Chapter 485: It

Wang Yan said they were all good women, and he wasn't just talking nonsense. In truth, in terms of status, these women were all the weaker party; they were all tied to Wang Mou, so how could they possibly do anything to undermine unity or upset him?

After all, they saw each other only a few times a month, and there wasn't even enough time for intimacy—how could they let other conflicts ruin their happy moments?

No one knew how these women communicated, but somehow they made up. When they got a day off, Zheng Wei drove her little sports car to take Li Weijuan back to Jin Ling, where they spent two days together at Ruan Wan's villa. Wang Yan didn't show up for two days, then bought Li Weijuan another car afterward, because she felt she was treated like a stepchild—what she received wasn't equal in value. Indeed, Ruan Wan's house was the most expensive, far surpassing the combined value of Li Weijuan's two apartments and Zheng Wei's one apartment plus a million-yuan luxury car.

Zhu Xiao Bei didn't say anything when she saw the big house—she could afford it too, but it wasn't worth it. Besides, she knew Long Teng had developed housing projects; based on her understanding of Wang Yan, he'd never give her anything subpar without her even asking.

During this time, the other three women looked at Ruan Wan's swollen belly with envy, jealousy, and resentment—and even frustration at her for being so eager. None of them were pregnant yet, yet she was the one in a rush. When they wanted children, Wang Yan refused—so they could only sigh at her belly.

Later, Wang Yan reintroduced Shi Jie to them, but since she was about to give birth, they just called each other daily to chat idly.

In short, these women got along reasonably well. Everyone says women gathering means more conflict, and with five women occasionally jealous and competing for attention, conflict was inevitable. But that was all beneath the surface. Wang Yan saw only the calm surface and didn't care about what lay underneath—he was comfortable enough, pretended not to see anything, and avoided giving himself trouble.

Though a soft bed couldn't bury Wang Mou, the sweet, honeyed days always passed quickly. Especially with his five-hundred-year lifespan as a foundation, and now that he'd thrown himself into architectural art and rediscovered the joy of spending money, he lost track of time entirely.

In early October 1999, Shi Jie gave birth at a hospital in Suzhou—naturally, a boy, as she'd wished. Hearing the news, Zheng Wei and Li Weijuan came from Shanghai to visit. Ruan Wan, three months away from her due date, couldn't travel, and Zhu Xiao Bei was still in school with no time—besides, Shi Jie would return home for the New Year, and Zhu Xiao Bei would visit then.

After Shi Jie finished her postpartum recovery and another two months of rest, she returned home comfortably in the RV Wang Yan had arranged, and chaos erupted. The Shi family had no peace throughout the New Year—Shi Jie's parents were prestigious professors, and their students and friends flooded in to pay New Year visits. Seeing a child suddenly appear in the house, and having never received a wedding invitation, they naturally had questions—and Shi Jie's parents had lost face for a lifetime because of Wang Yan.

But she was their own daughter, their own grandchild; they gritted their teeth and swallowed it, happily helping Shi Jie raise the child. Shi Jie simply moved in permanently, still meeting Wang Yan at the old house nearby.

During the New Year, Ruan Wan also gave birth to a boy, named Wang Ziguo—named casually, with no special meaning, just enough. Wang Yan couldn't avoid this child anymore; he'd already met her parents, and they'd been in contact for two years, and Ruan Wan had never told them about breaking up. So he acknowledged the child, and personally sent people to bring Ruan Wan's parents over. Ruan Wan explained her own feelings, and his, and with the massive Republican-era villa standing there, plus the luxury car with a driver, even though they were unwilling and still had no good words for Wang Yan, they had no choice but to accept it.

Wang Yan, of course, didn't care—in some ways, he'd never cared about face. After all, thin skin doesn't get you anything to eat.

Meanwhile, his real estate development and his own architectural designs in this world were progressing.

The large plot of land in Jianye District had been completed—the original schedule was two years, but due to various adjustments and added projects, the timeline extended by another six months. Construction began in April 1998 and ended in October 2000, named "Future City." It included high-rise residential buildings, multi-story villas, and a villa district. It also featured supporting infrastructure: elementary and middle schools, a large comprehensive shopping mall called "Future Shangcheng," and other scattered amenities. Three subway stations served it, not to mention the numerous bus routes.

Named "Future," but to say the design was truly futuristic was a joke. High-density residential buildings are always built the same way—only the floor plans can be optimized, which is why every major developer has a "floor plan library" of proven designs.

After all, if you want beauty, you sacrifice something—like sunlight. If you want breakthrough shapes while maintaining livability, you'd need true sci-fi technology. So his buildings were just like everyone else's: better amenities, better environment, as good floor plans as possible, and his own property management ensuring service quality.

Another difference from other developers: he had no common area charges. He also didn't do flashy marketing—just ran an ad saying the houses were ready for sale. Prices were fixed; he didn't do the nonsense he'd experienced as a broker—discounts, lowest prices, group buys, all that crap. Pay the price, buy it; don't pay, walk away. His prices were already high, and with the real estate boom just starting, other developers sold cheaper but all quietly raised prices together—so his houses weren't popular, since he sold the most expensive.

But it didn't matter. Real estate gimmicks were just beginning; consumers would eventually learn who the good ones were. Besides, he wasn't worried about selling—location was good, amenities were good, experts approved, and hearing other developers criticize him only made buyers feel they couldn't afford it. Right now, it was purely a seller's market—no problem.

Only in the villas and townhouses did real design emerge. The townhouses were built in staggered east-west formations, like stacked blocks, with large balconies facing north and south; bedrooms, regardless of orientation, had floor-to-ceiling windows—excellent lighting, bright and open, with varied exterior experiences. As for the villas, even more so—they followed the same design language: two underground levels, three above, built like three staggered blocks of Lego, modern minimalist style.

Interiors were designed alongside the buildings—simple, grand, beautiful. There were also "new Chinese style" options, creating a deliberate contrast. But the interior styles weren't decided by them—they were chosen by customers. Because after the villa zones were demarcated and foundations laid but before construction began, all units were already sold out…

On the residential projects, he found no design thrill. The mall design wasn't worth mentioning—it was the headquarters design that was interesting. The branches in Beijing and Shanghai needed no mention; no matter how fancy they built, the space was too small—just tall buildings, nothing special. But in Jin Ling, the space was vast, offering room to maneuver. For the Beijing and Shanghai buildings, Wang Yan only gave ideas; the Jin Ling headquarters, however, he handled entirely himself.

This time, he truly put his heart into it—the entire headquarters complex was built entirely in traditional Chinese architectural style, complete with pavilions, terraces, towers, and halls. Of course, only the forms were imitated—he wouldn't be a fool to avoid steel and concrete. To truly replicate ancient materials? He simply couldn't afford it. Ancient architecture's civilian forms weren't representative—it had to be imperial palace gardens. There was no point imitating civilian buildings; high-rises were far superior, and he just added a touch of aesthetic feeling.

To replicate the forms one-to-one with original materials? Even if his Daliwan pills sold phenomenally, he still couldn't afford it. No matter how rich he became, it still wasn't enough. On the other hand, many materials had vanished; those still available were scarce, or banned—too wasteful. Even with money, he couldn't gather the materials.

After submitting his blueprints for approval, the project had already caused a sensation. When he actually started spending money and breaking ground, he drew the attention of China's architectural community. Construction began in mid-1999; after completing several small buildings in half a year, Wang Yan became famous in architectural circles, so much so that some extravagantly dubbed him "the culmination of ancient Chinese architecture." Of course, this was exaggeration by enthusiasts—many disliked him, since he had no prior reputation or experience in recognized authoritative competitions.

But to Wang Yan, these claims weren't exaggerated at all—he'd truly lived in such places. His empire had been mighty, naturally producing brilliant cultural and artistic achievements of his Wang imperial dynasty. Architecture was merely one small part.

Zhang Kaigan was doing well too—started his own business right after graduation. In just over two years, he grew from three official employees and a bunch of unpaid interns to nearly a hundred official staff—a legitimate internet company.

Supporting a hundred people's meals and expenses was a huge burden. Constant spending with no income made it even heavier. Despite two years of this, he still smiled cheerfully. He'd grown thin from chronic late nights, looking like a man who'd indulged too much.

The hot pot bubbled vigorously; outside, snow fell rarely. Wang Yan picked up a large piece of freshly boiled lamb, ate it with relish, and looked at Zhang Kai's haggard face: "Listen to me—work will never end. If you keep going like this, you'll drop dead one day."

"I can't stop, big brother. You're the god of wealth, ignoring everything day after day, but the company's my responsibility. Every morning I wake up, I think of ninety-six people's meals, bathroom breaks, everything. It's been two years already—every day just spending, no income—I'm about to collapse. Honestly, dying suddenly wouldn't be so bad—it'd save me from daily stress."

Zhang Kai tilted his head back, swallowed a small sip of liquor, grimaced at the burning sensation down his throat, shivered, then fished out meat from the spicy pot, hissing as he ate it as a snack.

"Didn't I already tell you? Set up paid reading. We have nearly a million users, hundreds of authors, daily active users in the tens of thousands—if just five percent are willing to pay, it'll easily support your hundred people. You don't even need funding—you can grow step by step, just won't get huge, might get overtaken. Relax, it's fine. I'll start a new book these two days; next year, paid content will boost revenue."

"In a couple days, I'll launch a film and entertainment company, adapt my novels into TV dramas, air them on our provincial satellite channel—by the year after next, it'll take off."

After two years of accumulation, nationwide internet users had reached over twenty million; having a million users, Zhang Kai had done well. Among these users, some were drawn by the massive expansion of the site's library, which had absorbed many content creators—it was time to charge.

"Will it work?" Zhang Kai wasn't confident: "Paid content can't be better than free. Besides, there's no shortage of tech to steal from us. Even if tech fails, there are enthusiastic people manually copying. And there are already competitors doing the same thing—if we charge, they'll just go to the free sites."

"No problem. Their authors will come to us—who wants to write for free when they can earn? Even if their skill is poor, they still want to make money. As for your tech concerns, the people I sent you aren't useless—they're skilled enough. Even if someone cracks our system, we have tracking tech; even manual copying can be traced—first warning, second lawsuit, third—break their legs."

This was just piracy—nothing to discuss. Some people don't want to pay, so others help them avoid paying and profit from it. Not just our industry—every industry is like this.

"Ah, we've come this far—we have to keep going. Otherwise, I'll die with regrets."

Wang Yan shook his head and smiled: "You should find a partner, have a child—otherwise, if you really drop dead one day, you won't even have someone to cry at your grave. Too tragic."

"Aren't you the same? Why are you talking about me?"

Good question… Wang Yan nodded: "I won't tell you more—you just need to know we're not short of women."

Zhang Kai was about to argue, but then saw someone enter the hot pot restaurant—he stood up with a smile and waved: "Xu Young Master, over here, over here!"

After greeting him, he saw who came with Xu Kaiyang and froze—quickly gathered his utensils and moved beside Wang Yan: "Hey, did I see right? That's Ceng Yu?"

Wang Yan had already turned around—he saw Xu Kaiyang holding Ceng Yu's hand walking over: "You didn't imagine it."

As they approached, Wang Yan stood to greet them, shook hands, and asked a server to bring another set of chopsticks and bowls.

Zhang Kai didn't hold back: "What's going on between you two? I remember Ceng Yu was studying abroad with Chen Xiaozheng, living together?"

Xu Kaiyang was still his usual carefree self: "What else? Broke up with Chen Xiaozheng—now she's mine."

Ceng Yu slapped him, then turned to the two across the table: "To be precise, Chen Xiaozheng and I never truly started. It was always one-sided on my part. Last year, I got a scholarship and chose the same school as him…"

The story wasn't complicated—Chen Xiaozheng remained his usual cold, indifferent self. Even after she arrived, he treated her no differently than when she was at Southeast University. Her warm advances met a cold wall; Ceng Yu had pride too, so after one year abroad, she returned. Whether they slept together? Seeing Xu Kaiyang's slightly displeased expression, there must have been at least once.

Then came a chance encounter, they talked, clicked, and ended up together. A simple, unremarkable story.

Zhang Kai clicked his tongue and shook his head: "That's Chen Xiaozheng's fault…"

Xu Kaiyang was furious: "Right? I thought he was a piece of trash. How good was Ceng Yu to him? She waited five years in college, took a year off, then another year abroad—that's seven years total. Without Ceng Yu, could Chen Xiaozheng have gone abroad? And what did he do? Turned his back, said, 'I never said anything—I thought we were just good friends.'"

He mimicked Chen Xiaozheng's cold tone, then laughed, pulling Ceng Yu's shoulder close: "But I have to thank Chen Xiaozheng. If he hadn't been such a bastard, I'd never have thought I could be with her. Hey, Old Wang, Old Zhang—you both know, back in school, we barely spoke. But after she came back, we met—and we just clicked. Fate really is…"

"Inexplicable," Wang Yan smiled at Ceng Yu: "You never contacted him—how's Chen Xiaozheng now?"

"Bright future," Ceng Yu smiled faintly, as if truly at peace. "He studied hard over there, entered many American architecture competitions, built a reputation. When I left, he was still studying under his professor and helping international firms with design through his connections. With that background, if he returns home, he'll do well."

Wang Yan nodded: "He'll definitely come back. Our country's developing fast—buildings are going up everywhere. Someone like him can make a fortune returning—he has no reason not to."

"Yes, I asked him when I left. He said roughly the same—he'd return in two or three years."

"Alright, enough about Xiaozheng," Zhang Kai asked: "From the way you two look, are you getting married?"

"Yes, we're at the right age. We both feel we suit each other, we've met the parents—we'll get married after the New Year. You two must come—even if you don't show up, you must send a gift."

Wang Yan smiled and nodded. Zhang Kai waved his hands frantically: "No, I'll definitely come in person, but no gift—I'm broke, you know. Perfect timing—you two marrying means I can finally eat something decent."

Xu Kaiyang sneered: "You think I don't understand the internet? You're dead wrong. Last month, you raised five million dollars—over thirty million RMB—and you think I don't know? With your hundred or so employees, even if you split it evenly, everyone gets tens of thousands. You still say you're broke?"

It wasn't a lie—they really did raise funds. Better the money stay within the family; Wang Yan funded it himself, counted as Series A. The past two years' expenses were also his own money. Though running an internet company shouldn't involve spending your own cash, he first expanded the scale and raised his valuation, knowing he'd double or triple it back later.

Zhang Kai chuckled bitterly: "You only see the money coming in, not going out. Do you know how much we burn on servers every month? How much we spend on ads and user acquisition? The money just arrived, and it's nearly New Year—I haven't even spent it yet. Wait till next year—you'll see we need to hire more people, move offices, raise salaries every year. There are a hundred places to spend money."

The group ate hotpot together, lively and cheerful. Aside from Ceng Yu, who remained quiet due to awkwardness, Wang Yan, Zhang Kai, and Xu Kaiyang chatted and laughed freely.

This meal was arranged by Xu Kaiyang; for the past two years, he'd always invited Zhang Kai over, and Wang Yan came occasionally. Today, to give Zhang Kai some reassurance, he came along.

After dinner, seeing the two off, Zhang Kai and Wang Yan stood at the restaurant entrance, smoking in the light snow to sober up: "Zheng is still thinking about Zheng Wei. What a heartless bastard—he turned down Ceng Yu, who's got such great qualities, even though she chased after him. Used her and tossed her aside. Impressive. I always knew Zheng wasn't ordinary."

"He's still just an ordinary man, you're being dramatic. He seeks fame and fortune, and his actions might be called ungrateful. But he knows what he wants, dares to act, is willing to pay the price, and understands sacrifice. He's just not ordinary." Wang Yan waved his hand: "Enough about him. Have some confidence in yourself—you're in the same circle, you know what others are like. Relax, it'll be fine. Tell your editor I'll start writing as soon as I get back—I'll build you some buzz."

"You're really the one who's amazing, Wang Ge. You're good at business, sure, but even your random novels become wildly popular everywhere—you're truly incredible."

"You know I'm amazing, so why worry? I'm heading home to earn you money."

He slapped Zhang Kai's shoulder, waved goodbye, and stepped into a taxi by the roadside, leaving swiftly.

Watching the taxi disappear, Zhang Kai sucked hard on his cigarette butt: "Fuck. Everything rides on this." He crushed the butt under his foot, pulled out his phone, and called his editor. He finally understood—Wang Yan was just unstoppable. He'd picked the right thigh to cling to…

Wang Yan had no home—after all, in Jin Ling, he had three women, three homes. Too many homes, and you have none. Checking his calendar, today was Ruan's shift. He told the driver, and the battered Xiaoli rumbled all the way to Yihelu.

He came home early; the one-year-old hadn't slept yet. Dingding's mouth bubbled as he crawled everywhere. When he bumped into an obstacle, he looked up with a babbling "Aba," sniffed the familiar scent, grabbed Wang Yan's pant leg, and scrambled up his body.

Wang Yan laughed, picked up his son, and held him aloft: "Aba aba."

"Aba, aba aba."

Ruan Wan watched the two babbling in silence: "Enough. Stop speaking your Martian. 'Aba aba' gives me a headache."

"Uneducated." Wang Yan swung his son back and forth like a toy: "Right, son?"

"Aba aba."

Enough playtime. Before the kid could react, Wang Yan plopped him back on the floor and patted his little butt: "Go play by yourself."

"Aba aba…" The child turned, confused, watching his mother's figure—was that it?

Wang Yan shared the latest gossip about Xu Kaiyang and Ceng Yu with Ruan Wan, then went to another room's study, turned on his computer, and began typing furiously.

Ruan Wan held the child, watching: "Writing another novel again?"

"The website I'm doing with Zhang Ka is going to charge. I've got to support it."

"True—you're wildly popular online, so plenty will pay to read. But can just your one novel do it?" She knew Wang Yan wrote novels, had read them—indeed, they were excellent. Not just entertaining, but full of philosophical depth and satisfaction. Not traditional literary structure, yet of extremely high quality.

"You vastly underestimate the heroes of this world. Great works will keep emerging—it all depends on how we, the platform, guide them. Just watch. There's plenty of time."

Entertainment is an industry. Since he'd started this, his earlier talk about players and film production wasn't empty words—he was building a chain. He didn't need to manage it himself; he gave direction and started things, then others handled the rest—just picking up money. Zhang Kai had already done it; he'd invest more, build a full industrial chain. Same thing—playing with capital's money, no difference.

"Look how amazing your dad is—this is directing the empire, commanding the world. Learn well, watch closely—someday you'll be as great as Dad."

"Aba aba!" The child kicked and wriggled, reaching for his father's arms.

"Here, let him sit on you." Ruan Wan sighed helplessly: "I don't get how this heartless little thing is so attached to you. You only come a few days a month—I do the rest. Why's he so clingy?"

"Blood's blood—he takes after me. Never was a good kid from birth."

"Shut up, you're not even a person!" Ruan Wan swatted him playfully.

The little one pushed himself up on wobbly arms, wobbling upright, blowing bubbles at his mother: "Aba aba." He seemed annoyed.

"You're right—he takes after you." Ruan Wan rolled her eyes, sighed: "How are Li Weijuan and Zheng Wei doing? I only hear on the phone—I don't know the details."

Wang Yan smiled and shook his head: "Fine. They're living together now, going out shopping every day—just spending money."

More than two years had passed; Shi Jie's child was over a year old, Ruan Wan's was nearly one. Despite his reassurances, Li Weijuan and Zheng Wei both felt pressure. They'd both given birth—how could they not? They had to keep pace, stay aligned with the first tier.

Naturally, Wang Mou had swept them all up—each was over three months pregnant.

Now two had given birth, two were pregnant—the pressure fell on Zhu Xiao Bei. She'd grown restless, repeatedly saying she'd have the child first, then return to school. Her turn was coming in a few days…

Zhu Dajie knew about their situation. She said nothing—she'd foreseen this long ago. She'd raised Zhu Xiao Bei alone, as both father and mother—she knew her daughter's heart too well.

In fact, she'd been pushing Zhu Xiao Bei to have a child, saying a boy would inherit Ren Sheng Yi Chuan.

Fingers clacking, baby babbling in his arms, a beauty beside him, four more waiting outside—truly a winner of life…