Chapter 988: A Person of the Past

The bustle of Night Tokyo continued, the air inside thick with the smells of alcohol, food, and burning tobacco.

Glasses clinked as Fan Zong laughed heartily; he drank his baijiu in small cups, downing each sip without even the usual exaggerated gasp, a true veteran tested by alcohol.

“Oh my, I never imagined I’d ever share a meal and drink with Wang Zong of Hongyun.”

“Fan Zong, I’m a straightforward man—you’ve been flattering me nonstop this whole time. Let me be clear: you make clothing and say I’m your role model, so you should know my business runs the entire chain—from sourcing cotton at the source to direct retail sales of finished garments.”

“I won’t use your knitting factory to produce, nor will I supply my direct retail stores with your goods. We’re here to drink, eat, and be friends—you don’t need anything from me, so let’s keep it relaxed.”

“Wang Zong, you speak plainly—that’s why your business is so huge.”

“Fan Zong, you’re flattering me again.” Wang Yan shook his head and smiled. “I became straightforward only after my business grew large.”

Fan Zong paused, then burst into laughter: “Wang Zong, you’re truly genuine. Our small factory from the countryside has to beg and grovel just to find business—of course we flatter. Come on, Wang Zong, let me toast you again.”

Wang Yan raised his cup with a smile and drank with him.

Without doubt, Fan Zong was a good businessman: he spoke of profit first, then friendship.

He spoke of profit because even after agreeing on a price with Abao, after Li Li caused trouble, he chose to hold out for a better offer—for his own benefit, his factory’s benefit, and his workers’ benefit. The ending was somewhat dramatic, though: his order volume was too large for Wei Hongqing to handle.

He showed friendship by helping wholeheartedly even after there was no longer any profit to be gained from Miss Wang—this was truly principled. He had the merchant’s pragmatism, yet also the integrity not to kick someone when they were down—a fine man indeed.

Of course, tailoring your approach to the person is inevitable—just like his interaction with Wang Yan: first flattery, then sincerity once he’d adapted to Wang Yan’s style.

Putting down his cup, Fan Zong sighed: “Wang Zong, you’re an expert in clothing—I need to learn from you.”

“There’s no great secret—just two things: sales channels and cost. The principle is simple: use good materials, design fresh styles, and keep costs as low as possible while ensuring quality.”

“True insight.” Fan Zong raised his thumb, then shook his head again. “Easy to say, hard to do.”

“Focus on production, hold tight to talent, stay grounded, and build steadily.”

…Fan Zong wondered whether he should say something—he knew Wang Da, in under three years, had turned his clothing business into a national and international success, yet still spoke of being grounded and building steadily—it made him want to offer blessings…

He could only smile: “Wang Zong’s right—we’ll take it slow, things will get better.”

“Fan Zong, you look radiant, full of good fortune—what breakthrough have you made?”

“Wang Zong, you’re joking—I turn red just from drinking.”

Wang Yan shook his head with a smile. “Radiance isn’t redness from alcohol.”

“Wang Zong understands face reading too?”

“Who does? Intuition—do you understand? I sense you, Fan Zong, are riding a wave of good fortune, blessed by lucky stars.”

“Oh my, if Wang Zong says so, I’ll go buy Hongyun clothes tomorrow.” He leaned closer, whispering, “Wang Zong, I won’t hide it—I’ve made real progress at the factory. If it holds, we’ll eat well for years.”

“See? My intuition’s spot on.”

“But right now, I’ve got goods with no sales channels—that’s why I came to find Bao Zong. Bao Zong excels in foreign trade, has an extraordinary relationship with Miss Wang on the 27th, and knows how to create buzz. Like when Wang Da opened his first store on Nanjing Road—he gave away a car, made national headlines, and Hongyun exploded overnight.”

“Fan Zong, you only see my glory, not my struggles.” Wang Yan smiled. “Even now, the clothing business is losing money—it’s all subsidized by other operations.”

“Wang Zong, you’re joking—your business is so huge, how could you possibly be losing money?”

“Look, you still don’t believe me. I built this in a short time and opened stores nationwide—how? I don’t just have one factory in Shanghai—I have five across the country, supplying regionally, plus sourcing raw materials and working with other textile and synthetic fiber factories.”

“I even built a materials research lab. The salaries of store staff, factory workers, nationwide logistics costs, inventory overstock from misjudged sales—all that’s money, isn’t it?”

“I’ve been in business less than three years—where would I get so much capital? I’ve relied on loans everywhere. It’s not as glamorous as it looks. Only I know how hard it’s been.”

“I oversimplified.”

Fan Zong took a sip of wine and sighed. “We’re a state-owned factory—textiles and garments. Back then, business was easy: raw materials came with official approval, production followed demand, and sales channels were all state-run stores—we never worried about selling.”

“Since opening up, things have gotten tough. People started smuggling fashionable clothes from Hong Kong and Shenzhen, policies shifted bit by bit, and now we’re on our own financially. I struggled desperately just to pay our workers’ salaries. Finally made some progress, so I came to Shanghai looking for sales channels. Oh my, I’ve been here half a month, running around like a headless fly.”

“Finally, I found Xiao Mei on the 27th—oh, her name is Mei Ping—Wang Zong might not…”

“I know her. Miss Wang’s friend—I handled the South Africa export paperwork through her. So Mei Ping introduced you to Miss Wang, Miss Wang introduced you to Bao Zong, and now you’re here at Night Tokyo.”

“Exactly!” Fan Zong clapped his hands. “I never imagined Wang Zong and Miss Wang were so close—she never mentioned it. Miss Wang is so low-key.”

Wang Yan smiled. “All my clothing export paperwork was handled by Miss Wang. I had Mei Ping handle South Africa because Miss Wang introduced us.”

“Oh my, I overcomplicated it. Wang Zong and Bao Zong are friends—of course you all know each other.”

“By the way, I haven’t seen Miss Wang in a while—how is she?”

“Miss Wang? Of course she’s doing great—she’s from the 27th, every boss across the country fawns over her.”

The two chatted a while longer; after a few drinks, Wang Yan asked: “Fan Zong, what are your plans for the future?”

Fan Zong rubbed his hair, deeply reflective: “I’ll retire in a few years—what future plans? I don’t want anything else. Just doing my last job well is enough. Honestly, Wang Zong, I started as a machine repairman in the textile factory and worked my way up to factory director—I’ve been here forty years. Sometimes I think… I really can’t let go.”

“History rolls forward; waves of change keep coming—you must look ahead. The future will only get better.”

“Oh my, looking ahead is for you, Wang Zong—I, old Fan, don’t need to. I’m behind the wheel, already crushed under it. I’m the first wave, already washed away. They say the older you get, the more you think of the past—but if you don’t think of the past, what’s left to think about? I’m already a person of the past.”

Fan Zong fell silent for a moment, a touch of melancholy, but it passed quickly. He wiped his face with both hands and returned to his hearty grin. “Look, Wang Zong, I talked too much, drank too much—got sentimental. Not enough wine—come on, Wang Zong, drink, drink!”

Wang Yan nodded with a smile and continued drinking with Fan Zong.

They chatted well until past nine, when Bao Zong finally arrived.

“Fan Zong! Oh, Wang Da hasn’t left yet?” Bao Zong walked in, surprised to see Wang Yan drinking and smoking with Fan Zong.

“We had a good chat—drank a few extra glasses.”

“Oh my, Wang Zong must’ve been generous with his words. I never imagined Bao Zong and Wang Zong were friends.”

“Wang Da and I met right when he came to Shanghai—we’re old friends.” Bao Zong grinned. “Wang Da, if you’re free, let’s have a few more drinks later. I need to talk business with Fan Zong—he’s waited days already. I feel bad.”

Wang Yan nodded with a smile. Fan Zong followed Bao Zong upstairs to a private room; the most noticeable thing was the square leather case Fan Zong clutched tightly.

Seeing them go up, Lingzi brought beer and glasses, sat across from Wang Yan, and poured herself a drink. “Oh my, this Fan Zong can talk—more than Teacher Ge!”

“We had a good chat.”

“I see you can chat with anyone. You don’t even manage your huge business—you just wander around, take photos with your camera all day. So boring.”

“Are you tired of me? Then I won’t come anymore.”

“You’re asking for it.” Lingzi shot him a glare. “Is that what I meant?”

“When I was busy, you said I only cared about money, wasn’t a good friend—Teacher Ge and Tao Tao mocked me. Now I have time, you say I’m boring. You’ve got all the arguments—how unfair.”

“Hey, I never said you only cared about money. From start to finish, I’ve always believed in you—I’ve always welcomed you. Don’t you remember? At the end of 1990, we made a bet… and guess what? Nobody paid up.”

“I think you’re just welcoming my Maotai.”

“Oh my, Wang Zong, it’s just a few bottles—don’t be so stingy. So in your eyes, I, Lingzi, am just someone who cares about money?”

Lingzi didn’t let Wang Yan speak—she changed the subject. “Hey, Wang Zong, it’s strange—since the Qilin Society incident, business here has gotten better every day.”

“Why’s that strange? Bao Zong quit stocks and focuses on foreign trade—of course more people come.”

“I mean, Bao Zong took the blame for Commander Cai—it damaged his reputation, yet now it seems like no effect at all.”

Wang Yan said: “People know Bao Zong talks too much, but they also know he’s good at foreign trade. They do legitimate business, no insider trading—what difference does it make? Even if there’s an effect, so what? Business must be done, money must be made.”

“You’re right—people are blinded by money now.”

“Why does it sound like you’re hoping Bao Zong’s business fails?”

“How could I? Am I crazy? If Bao Zong does well, Night Tokyo does well.”

“Then why do I keep hearing you complain about losses?”

“Business secret, understand? You’re one to talk—you’re always saying you’re losing money too. Just look: who ever got bigger by losing money?”

Wang Yan chuckled. “You’re seeing too shallowly, Lingzi. How can you grow by only using profits? You need loans—spend future earnings now to expand, so you can earn even more later. That’s the point of finance.”

“I run my business this way; the national budget does too—spend tomorrow’s money today, earn money for the day after, then spend the day after that’s money today. What does Bao Zong do in stocks? He’s betting on companies’ future earnings.”

“But people are greedy—they don’t want to wait. They want to profit from stock buyers, turning companies’ earnings into their own, enjoying wealth and luxury. I’m not condemning it—but Bao Zong and the Qilin Society all made money this way.”

Lingzi glared. “This is boring—you turn my comment about your losses into a lecture on Bao Zong’s profits.”

“See? We’re on the same side.”

“Isn’t that how the world works? If you don’t do it, someone else will. You can’t stop them. If you know you can make money, why let others take it? Better to make it yourself, enjoy wealth and luxury.”

A simple, self-justifying, guilt-free philosophy.

“You’re right.” Wang Yan nodded, raised his cup. “Drink.”

They took a sip; Lingzi took the Maotai from Wang Yan’s side. “You each drank a bottle with Fan Zong—you probably can’t taste anything anymore. No more tonight—tomorrow. Xiao He, I remember you still have some dumpling filling left? Boil Wang Zong a bowl of dumpling soup to sober him up. Oh, make extra—give some to Fan Zong too.”

“See? The boss’s wife is so thoughtful.” Wang Yan nodded to Xiao He.

“Get lost, get lost.” Lingzi looked disgusted.

Wang Yan laughed, lit a Huazi cigarette, and chatted idly with Lingzi.

Soon, Xiao He finished the dumpling soup, and footsteps sounded on the stairs.

“Bao Zong, I think we should sign the contract early—it’s safer.”

“I, Bao Zong, care about my reputation—why would I cheat you? If I stiff you on this deal and you spread the word, who’d ever do business with me again?”

“Oh my, once materials arrive, workers hired, production line starts—money will flow out like water. This can’t be rushed.”

“Have faith in your clothes, Fan Zong—your garments are excellent, why worry about sales? Relax. Go home, organize everything. Eight days until New Year’s—spend time with your wife and kids. Then come back with your official seal and sign the contract. Night Tokyo is right here, Peace Hotel is right there—I won’t run off. Besides, I want to make money—what benefit would I get from cheating you?”

They walked down, chatting. Lingzi said: “Oh my, you’ve settled things? Xiao He just made dumpling soup—Bao Zong, Fan Zong, drink it while hot, sober up.”

“I barely drank—why sober up?” Bao Zong looked confused.

“Oh my, you don’t need to sober up—but Fan Zong does? He drank a full jin with Wang Zong—look at his red face. Oh my, at his age, still pushing so hard—how tough.”

“Boss Lady, your words make me feel like I’m at home.” Fan Zong laughed. “But Wang Zong just said I’m radiant, riding good fortune—I’m going to get rich.”

“You’ve sealed the deal with Bao Zong, workers still to be hired—this deal’s worth tens of millions—how isn’t that getting rich?”

“Wang Zong, you’re amazing—just two words and you know the scale of the deal. Impressive, impressive.”

“Look, you’re at it again—you’re the senior, stop flattering me, Old Fan?”

Fan Zong chuckled. “Wang Zong’s teasing me again. In business, the bigger you are, the more you’re the senior—I still need to learn from you.”

“Enough, enough—we’re friends, no need for flattery. Drink your soup, it’s late, sober up and go home.” Lingzi urged everyone to sit, then served them herself.

Xiao He, Xiao Wen, and Xiao Qin were tidying up nearby—they were about to clock out, moving quickly. Proper workers don’t slack off at quitting time—that’s a problem.

The four sat around the table drinking dumpling soup, slurping noisily, full of warmth.

Abao didn’t want to hear Fan Zong’s nagging anymore and asked Wang Yan: “How’s Boss Wang lately?”

“What can I do? Lingzi just said I’m boring to death.”

“What does she know? Countless people envy Boss Wang. He has thousands under him, yet he spends every day leisurely traveling—pure immortal life.”

“Only you understand. Then why don’t you learn from Boss Wang? You’re always running around outside, never to be found.”

Abao said: “Do you think I don’t want to? If I were at Boss Wang’s level, I’d already be traveling the world.”

Lingzi blinked her big eyes: “Oh my, such an interesting thing—go do it yourself?”

“Er… Boss Wang has already traveled the world himself. Boss Wang, tell us—how’s it out there? I know nothing. I only went to Japan and stayed seven days.”

“I was dead busy back then. I never stayed in any country long enough to hit seven days. How would I know?”

“Did Boss Wang go to many countries?”

Ignoring Lingzi’s eye roll, Abao said: “Oh my, Fan Zong, you don’t know this? Boss Wang made his fortune in the Soviet Union. Otherwise, how could he have reached his current position in under three years? We’re in foreign trade, but Boss Wang? He’s in real international trade—huge scale.”

Watching Fan Zong’s bulging eyes, Wang Yan shook his head: “Exaggerated. I did make some money and visited many countries, but I wouldn’t call it impressive. There are still plenty of capable people.”

“Oh my, that’s incredible. Boss Wang is so humble—he doesn’t even brag about such big achievements.”

“Silent wealth, silent gains,” Abao added.

“You two are perfectly in sync—flattering me again, feeding me soup, soup.”

After some laughter and chatter, Abao suddenly asked: “Boss Wang, haven’t you seen Miss Wang lately?”

“No.”

“I thought so. Miss Wang asked me about you. I feel we’ve grown distant—she seems off. You get along with her; if you have time, check if something’s wrong.”

Wang Yan raised an eyebrow and smiled: “I’m this idle? Of course I have time.”

…

Love is stranger still—indescribable, perhaps a fleeting spark, or a lifetime of togetherness. People are complex; a momentary decision rarely becomes lifelong resolve. Thus, unwavering commitment is a noble human quality.

But sometimes, if it never began, there’s no question of commitment. Abao and Miss Wang are like this now. Abao isn’t a fool—he sensed something. Miss Wang sensed it too.

At the end of 1987, she made a fleeting decision. Three years later, she didn’t hold to it—she made another. Because she sought love, sought the romantic ideal of eternal togetherness.

Human connections are strange. You never know when you’ll suddenly meet someone unforgettable—and begin longing for the next encounter.

Miss Wang met Wang Yan again—at her favorite ribs and rice cake shop—where she asked him about love.

Wang Yan spat out a bone, eating with great relish. “I believe in love. Somewhere unknown, there are people who’ve been happy in love their whole lives. They argue, they’re dissatisfied with life, they grow tired of each other’s flaws—no longer seeing only the other’s virtues, only the faults. But they don’t leave. They speak little, and just grow old together.”

“But as I said, their lives aren’t poor, but not rich either. They haven’t reached what I call ‘full belly.’ Their desires are few—just enough money to escape the poverty chasing them. But what then? I won’t comment much on women, but I don’t trust most men. ‘Men turn bad when rich’—this saying is widespread, and it holds some truth.”

“What about Boss Abao? He’s two years older than you—thirty-four already. Hasn’t he eaten his fill?”

“Boss Abao might have one unforgettable person, one unforgettable feeling. We’re all friends—I shouldn’t speak ill behind his back, but I’ll tell you honestly. I think Boss Abao has a flaw—he’s indecisive. I can feel you once had feelings for him. Lingzi didn’t even hide hers. But Boss Abao never spoke up—he pretended to be clueless.”

You met him at twenty-two. Now you’re twenty-eight. Lingzi? She’s three years older than him—now thirty-seven. In less than a month it’s the New Year—you’ll both be a year older. So what kind of man do you think Boss Abao is?”

“If he’s the man you imagine, then he still loves the woman who left an impression on him. He should have told you and Lingzi clearly—don’t waste your youth. If not—if he doesn’t love her—then he should say something, or act in a way that makes his meaning clear. Whether he’s willing or not—that’s your decision. Not silence.”

“You don’t speak. What about Lingzi? When I returned from Hong Kong—the day before we last met—I saw her staring blankly at Night Tokyo. She was in low spirits. She said it was because she lamented her gray roots, lamented fate’s capriciousness. But later, when we talked… I think she was reflecting on her own love life, and her age.”

“Perhaps he can’t accept spending his life alone. Or perhaps he’s accepted it—and will now drown in wine and women. Who knows?”

Miss Wang fell silent. After eating a while, she said: “Maybe he only wants to talk about business. Uncle told me: the Huangpu River is the Huangpu River, the Suzhou River is the Suzhou River—business is business, emotion is emotion. If you force them together, you’ll ruin both.”

“I said: don’t the Suzhou River and Huangpu River eventually merge, flow into the East Sea, into the Pacific? Uncle started to speak, then stopped. He just shook his head and sighed—maybe he thought I was stupid.”

“I know what Uncle meant.”

“What?”

“In the East Sea, in the Pacific—can you still find the Huangpu River or the Suzhou River?”

… Miss Wang fell silent again. She couldn’t find anything. She just ate, head down.

Wang Yan smiled: “People grow wise, horses grow cunning. Uncle’s lived through so much—from before liberation to now—he’s got his wisdom. Oh, by the way—speaking of Uncle, didn’t he have two wives? Didn’t they support each other until today? He went to Tilanqiao because of them—can you say they had no love?”

“Uncle’s situation was due to special historical times,” Miss Wang said, unwilling to elaborate. She turned and eyed Wang Yan suspiciously. “You didn’t know I was coming, did you?”

“I swear—I didn’t collude with Boss, nor did I hire someone to watch you,” Wang Yan said, raising his hand with a smile. “And don’t forget—I got here first.”

“I’m full.”

“I’ll see you home.”

“No need. I’ll go myself. Today’s my treat.” As she spoke, Miss Wang rose, paid the owner, added extra money—she knew Wang Yan could eat—and left with a haughty air.

“Boss Wang, I’ll ask one more thing—are you and Miss Wang having a falling out? I’ve noticed she’s been in low spirits lately. Not like before—she used to be loud.”

“Women—how can you know what they think? Give me two more portions of ribs.”

“Coming right up,” the owner said, bustling back to work.

The ribs-and-rice-cake shop was warm. Droplets of condensation slid down the window, blurring the view outside. Beyond the misted glass, Miss Wang walked alone into the distance…

In the blink of an eye, it was the end of 1992. The unexpected appeared—disrupting Abao’s love story, yet leaving his other misfortunes untouched.

That night, past ten o’clock, Wang Yan, reading in his garden villa on Julu Road, received a call from Lingzi—she was frantic…