Chapter 12: The Veil of Maya (12)

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Wen Mingwei usually did not take the initiative to contact Zheng He, precisely because he could always hear words from him that he did not want to hear.

A person who looked like Jian Qingzheng, but was not Jian Qingzheng…

You once made a foolish mistake because of personal feelings…

He laid his phone flat on the table, his knuckles tapping rhythmically against the surface, his expression as calm as still water. After a long moment, he said, “Wasn’t my ‘foolishness’ back then exactly what you hoped for, Teacher?”

There was an instant silence on the other end of the line.

It was not hard to guess the Marshal’s expression. Even Gu Jing, who stood close to Wen Mingwei, felt a chill. He had not expected Wen Mingwei to dare respond in such a way.

— It wasn’t the first time this had come up before.

The Marshal was fond of reminiscing. Whenever he spoke with Wen Mingwei, no matter the subject, he would unfailingly bring up Jian Qingzheng.

Rather than comforting out of kindness, it seemed more like he feared Wen Mingwei would forget that person, so he persistently reminded him, unwilling to let Wen Mingwei’s wounds scab over and heal.

But whenever the “foolishness” of that time was mentioned, Wen Mingwei’s attitude was always vague—silent, evasive, unwilling to discuss it, unlike today.

Because that was a past too heavy and too sensitive.

Gu Jing, as a witness, vividly remembered the pale, tear-streaked face Wen Mingwei wore back then.

At the time, Gu Jing was not yet a trusted aide, merely an ordinary subordinate by Wen Mingwei’s side, understanding only the surface of the higher-ups’ thoughts and the events of those years, but not their true depths.

Time passed after the Wen family’s downfall. The truth was not as the public later believed: that all the Wen family’s rulers died.

On the contrary, Wen Mingwei ascended to power by stepping over the corpses of his father and brothers, becoming the true overlord of Longdu City, his influence at its peak, no one daring to challenge him.

But Jian Qingzheng—the person he loved most—had perished in the internal strife.

Afterwards, everyone around him knew not to mention that name in Wen Mingwei’s presence. It was as if by not mentioning it, the tragedy could be treated as if it never happened, as if Jian Qingzheng was merely on a business trip or traveling far away, soon to return home.

For four whole months, Wen Mingwei did not shed a single tear for him.

Gu Jing felt profound sorrow but also understanding. The situation was complex. Although Wen Mingwei had reached the top, before his ascent, the Wen family was already teetering on the brink of collapse, at a turning point where prosperity inevitably gave way to decline.

For some unknown, top-secret reason, Wen Mingwei had to first resolve the internal chaos before focusing on external challenges, or else he would be the first to die.

In other words, the timing of the Wen family’s internal conflict was extremely unfavorable. Some watched from the sidelines, ready to reap the benefits. But Wen Mingwei was caught in a dilemma and had to burn his bridges, risking his life to kill his father and brothers.

That battle was fierce. Wen Mingwei’s victory owed much to Jian Qingzheng.

Almost to say, Jian Qingzheng exchanged his life for half of Wen Mingwei’s. On his deathbed, he left this message: “Mingwei, don’t worry. I’m taking your secret with me. No one will ever threaten you again.”

— To this day, Gu Jing still did not know what that secret was.

He only remembered Wen Mingwei’s face, deathly pale and distraught, as if the last ember of warmth in his life dissipated with Jian Qingzheng’s cold body.

Even so, Wen Mingwei did not cry.

His stingy tears only came four months later, at the end of 2146, when the opportunist “fisherman”—Zheng He—came to pay a visit again.

That day, snow fell across Xinzhou, strong winds snapped color-changing lamps and holographic projectors from tall buildings along the commercial street. Broken wires, glass shards, dead leaves, and snowflakes swirled wildly.

Wen Mingwei and Zheng He walked silently along the street side, an unprecedented quiet between them.

Gu Jing, newly assigned as Wen Mingwei’s bodyguard, followed a few steps behind, secretly scrutinizing Zheng He.

Zheng He was an ambitious man.

It was said that when he first stepped into the Wen family’s mansion, he was just a junior lieutenant, low in rank and voice, and was turned away by the elder Mr. Wen, who claimed, “I do not deal with officials.” But Zheng He shamelessly kept coming back, several times, until finally, with his relentless tongue, he convinced the Wen family to cooperate with him.

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Over the next decade or more, with the Wen family’s support, Zheng He rose swiftly through the military ranks.

The Wen family also used him to gain insider government information and exclusive resources, to influence political affairs, eliminate rival gangs, and unify both the underworld and law enforcement—in short, a mutually beneficial win-win arrangement.

But all partnerships have an end, especially those forged between officials and criminals, which cannot last forever.

Like hunting bows discarded once the birds are gone, or hunting dogs killed after the rabbit dies, Zheng He and the Wen family tacitly agreed that once the time came to kill the other, they would act swiftly.

As for the relationship between Wen Mingwei and Zheng He, it could not be explained in a few words.

Wen Mingwei called him “Teacher,” had received his care, and there was some affection, but that affection was laced with cunning, mutual exploitation, and an unspoken understanding.

They walked in the heavy snow, speaking of the past, of Jian Qingzheng, until Wen Mingwei fell silent, tears streaming down his face.

Seeing him cry, Zheng He seemed relieved: “I heard you hadn’t cried these past months. I was worried you were holding it all in... It’s good you can cry now. It’ll ease your heart a little.”

He added, “Qingzheng was fragile, but everything he did was willingly, hoping for your happiness. If you appreciate his intentions, just cry once and let it go. Then live well and take care of your business—that’s what he would want to see.”

Wen Mingwei could not reply. His long hair, tied back, was tousled by the wind, strands wet with tears and then dried by the cold breeze, leaving a lonely trail.

Zheng He patiently comforted him for a long time, asking how he planned to handle his father’s and brothers’ former subordinates, how to consolidate power, and what his next steps would be.

Wen Mingwei only wept, saying nothing.

It seemed he had not considered these crucial matters at all over the past four months, completely crushed by Jian Qingzheng’s death, disheartened and without will to fight.

But Wen Mingwei was not that kind of man.

Zheng He, assessing the genuineness of his emotions, said with false pain, “You have to pull yourself together, Mingwei. Have you forgotten our ideals?”

Wen Mingwei’s eyes were red and swollen, his voice hesitant.

Zheng He said, “We’ve come this far. Once I’m elected chairman and sit in the highest seat, the vision we promised long ago will soon be realized. Don’t you—”

“Teacher,” Wen Mingwei interrupted, “I’m sorry, but I’m afraid I can’t accompany you any longer.”

Wen Mingwei cried harder, growing paler, as if the last ounce of strength ebbed away with his tears. His skin was cold, without warmth, unable to melt the snowflakes drifting down.

“I have made my decision,” he said with difficulty, taking a breath, “I will surrender the armed forces and withdraw from all conflicts.”

“...”

At that moment, Zheng He was stunned, even shocked.

He understood what Wen Mingwei feared —

The Wen family’s internal strife had just ended. Wen Mingwei was the victor but severely weakened. He could not afford to confront Zheng He again at this time, lest Zheng He become the last laughing “fisherman.”

But Zheng He thought Wen Mingwei would at most use some tricks to negotiate, reminisce, play the sentiment card, and beg for mercy.

He never expected to hear the words “surrender the armed forces.”

Snow continued to fall. Wen Mingwei still wept quietly, fragile, utterly drained. No one could doubt his sincerity, especially not Zheng He, who knew him and his past with Jian Qingzheng well.

“...Mingwei, you’re simply too foolish.”

Zheng He feared he might change his mind but was also disappointed: “Sentiment ruins things. You have a long life ahead. No matter how good Qingzheng was, he’s already in the past. How can you let a youthful folly destroy years of hard work?”

“I just want to let myself go,” Wen Mingwei said. “There’s no need for you to persuade me anymore.”

— That was the last snow of 2146.

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Within a month, Wen Mingwei tallied all the Wen family’s armed forces and surrendered them to Zheng He, who had by then been honored as a General.

A month after that, Zheng He was promoted to Supreme Marshal of the Alliance. Wen Mingwei relocated to the Western Capital, withdrew from the underworld, went legitimate in business, and the once-prominent gang family vanished completely, little known to the public.

But the story did not end there—it was only the beginning.

Gu Jing would never forget that night after bidding farewell to Zheng He, when Wen Mingwei returned to his car, wiped his tears, and, clutching the door, coughed up a mouthful of fresh blood.

His tears were real, his sorrow genuine, but when others used false emotions as tools, Wen Mingwei could even use his true feelings—if only to show weakness before Zheng He. He never cried in front of anyone else.

Only after vomiting as if his very life’s blood was spent did Wen Mingwei calm somewhat, speaking to a point in the emptiness, “I will not let you die in vain.”

In the following years—at least three—Zheng He noticed no changes around Wen Mingwei.

But he had never truly fathomed Wen Mingwei’s depths before, and later even less so. By the time he realized, Wen Mingwei had already lain dormant for a long time, gathering into a shadow as dark and dense as night, haunting Zheng He’s nightmares without end.

For nine years now, they maintained the façade of a teacher-student relationship, with occasional contact but no heartfelt exchanges.

Their relationship seemed peaceful on the surface, but was in fact far tenser than before.

The Marshal still pursued his old goal—to become Alliance Chairman, uniting military and political power at the highest level.

Dragging the Tan family into this mess was likely a strategic move for the election, part of some plan.

— The political waters of the Western Capital were deep and murky. Most candidates had the backing of financial powers. The Marshal, a soldier turned politician, was at a natural disadvantage, facing dangers on all sides.

But Wen Mingwei, on the phone, did not discuss politics. He only said, “Teacher, Tan Zhao is the person I have my eyes on. Can’t you let him go this once and exchange for another piece?”

“I was never after him anyway. But you, Mingwei—”

Zheng He carefully chose his words. “If all you want is his face, I can give you someone who looks even more like him someday. Why make it difficult for me?”

Wen Mingwei paused, his meaning unclear: “There’s no one more like him. He’s the only one I want.”

“...”

The Marshal fell silent for a moment, then hung up.

Zheng He clearly did not understand the hidden meaning behind those words, but Gu Jing did.

As soon as the call ended, Gu Jing instructed the butler to bring breakfast upstairs, then, as always, helped Wen Mingwei choose his clothes and prepare to go out.

Gu Jing arranged everything swiftly; breakfast and changing clothes took only minutes. But perhaps influenced by the phone call, Wen Mingwei was forced to relive painful memories, as if once again experiencing that snowy night when he cried until he vomited blood. His face was pale and grim, he ate nothing, and left immediately after dressing.

Gu Jing knew he was going to see Tan Zhao, and the car headed straight to the hospital.

On the way, Wen Mingwei called Tan Zhao again. To his surprise, it connected.

“Tan Zhao?”

Wen Mingwei greeted him softly: “Are you alright?”

Silence stretched on the other end for several seconds before a low, hoarse, weary voice replied, “No.”

Tan Zhao said, “Wen Mingwei, I’m not alright at all.”