Xie Jinghu arrived in downtown Rongcheng at 10 a.m.
Compared to Beijing, Rongcheng in 2005 wasn’t particularly bustling, and Xie Jinghu had no mood to admire the city scenery.
Overnight, his assistant had dug up details on Song Foxiang.
Song Foxiang, a Rongcheng poet, writer, and magazine editor-in-chief, was hired by Zhao Dong as a ghostwriter.
With such credentials, he dared to pursue Zou Weijun?
If he were a literary luminary, Xie Jinghu might have given him some respect, but knowing Song Foxiang was willing to ghostwrite Zhao Dong’s biography for money, Xie Jinghu could hardly muster any regard for him!
“Why hasn’t Rongcheng Publishing Group sacked this guy yet?” Xie Jinghu suddenly asked, directing the question not at his assistant but at Zhong Yong.
Zhong Yong sat up straight, answering cautiously, “Mr. Xie, it’s like this. Editor-in-Chief Song admitted his mistake immediately. He didn’t know Zou… Mrs. Xie was married. He only wrote her a poem, with no further aggressive actions, which doesn’t meet the threshold for dismissal.”
Xie Jinghu snorted.
If Jiang Xuekun had any sense, Xie Jinghu wouldn’t have needed to make this trip; Song Foxiang would’ve been fired already.
Then again, Song Foxiang wasn’t pursuing Jiang Xuekun’s wife, so naturally, Jiang Xuekun wasn’t in a hurry.
Having been “Mr. Xie” for so long, Xie Jinghu wasn’t content managing his own company; he wanted to meddle in someone else’s workplace.
Zhong Yong not only sat upright physically but stayed mentally alert.
Every place has its rules.
The law doesn’t prohibit pursuing married women, though morally, Song Foxiang’s actions could be condemned.
In fact, Song Foxiang’s apology was largely due to Zou Weijun’s complaint.
If Song Foxiang hadn’t had someone tamper with Zou Weijun’s bag, she wouldn’t have been so angry.
Pursuing a married woman was wrong, but since Song Foxiang stopped after a warning, Zhong Yong, from a neutral standpoint, didn’t see it as a big deal.
Why was Mr. Xie so furious?
Probably projecting his own behaviour.
But demanding Song Foxiang’s dismissal outright? Mr. Xie was getting carried away.
Rongcheng Publishing Group was state-owned, and Song Foxiang, as an editor-in-chief, had a formal position. Getting sacked over a love poem? Mr. Xie’s temper was massive, no wonder the boss sent Zhong Yong to keep an eye on him.
Today was shaping up to be a tough battle, and Zhong Yong was glad he’d eaten well on the plane, giving him the stamina to watch Xie Jinghu.
Xie Jinghu stormed straight to Song Foxiang’s workplace.
On the way, he imagined what he’d do when he confronted Song Foxiang.
First, Song Foxiang posed no real threat; Xie Jinghu simply couldn’t swallow this insult.
A spineless writer, perhaps pot-bellied and greasy, a middle-aged man inferior to Xie Jinghu in every way.
Xie Jinghu pictured Song Foxiang as utterly deplorable.
This made him even angrier.
—Zou Weijun, oh Zou Weijun, leaving Beijing hasn’t brought you a better life. If you’d stayed quietly as ‘Mrs. Xie the Third,’ a toad like Song Foxiang wouldn’t even have the chance to approach you. How could such a toad disgust you?
Men like Mr. Xie, with such double standards, have delicate egos.
When another man pursues his wife, he feels a faint green glow above his head.
If the suitor is better than him, he gets nervous.
If the suitor is far inferior, he’s equally upset, feeling deeply insulted.
After Zhong Yong’s subtle pushback, Xie Jinghu didn’t calm down. As the car reached the magazine office where Song Foxiang worked, he sneered again, “Didn’t they say this guy’s a mess with relationships? This incident doesn’t warrant dismissal, but what about his past?”
Zhong Yong recited the data matter-of-factly, “Mr. Xie, it’s like this. After his early divorce, Song Foxiang never remarried. The company can’t strip him of his right to date. He’s had many girlfriends, but none reported him to the company after breakups, suggesting amicable splits, so the company has no grounds to intervene.”
In a way, Song Foxiang was quite capable.
No matter how much of a playboy, he kept his exes from causing trouble.
He might have dated married women, but without accusations, it didn’t affect him.
Consensual relationships? The company couldn’t interfere.
Xie Jinghu frowned.
So, a Casanova, huh?
Why would Zhao Dong have this guy deal with Zou Weijun?
Xie Jinghu hadn’t informed Zhao Dong of his Rongcheng trip, deliberately avoiding him.
With distrust brewing, it wouldn’t fade soon.
At the magazine office, Xie Jinghu demanded to see Song Foxiang.
Song Foxiang wasn’t there!
Editor-in-Chief Song was out “gathering inspiration.”
When would he return?
No one knew.
As editor-in-chief, he had significant authority, no need to clock in or out. He might return today, or he might not.
Xie Jinghu’s face darkened, like a stormy sky about to unleash a downpour.
By noon, with no sign of Song Foxiang, Xie Jinghu lost patience.
“Call him.”
Zhong Yong, having gathered Song Foxiang’s details, surely had his contact.
If not, he wouldn’t be worthy of his name!
Zhong Yong indeed had it.
When the call connected, Zhong Yong explained their purpose, expecting Song Foxiang to hide. But Editor-in-Chief Song was bold in such matters.
Zou Weijun’s husband wanted to meet him?
Perfect, he wanted to meet her husband too!
“Wait thirty minutes, I’ll be right back.”
Song Foxiang had no sense of time. He said thirty minutes but kept Xie Jinghu waiting over forty.
Past 1 p.m., a man in white appeared in Xie Jinghu’s view.
No potbelly, no repulsive look.
In fact, first impressions of Song Foxiang could be favorable.
He could play the romantic because he knew how to present himself. Women who dated him were drawn to his talent, so he styled himself as a refined scholar.
Early May, with mild weather, Song Foxiang wore a long-sleeved white shirt, his shoulder-length hair neatly tied, his face clean-shaven.
Song Chan had admirers at school, tied to her talent and charisma.
Song Foxiang, divorced for years, was Song Chan’s model for charisma, with no female elder to emulate.
So, Song Foxiang’s confidence in pursuing Zou Weijun was well-founded.
Spotting a black Mercedes parked outside the office, Song Foxiang guessed it was Zou Weijun’s husband’s car.
A rich man!
Song Foxiang wasn’t intimidated.
Money? Sometimes it paled against the allure of talent for women.
Song Foxiang’s confidence stung Xie Jinghu’s eyes.
The car window rolled down, and Xie Jinghu confirmed, “You’re Song Foxiang?”
“I am. You’re Xiao Zou’s…”
Oof, tricky.
Zou Weijun’s husband was rich, no problem for Song Foxiang.
But handsome? That was cheating.
Women, besides valuing talent, cared about looks.
Xie Jinghu’s appearance already threatened Song Foxiang’s talent. No wonder Xiao Zou was so hard to win over.
Xie Jinghu pushed open the car door and floored Song Foxiang with a punch.
“You dare harass my wife!”
