Chapter Twenty-One Recruiting

Lin Tang rose gracefully, bowed slightly, and bid farewell to the important figures at the main table. Her voice was clear and gentle, neither too loud nor too soft, yet it clearly reached the ears of those nearby: "Please enjoy your meal. I am feeling a little unwell, so I will take my leave now."

She didn't look at Qiao Yuan again, turned around, and walked out calmly along the way she came.

Her black velvet dress, like flowing night, instantly captivated everyone's attention and stole most of the brilliance from the banquet hall. Her retreating figure was resolute, without a trace of lingering affection.

Just as she was about to step out of the banquet hall, a figure quickly chased after her from the side.

It was Chen Kan.

“Mrs. Joe,” he called to her.

Lin Tang paused slightly, turned her head, and her cool gaze fell on Chen Kan's face. In the end, she didn't say anything and continued walking out.

Chen Kan followed him out.

The heavy glass of the revolving door separated two worlds.

Inside the door, there is the clamor of a false prosperity; outside, there is the deep night, the cold evening wind, and the silent, damp drizzle carrying the unique scent of the Huangpu River.

A cold wind swept across my face, carrying the chill of rain.

Chen Kan held up an umbrella for her from behind.

Fine raindrops pattered on the black silk umbrella, making a soft rustling sound that blocked out the last trace of noise coming from inside the door.

Qiao Yuan stood in the center of the bustling banquet hall, the light from the crystal chandelier dancing on the shoulders of his dark suit, yet unable to penetrate the sudden chill that had settled in his eyes.

He watched helplessly as Lin Tang resolutely turned and left, her dark black velvet dress like a wound tearing through her glitz and glamour, disappearing behind the revolving door. Immediately after, he saw Chen Kan's unwavering figure chasing after her.

An indescribable stinging pain instantly spread, carrying with it a sense of absurd betrayal and an inexplicable bitterness.

He instinctively tried to take a step, but his body seemed to be nailed to the spot by invisible chains, and he could only watch helplessly as the heavy glass door slowly closed.

His fingers, holding the champagne glass, tightened unconsciously, his knuckles turning white, the cold glass almost digging into his skin.

“Mr. Qiao?” Sato Ichiro’s voice, filled with inquiry and a hint of understanding, rang out beside him, its distinctive Japanese accent pulling Qiao Yuan back from his momentary daze.

Qiao Yuan snapped back to reality, quickly adjusting his breathing, perfectly concealing his momentary lapse in composure beneath a deeper layer of shrewdness. He turned around, the hollow smile on his face now transformed into a deeper arc, tinged with deliberate flattery and cynicism, as if the person who had just been lost in thought was not him at all.

"I'm sorry to have made you laugh, Mr. Sato," Qiao Yuan said with a perfectly timed self-deprecating tone, raising his glass to Sato. "Women, you know, always have their little quirks. I was rather tactless, and I'm sorry you had to see me like this." He deliberately emphasized the words "tactless."

Sato Ichiro's sharp gaze lingered on Qiao Yuan's face for a moment, but he didn't point it out. He simply nodded slightly and said, "It's alright. Mr. Qiao's ability to be so reasonable and pragmatic is what makes him a true man of great things. The Empire needs outstanding individuals like Mr. Qiao."

Qiao Yuan's eyes narrowed slightly. Sato's "leniency" was never free; Liang Kuan's blood was still fresh—this was a blatant warning and a deal.

"Don't worry, Mr. Sato," Qiao Yuan's smile remained unchanged, his voice steady. "Since I said I would follow the times, I will naturally keep my word. Leave the dock matters to me. However..." He paused slightly, a shrewd calculation flashing in his eyes, "the key points will require Mr. Sato's careful attention. After all, the waters of Jiangcheng can be quite deep at times."

“Of course.” Sato nodded in satisfaction, his smile becoming more genuine. “Mr. Qiao is straightforward. The Empire will not mistreat its friends.”

The band's soft, melodious music filled every corner again, and the guests' surprise and uncertainty were quickly replaced by more deliberate banter and laughter, as if the tense confrontation had never happened.

"Mr. Sato, please take a seat." He stepped aside, his posture impeccable, as if the conversation that had just taken place, which concerned life and death and their positions, was nothing more than ordinary small talk at a banquet.

Sato Ichiro narrowed his eyes, scrutinizing Qiao Yuan's impeccable expression. After a moment, he also gave a meaningful smile and, surrounded by his entourage, walked toward the reserved seat at the head table.

Cheng Qing was so overwhelmed by the sudden change and the even stronger aura that she could hardly breathe. She instinctively wanted to shrink behind Qiao Yuan, but Qiao Yuan gently pushed her forward, exposing her to Sato's scrutinizing gaze. She could only force a smile and say in a trembling voice, "Mr. Sato... please."

The atmosphere at the head table became subtle and heavy.

The chilling aura that Sato brought was incongruous with the lavishness of the banquet, yet strangely blended into the vortex of power and desire.

Qiao Yuan navigated the situation, exchanging drinks with Sato, his words always subtly probing and maneuvering, occasionally interspersed with seemingly hearty laughter that was actually devoid of warmth.

He talked about the dock business, the turbulent times, and even a famous actor's new play, but he never mentioned Leung Foon, Lam Tong, or the conflict that had just almost torn the surface apart.

Cheng Qing sat next to Qiao Yuan, toasted Sato, and served Qiao Yuan food.

Sato occasionally glanced at her, sending a chill down her spine.

She could only cling even closer to Qiao Yuan, as if he were her only support, even though that support felt so cold at that moment.

After saying this, without waiting for Qiao Yuan's response, he strode away with his head held high, escorted by his entourage.

His departure, like a drop of water thrown into a hot oil pan, plunged the entire banquet hall into an eerie silence once more, followed by an even more subdued buzz of discussion.

Qiao Yuan stood there, the thin layer of fake smile on his face finally disappearing completely, leaving only a bottomless gloom.

He raised his hand and gently brushed away Cheng Qing's fingers that were tightly gripping his arm.

The banquet continued, but the atmosphere had changed. With Sato's oppressive presence gone, everyone seemed relieved, yet a sense of unease and speculation about Qiao Yuan's future choices had crept in. The clinking of glasses and deliberately amplified laughter couldn't mask the heavy atmosphere that permeated the air.

The day he married Lin Tang.

That day, he was truly overjoyed. Dressed in a brand-new long robe and mandarin jacket, with a red silk flower tied around his chest, he watched as Lin Tang, also dressed in a bright red wedding gown and covered with a red veil, was helped by the matchmaker as she walked step by step down the red carpeted steps toward him.

The surrounding noise and congratulations seemed to be blurred and distant through a layer of water, and all his senses were focused on that bright red figure.

He even awkwardly lifted the red veil embroidered with twin lotus flowers with his slightly trembling fingers amidst the good-natured laughter of the crowd.

Beneath the veil, Lin Tang's lowered eyelashes and her fair cheeks flushed with a shy blush, like a crabapple blossoming in early spring.

When she finally looked up at him, her clear eyes were filled with dependence and the shyness of a new wife, reflecting the glow of the red candles in the room, almost scorching his heart.

At that time, Lin Tang was the treasure he held in his palm, the one he vowed to protect for a lifetime.

He remembered the warmth of her fingertips, the gentle lingering tone of her softly calling his name, and the unreserved trust and love in her eyes when she looked at him.

At the wedding banquet, amidst the clinking of glasses, he was in high spirits, drinking heartily with his brothers. With each toast, he expressed boundless hope for the future and deep affection for the person in his arms.

Her smile was bright and pure, the brightest light in the noisy world.

However, in the bridal chamber, under the flickering candlelight, Lin Tang stood with her back to him, her slender shoulders trembling slightly, gazing at the yellowed old photograph of the Powell Foundation, silently shedding tears.

The joy of that night came to an abrupt end, just like now, the glitz and clamor of this hall have instantly lost all warmth, leaving only a bone-chilling cold.

Finally, the noise subsided.

The magnificent lights of the International Hotel gradually went out, leaving only a mess on the ground, like a nightmare where prosperity had faded away.

After the banquet, Qiao Yuan took Cheng Qing back to the Qiao residence, but as soon as everyone left, he left Cheng Qing at the door of the second-floor bedroom and went downstairs without looking back.

Only one wall lamp was on in the living room, casting a dim, yellowish light that outlined the cold, hard contours of the furniture and elongated his lonely figure.

He ripped off his bow tie and tossed it onto the sofa.

He was enveloped in thick darkness, with only the Powell Foundation photo hanging at the corner of the second-floor staircase reflecting the light faintly in the dimness.

He approached step by step, reached out his hand, his fingertips, with their rough texture, slowly and almost greedily caressed the cold edge of the photo frame, before stopping at Lin Tang's face in the photograph.

The sensation of touching the glass through your fingertips is frozen time, a warmth that can never be touched again.

He could almost still feel the warmth of the afternoon sun on the day the photo was taken, and smell the faint scent of gardenias in her hair. The gentle and docile woman in the photo, whose eyes were full of dependence, was torn apart and collided with Lin Tang, who was dressed in black velvet, radiant yet cold as ice, in the International Hotel just now, leaving only the illusory shadow in the photo.

Lin Tang is back.