Chapter Text
No news is good news.
That’s bullshit.
Every piece of information offers options. And options lead to solutions.
Running a large company means Feng Xin gets bad news every day, usually before lunch.
He deals with it one at a time. It’s his job. And most days, it’s more than enough. But this doesn’t apply to everything, especially not –
“About Cherry Grove,” Jian Lan says.
Feng Xin looks up.
She’s standing by his desk, tablet to her chest, wearing an expression that spells bad news.
Or solutions.
The figures on his screen blur together and Feng Xin rubs his eyes. “What about it?”
“We’ve run into a problem with the land acquisition.”
Feng Xin frowns. “Is Mr Fang asking for more? Tell him it’s a done deal. There was a notary present when he signed over all his properties.”
“All his properties,” Jian Lan repeats slowly and waits for him to catch up.
Feng Xin blinks. “What are you saying?”
Jian Lan shifts the tablet from one hand to the other. “He sold one of the houses five years ago. It wasn’t part of the acquisition.”
Feng Xin swallows back the urge to throw up. “And he never thought to mention that?”
Jian Lan makes a face. “It was in the fine print.”
Feng Xin drags a hand over his face.
Ugh.
Of course, it was in the fine print of a sales agreement he never read because every time he saw the words Cherry Grove, it took him back to that dump of a house, with its leaking roof, cracked walls and one gold-digging –
“Asshole.” His fist lands on the desk.
Pain shoots through his knuckles.
Ow.
Jian Lan gives the table a sympathetic look.
“Sorry,” he mumbles.
“He could have made it clearer,” Jian Lan says, “but maybe he forgot he’d sold that one.”
Feng Xin shakes his head. “He did it on purpose. That’s how he always screws people over.”
Jian Lan’s fingers tighten around the tablet. “Is it true?” she asks, lowering her voice. “That you used to rent from Mr Fang, back when you were still…”
“Married?” Feng Xin finishes.
Jian Lan nods.
“You can say the word, you know? And yes, we rented from him, because it was all we could afford.”
Jian Lan’s eyes soften. “Sounds rough.”
Rough barely scratched the surface.
Feng Xin wasn’t naïve. He hadn’t expected his father to support him, but he also never expected life to kick him in the teeth then kick him again when he was already down.
“How did this not make the news?”
Feng Xin shrugs. “It’s not like Dad was holding press conferences. He’d sooner pay people to stop digging up dirt than let me drag the family name through the mud.”
“You’ve spent the last ten years doing the opposite of that,” Jian Lan reminds him. “Since you’ve taken over, the company’s valuation has tripled.”
Feng Xin looks out of the glass windows to a skyline dotted with commercial towers, shopping malls and hotels that he’s built over the last ten years.
But none of it matters if he can’t secure Cherry Grove.
Feng Xin buries his head in his hands. “The board is expecting an update soon.”
In less than a week.
Feng Xin wants to cry.
“The chairman will be there,” Jian Lan says.
It’s meant to be reassuring, but it only fills him with dread.
“He’ll be there, all right,” Feng Xin mutters. “Front row seat to my execution, might as well swing the axe himself.”
Jian Lan gives him a look. “He’s your dad. How bad can it be?”
Feng Xin sighs. “If I walk into that meeting without the deed, Cherry Grove is as good as over. To the board, this project doesn’t make any sense.”
“It does to you.”
Feng Xin looks past the urban sprawl towards the mountains in the distance. “They’ve never lived there,” he says. “They don’t see it the way I do.”
In his mind, Feng Xin can still see the broken streetlamps and the potholes everyone learnt to drive around. Yet every evening, neighbours dragged plastic stools onto the pavement to gossip while children treated the entire village as one big playground.
Jian Lan joins him by the window. “Why build over it then? It sounds like you liked it just the way it was.”
Feng Xin swallows.
“The old houses are barely holding on. One bad storm and that’s it. Roofs give way and people spend the night baling water. The villagers have lived through floods and landslides. They shouldn’t have to worry every time it rains.”
“I see,” Jian Lan says.
Feng Xin keeps his gaze at the mountains. “If only they could see it too.”
“You’re not doing this for the board.”
Feng Xin looks away.
No, he isn’t.
But now is not the time to talk about that.
“At least tell me it’s one of the corner plots.”
Jian Lan pauses. “It’s the one beside the little shrine, 244 Cherry Grove.”
Feng Xin blinks. “You have got to be kidding.”
“Hold on, Jian Lan murmurs, thumbing through contracts on her phone. “It is 244,” she says, zooming in on the tiny fine print. Do you know that one?”
Know that one?
Feng Xin had lived there for a year, under a roof so old that rainwater slipped past its broken tiles. In winter, the wind found its way through the cracks and sent the windows rattling.
Renting is one thing but –
“Why would anyone buy that house?” he wonders out loud.
Jian Lan hesitates. “Yep.”
Feng Xin leans closer. “You’ve met him.”
Jian Lan nods. “While you were in that quarterly strategy meeting, I drove up and tried to negotiate a sale.”
Feng Xin blinks. “You drove to Taicang? And back?”
“Yeah,” she says. “Your meeting was five hours long.”
Right.
One useful decision had come out of that meeting, which took five minutes to conclude. That’s four hours and fifty-five minutes of his time that he’ll never get back.
He could have –
Never mind.
“How did it go?”
Jian Lan shakes her head. “I think he might be one of those sentimental types.”
Sentimental.
Funny how people could grow attached to anything. A squeaky gate, a leaking roof. Stay somewhere long enough and even the water stains on the walls started to resemble family portraits.
It’ll be fine.
Feng Xin has spent the last ten years talking people into impossible things. Some discussions lasted ten minutes. Others dragged on for months. But all of them ended with both sides shaking hands.
This is no different. It’s just another house, another stubborn owner.
Another day of work.
The truth is –
“Everyone has a price,” Feng Xin says.
He learnt that lesson ten years ago.
Jian Lan shakes her head. “I’m not so sure about that. He was quite clear about his intentions to keep the house.”
Feng Xin narrows his eyes. “When you say quite clear, do you really mean rude?”
“No,” Jian Lan says slowly. “He just wasn’t particularly keen to talk to me.”
Feng Xin gets to his feet and reaches for his coat.
Jian Lan watches as he puts it on. “What are you doing?” she asks.
“I’m going to see if he’ll talk to me.”
“I just met him this afternoon,” she says. “Maybe we should work on our proposal first.”
Shaking his head, Feng Xin reaches for his keys. “I’ve put this off long enough.”
Ten years, to be precise.
The click-clack of Jian Lan’s stilettos follow closely on his heels. “Do you want me to come?”
“I’ll be fine,” Feng Xin says, slowing down so she can catch up.
She’s wearing a white cardigan and a floral dress that he’s never seen before.
“It’s Friday,” Feng Xin says. “Don’t you have a date?”
“I can cancel,” she offers. “I don’t feel good about you going there by yourself, especially when you just got back.”
“Driving up the mountain will do me good,” Feng Xin adds. “Otherwise, I’ll just be here clearing the one on my desk.”
“Workaholic,” Jian Lan coughs into her fist. “Maybe you’re the one who should be going on a date.”
Feng Xin gasps. “Miss Jian Lan, are you offering?” he teases.
“I would,” she answers, without missing a beat. “But first, you’ll have to fire me. Who’s going to keep track of your appointments and file your paperwork?”
Feng Xin grimaces. “You’re right. Don’t let me hold you back.”
Jian Lan hands him a folder containing the documents related to the project. “Keep me updated,” she says as the lift doors open.
Stepping inside, Feng Xin flashes her the same confident smile he reserves for board meetings and press conferences. “Wait for my good news.”
The doors slide towards each other and Feng Xin’s smile disappears as soon as they meet.
Reflected in the brushed steel is a man with dark, sunken eyes and a mouth that’s too tightly set.
But Feng Xin doesn’t notice.
His mind is already on the mountain road and the boulevard of cherry trees that never seemed to end.