Chapter 50: Lion (10)

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It had been more than half a month since Jian Xinning’s last visit. Even if Wen Mingwei had not summoned her today, she had intended to come and give her report; there were matters that required Wen Mingwei’s personal decision.

Before setting out, Jian Xinning had already vaguely sensed that something had changed between Wen Mingwei and Tan Zhao. A few days earlier, Gu Jing had sorted through some of Jian Qingzheng’s belongings and delivered them to her home.

Gu Jing was taciturn by nature. He offered no explanation, merely saying that he was acting on orders and that she should keep them safe for the time being.

Jian Xinning asked, “For the time being?”

“Not sure,” Gu Jing replied. “Mingwei didn’t say anything. Just keep them there for now.”

“…”

It was not an especially momentous matter, but it was impossible not to take notice.

In the past, Jian Xinning had comforted Wen Mingwei more than once, hoping he could emerge from the shadow of his past and accept a new partner. But her words had always gone in one ear and out the other. They had never changed him.

Now that he had suddenly done this, could it be that he was changing for Tan Zhao?

Jian Xinning had once imagined what sort of person might be able to draw Wen Mingwei out of the darkness of his past and accompany him to the end.

She could not picture anyone specific, but in theory, that person ought to be mature and understanding, someone capable of resonating with him spiritually—certainly not someone like Tan Zhao.

Then again, Wen Mingwei was surrounded by people who were mature and understanding. Which of his subordinates was not? She and Gu Jing, for instance.

Yet even after accompanying him for so many years, neither of them would dare claim to understand him particularly well.

Jian Xinning pondered the matter all the way there. Once she arrived, she composed herself and entered as if nothing were amiss.

It was precisely seven in the evening. Dinner was already over, and as usual, Wen Mingwei sat in the living room. He wore a high-collared shirt that concealed the skin of his neck, his long hair tied at the back of his head. He was speaking quietly to Tan Zhao.

Compared with Wen Mingwei’s careful concealment, Tan Zhao was dressed casually, several buttons undone and his cuffs rolled up to reveal an eye-catching, expensive watch at his wrist. His overall air was far too young and frivolous, yet his gaze was deep. When he glanced at Jian Xinning from across the room, it felt as though he had cast a stone straight into her heart. He was not friendly.

Jian Xinning ignored him completely. She took one more look at the matching wedding bands on their hands, then greeted Wen Mingwei with a smile.

“Good evening, Brother.”

“Mm. Sit.” Wen Mingwei nodded toward the sofa opposite him. “Have you eaten?”

“Yes.”

Jian Xinning said, “I happened to have something to discuss today, so I was planning to come by anyway. Shall we talk in the study?”

“No need. We can talk here.”

The implication was clear: there was no need to avoid Tan Zhao.

Jian Xinning hesitated, but did not object. She was uncertain what lay behind Wen Mingwei’s attitude. Ordinarily, their conversations were not suitable for outsiders to overhear, and instinctively she held something back, beginning cautiously with minor matters to lay the groundwork.

The first item concerned the current state of the pharmaceutical company under Wen Mingwei’s name. She spoke mainly of his laboratory, explaining that the director was applying for the budget for the fourth quarter of the year. If Wen Mingwei had no objection, she would approve the funds as usual.

It was a trivial matter, something that merely required notification. Yet Wen Mingwei said, “Hold it for now. We’ll discuss it later.”

Jian Xinning paused slightly, then said, “All right.”

The next topic concerned Zhou Jiwen. She discussed several matters they had recently been planning, mentioning names Tan Zhao was not familiar with—some obscure legislators and local officials. She spoke in veiled terms, and anyone unfamiliar with the underlying situation would have found it difficult to extract the essentials from her carefully crafted words or piece together the relationships between the people involved.

But Tan Zhao understood the broad outline. A senator had died after a serious illness, and they wanted to replace him with a suitable, controllable ally of their own. Senators were elected through provincial contests, however; they could not simply insert someone into the position. First, they had to negotiate with the political faction of that province, offering the relevant parties benefits in exchange.

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That was how a web of connections was woven, strand by strand.

The Alliance consisted of sixty great provinces, each with two senatorial seats. The more people of their own they placed in those positions, the greater their influence.

Jian Xinning spoke softly and precisely. Wen Mingwei answered with effortless brevity, saying only “yes” or “no,” or offering a few simple suggestions. It was as though an emperor were reviewing memorials: his aura of command, calm and strategic yet utterly unconcerned, naturally suppressed everything around him.

Though Jian Xinning stood beneath only one person and above countless others, she could not speak or negotiate with him as an equal. She was merely delivering messages and reports, waiting for his instructions.

Tan Zhao watched for a long while and thought that if Wen Mingwei succeeded in placing Zhou Jiwen on the throne of Alliance chairman, Zhou Jiwen would probably be nothing more than a puppet.

Granted, under the Alliance’s political system, the two houses held legislative and executive power. Anyone who rose to the top was ultimately a puppet of the ruling party; no individual’s voice could outweigh that of the party behind him. Otherwise, the ruling party would not need its political enemies to act. It would simply pull the chairman down and replace him with someone more obedient, someone willing to protect the party’s interests.

But Wen Mingwei was not the capital behind the Public Law Party. He was cultivating Zhou Jiwen, placing his wager on Zhou Jiwen himself. What did he hope to gain?

If it were merely power—control over customs and the convenience of smuggling arms—this would be an unwise course. A political party was far more reliable than an individual.

Tan Zhao was puzzled, but he said nothing and continued listening.

After finishing her discussion of Zhou Jiwen’s affairs, Jian Xinning finally came, unavoidably, to the crucial subject: Wen Mingwei’s core business.

That was also why Wen Mingwei had summoned her. He asked, “How many more shipments do we have to send out this year?”

“Two, according to the original plan. The situation has grown tense lately, and customs inspections are extremely strict. Even getting those two shipments out safely will be difficult.”

Jian Xinning glanced at Tan Zhao from the corner of her eye. Sensing her wariness and rejection, he moved expressionlessly closer to Wen Mingwei’s side.

Wen Mingwei placed a hand on Tan Zhao’s arm, signaling him not to cling to him regardless of the occasion, then asked, “What happened at customs?”

“The Marshal is investigating.”

“Whose trail has he picked up?”

Jian Xinning gave him two names. “They haven’t found any conclusive evidence, but to be safe, we can’t use those two channels for the time being.”

Wen Mingwei nodded. “The situation is already severe. Next year’s election will only make it worse. We may not be able to move even a single shipment.”

In other words, if they could not transport anything next year, they had to earn next year’s share this year.

Arms smuggling was dangerous, but enormously profitable. They needed sufficient liquid capital to keep the operation running and fund the election campaigns.

Jian Xinning handed over a document: a conservative financial projection she had prepared.

It listed every expense—the costs of arms manufacture, investment in political resources, internal administration, and more. Though all the figures were estimates, the document was extraordinarily detailed and even included the names of the relevant personnel. Anyone who understood it would have a fairly complete view of everything behind Wen Mingwei.

Wen Mingwei leafed through it for a while, then suddenly handed it to Tan Zhao with a faint smile.

“Would you like to take a look?”

“…”

Jian Xinning was startled. She instinctively straightened, her eyes following the movement of his hand toward the other man across from her.

The atmosphere came to a subtle standstill. Tan Zhao accepted the document but did not open it. Resting his fingers against its edge, he asked in return, “Is it appropriate for me to read? Miss Jian doesn’t seem to approve.”

Jian Xinning said nothing, which amounted to an acknowledgment.

Tan Zhao handed the document back to Wen Mingwei. His expression was displeased, but he maintained perfect restraint.

Wen Mingwei glanced at him, smiled, and let the matter pass, continuing with the topic at hand.

Talking about arms inevitably led to the subject of foreign markets.

Over the past two years, most of Wen Mingwei’s shipments had gone to overseas black markets. The delivery process was complicated, passing through the hands of several intermediaries while concealing the identities of both buyer and seller. Even when everyone knew perfectly well what was happening, the paperwork still had to maintain a degree of concealment. That was the key to keeping Wen Mingwei free of evidence that could be used against him.

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The value of every commodity was governed by supply and demand, and arms were no exception.

Arms dealers profited from war. The more chaotic the foreign territories became, the more guns and ammunition they consumed, and the greater the benefit to him. Whether from that perspective or simply to preserve the convenience of continuing his dealings with the black market, Wen Mingwei had no desire to see anyone unify the foreign territories—least of all Wen Mingzhe.

Wen Mingwei briefly summarized the latest information concerning Pbang and the events of the past two days, then said, “We can leave Wen Mingzhe alone for now, but it would be best not to send this year’s remaining shipments through the southeast. We should avoid complications.”

“How many shipments?” Jian Xinning asked.

“At least three more. Arrange production first. I’ll decide the routes later.”

Wen Mingwei continued, “And find someone to keep an eye on the casinos in the country. See whether any new capital has entered the market. Wen Mingzhe may be planning something there.”

“All right.”

Jian Xinning thought of Wen Mingzhe’s face, and a distant memory stirred. For an instant, she was transported back to that brutal day many years ago, when the Wen family had shattered and so many had died. The battlefield had been a chaos of fallen bodies, enough to numb anyone who saw it. Even so, she could not imagine how Wen Mingzhe had managed to escape death.

“He may have used a double,” Wen Mingwei said. “A fortuneteller once read his fate and told him he was destined for many disasters. To break the curse, he needed someone to bear them in his place. So he kept a double and had the man’s face altered to resemble his own. It’s possible I killed the wrong person that day. Or perhaps, after he fell, his men took advantage of the chaos, replaced him with the double, and spirited him away, saving his life in the emergency.”

Wen Mingwei had been cautious all his life and did not make mistakes even in minor matters. How could he possibly have “killed the wrong man” in such a crucial battle, against the enemy who mattered most to him?

But Jian Qingzheng had died that day, and maintaining a clear mind under those circumstances had been difficult enough. Anything was possible.

At the mention of the past, the two of them fell silent in perfect understanding.

Tan Zhao had no images in his mind that could overlap with theirs. He glanced silently at Wen Mingwei, wanting to speak but holding back.

“Mr. Tan,” Jian Xinning said suddenly, asking without warning, “on the day you were abducted and taken away, did Wen Mingzhe say anything to you?”

Tan Zhao turned toward her. “No.”

“From what I know of him, he’s a very talkative man.”

“Is that so?”

“Not even any complaints?”

“Perhaps, but I don’t remember.”

Tan Zhao sneered. “There were a few obscene remarks. Would you like me to repeat them?”

“…No need.”

Jian Xinning studied him for a moment before saying, “Actually, Wen Mingzhe was quite a good shot.”

The implication was unmistakable. Tan Zhao gave a cold laugh.

“Yes. Why wasn’t I killed with a single bullet? If I had died, you wouldn’t be suspecting me now. Is that what you mean?”

Before Jian Xinning could answer, Wen Mingwei’s eyelid twitched violently.

“That’s enough. Spare us the pointless remarks.”

He pressed his fingers to his brow and said irritably, “We’ll stop here for today. Xinning, go home and rest.”

“…All right.”

Jian Xinning rose. “Then I’ll be leaving. You should rest well too, Brother.”

She left the document behind, picked up her bag, and departed. As the sound of her car faded into the distance, Tan Zhao seemed finally unable to tolerate another moment on the sofa. He stood and went upstairs, leaving Wen Mingwei only the sight of his silent back.

His reaction was not surprising, though it was somewhat excessive. Wen Mingwei remained silent for a moment, drank a cup of tea alone, and then followed him upstairs.

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