Receiving a call from the boss on New Year’s Eve, tasked with verifying the accuracy of the Hongqiao demolition news, Assistant Qi was utterly exasperated.
Couldn’t he have a proper holiday?
He was a salaried assistant, not a bonded slave.
Qi inwardly raged but kept his tone respectful.
No choice, the boss sounded displeased. Perhaps he’d been outdone by Young Master Xie again?
Forcing down such irreverent thoughts, Qi grudgingly set out to investigate the demolition.
Qi was annoyed by Xie Jinghu’s call, and those he contacted were equally irritated. After extensive inquiries, the Hongqiao Airport demolition rumour was only sixty to seventy percent reliable.
That was already a high degree of certainty.
Yet Qi was cautious in his response to Xie Jinghu, avoiding a direct verdict on the rumour’s accuracy. Instead, he mentioned Xie Qian’s plot, “Boss, I checked specifically. Young Master Xie’s land hasn’t been expanded or renovated. The factory hasn’t even been repainted before the New Year.”
Ordinary folks, hearing demolition rumours with even thirty to forty percent credibility, would gamble on it. Those with property near Hongqiao would rush to expand, and those without would scramble to buy.
If the demolition was certain, why hadn’t Xie Qian acted?
In Qi’s view, nobody ever thought money was enough.
Of course, Qi only reminded Xie Jinghu dutifully, leaving judgments to him.
Xie Jinghu was surprised.
No expansion or renovation. Was the demolition rumour a smokescreen by that defiant kid?
What was his goal?
The kid always had a motive.
Returning to the living room, where the Xie family watched the gala, Xie Jinghu’s entrance silenced the younger generation mid-conversation. Xie Qian, head down, was texting on his phone. Seeing that face, so like his own but younger, Xie Jinghu sensed an unfathomable depth.
The Xie Qian who went to Rongcheng had changed, becoming harder to read.
Like Zou Weijun, who also went to Rongcheng.
Xie Jinghu felt an inexplicable irritation but quickly reassured himself: unfathomable? Just a young man playing deep. Whatever the kid was up to, time would reveal his intentions.
Grabbing his coat, Xie Jinghu said he was leaving early.
Old Lady Xie disliked absences on New Year’s Eve, grumbling, “Xie Qian rarely returns to Beijing. As his father, you should care more. Leaving early on New Year’s Eve for business? Let it go. Money isn’t everything.”
Xie Jinghu brushed it off with a smile and left.
He thought his absence would dampen the mood, but the living room’s atmosphere lightened considerably.
After what Xie Jinghu had done, Xie Qi and Xie Tang couldn’t face their third uncle. Xie Yuping found him utterly displeasing. Xie Er and Xie Si rarely spoke to him.
Old Lady Xie saw it all, her heart heavy as if weighed by a stone.
Could the Xie family ever return to how it was?
She wasn’t sure.
Xie Qian put down his phone after Xie Jinghu left.
He’d just been sending New Year greetings to friends, lingering a bit longer on Wen Ying’s message. Her near-instant reply lifted his spirits.
Xie Jinghu had taken the bait.
He must be itching, unsure whether to push Jiashin Film onto him.
This wasn’t a one-day job. Too eager, and the fish would slip the hook.
While Xie Qian calmly fished, Xie Jinghu left the family’s warmth alone. As disappointment crept in, his phone rang, an international call.
It rang three times and stopped, a signal. If inconvenient, Xie Jinghu wouldn’t call back.
Now was fine. The call connected, and a cheerful girl’s voice came through, “Dad, Happy New Year!”
His youngest daughter’s carefree tone soothed his disappointment.
Besides her, there was his eldest son, far more pleasing than Xie Qian. When he first learned his ex-girlfriend had secretly borne him a son, Xie Jinghu resisted. The best course was to tell Zou Weijun the truth. She might not accept the boy but wouldn’t harm him. If he funded the child, Zou Weijun wouldn’t object.
There was a chance to confess.
Yet, inexplicably, Xie Jinghu didn’t.
He negotiated with his ex-girlfriend, and talks led to bed. Frequent visits led to another pregnancy.
Snapping out of memories, the phone now carried a languid, charming female voice, thick with concern, “I worried it wasn’t a good time. Yueyue insisted, and I couldn’t stop her.”
Xie Jinghu felt comforted, “If Yueyue misses me, a call’s fine. I should spend more time with you both. Don’t worry, I’m alone, free to talk.”
That raised more concern.
The woman, curious, said, “I remember the Xie family’s New Year’s Eve tradition, gathering to watch the gala until after midnight. You’re leaving early this year?”
The Xie family’s New Year’s Eve reunion was a long-standing custom, known to those close to them, including this woman. Before their breakup, Xie Jinghu had planned to bring her to the reunion, introducing her formally.
That year, she didn’t attend. The Zhuo family’s troubles sent her abroad swiftly, standing Xie Jinghu up.
Once a sore point, now it brought more regret than anger.
Without that upheaval, he wouldn’t have met Zou Weijun.
Would that have mattered?
Perhaps not.
Xie Jinghu might still have gone south for business, but with different timing and fields, not needing Professor Zou’s technical breakthroughs.
Maybe her concerned tone moved him, prompting him to share the evening’s events.
His nephew and niece’s coldness, Xie Qian’s disrespect, Xie Yuping’s protectiveness.
“He’s worried I’ll harm him. The film idea was Xie Qian’s, not something I forced on that defiant kid.”
The woman pondered, advising Xie Jinghu not to dwell on anger but to support Xie Qian, “Teen boys hit a rebellious phase. Normal families don’t indulge kids unconditionally, but our situation’s different. Jinghu, we did wrong. Giving Xie Qian a bit more would ease my conscience.”
