me?
A public apology at his workplace? Never!
