Chapter 55: Master Qiao the Fifth

It was already past seven in the evening.
Night was gradually descending, still tinged with a faint shade of purple—a most enchanting hue.

A large truck rumbled down the road, stirring up a cloud of dust as a grandfather and his grandson, bearing gifts, stepped into the office building of Prosperity Shipping Company. The company’s name was written in ornate script, signifying smooth sailing—an auspicious wish, for those in the transport business dreaded nothing more than mishaps on the road.

Su Mu glanced at the lavish interior and thought with some envy that Old Master Qiao was truly wealthy. It was said that after his first wife passed away from illness, he was often seen with starlets from Hollywood, yet had never remarried. His colorful love life was the subject of many a lively conversation among the residents of Chinatown.

The father had money, and the son lived in its shadow too. That middle-aged man, also surnamed Qiao, was frequently spotted driving a Ferrari around town, drawing everyone’s attention. Su Mu could only look from afar; before he won the lottery, his pocket money would barely have bought two wheels.

Now, though, he could afford a standard model, yet he lacked the status to match such a car. Even if he did buy one, it would only invite ridicule—these luxuries were never meant for ordinary people. In fact, even if he were willing to spend every penny on a top-tier car like a Ferrari or a Rolls-Royce, these companies might not sell to him. Rolls-Royce in particular required proof of assets to ensure their customers’ standing was worthy of their vehicles.

The familiar red Ferrari was parked right at the entrance, its convertible top up, a stately Rolls-Royce Silver Spirit beside it—boxy in design, even the headlights were square. Thirty years from now, it might be considered ugly, but in this era, it was the pinnacle of automotive luxury.

Once, starvation had nearly claimed him; now, those men were a thousand times wealthier than he. Fate was indeed a strange thing. At this, Old Su couldn’t help but laugh, feeling no envy—every man has his destiny.

He turned to Su Mu and said, “The car’s still here; your Fifth Grandfather Qiao must not have left yet. Otherwise, we’d have come for nothing…”

They’d been here just that morning, so the young receptionist recognized Old Su. She was gathering her things to leave for the day, smiling as she said, “Here to see our boss? I’ll have to check if he’s available—he may be in a meeting. There’s another transport company looking to acquire us, so the boss has been busy lately.”

“Yes, please check. If he’s tied up, let him be; I’m in no rush,” Old Su replied. Su Mu, standing by, casually asked, “How much would a company this size sell for, if it’s being acquired?”

Employees of large firms often carry a touch of pride. Although this young woman earned perhaps only fifteen hundred dollars a month, it didn’t stop her from answering with a note of satisfaction, “The price is very high—I hear it’s around seventeen million dollars! Negotiations are ongoing, but that’s about the figure.”

Seeing Su Mu’s surprise, she was pleased and picked up the phone. At a true corporate giant, such information would be confidential, but Prosperity Shipping had no such rules. She signaled them to keep quiet and called up to Mr. Qiao, her voice gentle as she informed him of their arrival.

Mr. Qiao had meant to refuse visitors, but when he heard it was Old Su, he changed his mind. Knowing where the office was, the old man led Su Mu upstairs himself.

The lobby was sumptuously decorated; elsewhere was more modest. Old Su oriented himself, and as they neared the office, they heard a shout from inside: “Are you really going to just stand by? They’re going to throw me into the sea!”

Another voice replied, quieter, indistinct.

A moment later, a middle-aged man in a strange motorcycle jacket stormed out, passing the two without a glance. Su Mu recognized him—he’d seen him many times before. This was surely Mr. Qiao’s only son. He whispered to his grandfather, “We might have come at a bad time.”

Old Su nodded in agreement. But they’d already announced themselves—leaving now would be awkward.

He whispered, “Act like you didn’t see anything. We’ll give our thanks and go. He did us a great favor today, and I’d feel guilty if we didn’t show our appreciation… But don’t you ever turn out like him, or I’ll break your legs myself!”

Everyone in Chinatown knew that the embittered, aimless son they’d just seen was a notorious wastrel—a man who courted trouble and whose reputation was in tatters. Afraid his friend might overhear, Old Su’s voice dropped to a near whisper for the last remark.

“I’d love to, but I don’t have the money to squander! Otherwise, I’d buy a supercar like his,” Su Mu replied with a sidelong glance.

His grandfather thought it over and admitted Su Mu had a point. With what little they had, even squandering wasn’t an option…

Uncle Qiao’s reputation was formidable, though his appearance was quite ordinary—unremarkable in a crowd. He was a bit short; Su Mu, though still young, was already taller by a head. It was perhaps a matter of nutrition in their generation.

Before, Su Mu would never have recognized the watch on his wrist, but after working for Boss Han Yu, he’d learned enough to know it was a solid gold Rolex Day-Date, a veritable currency in itself, easy to sell. Among Chinese circles, Rolex was the most recognized; Patek Philippe and Audemars Piguet, on the other hand, were far less popular.

Boss Han had explained that those at the top of society’s pyramid often judged a person’s status and taste by their watch. Not everyone liked watches, but sometimes such things did reveal a great deal, as now.

“You didn’t need to bring anything. I have all I need—take it back with you later,” said Mr. Qiao. He had just quarreled with his son and was clearly still upset, yet seeing Old Su and his grandson, he forced a smile.

Old Su laughed, “One doesn’t visit empty-handed. It’s nothing valuable, but it’d be a bother to carry it back.”

After setting the gift by the door, Mr. Qiao listened as his old friend introduced his grandson and turned his gaze to Su Mu. “You’ve grown so much in the blink of an eye. I wonder if you remember—I visited your home a few years ago.”

“I remember. You wore a red scarf—it was the fourth day of the New Year,” Su Mu replied politely, though they were not well acquainted.

“You even recall the day. Young people’s memories are sharp. What you did today was bold and upright—just what we Chinese need. I heard this afternoon about the whole incident with the relief funds.”

He gestured for them to sit and continued, “We really ought to learn from the Black community and the unions. Chinese people are too law-abiding for their own good—sometimes that’s a flaw. The Chinese Chamber of Commerce tries to organize, but it’s hard to mobilize people. Everyone thinks if it’s not their problem, better to let it be. That’s not right.”

There was little Su Mu could say to that, so he merely nodded in agreement. Realizing that was impolite, he added, “We just felt sorry for those people. The SSA wouldn’t admit their mistake, so this was all I could do as a protest.”

“Yes, we need more outcry—only the crying child gets fed. Even the embezzlement of relief funds by Ge Dalong and the SSA supervisor was exposed by your actions. They’re in real trouble now. Ge Dalong borrowed half a million from me to open a small casino in Las Vegas—I wonder if I’ll ever see it back.”

Su Mu and his grandfather exchanged startled glances, both exclaiming in unison, “What?”

“…You didn’t know?”