Chapter 23: 022 But Timing Matters

Fang Qingye fished until sunset, catching eight fish total: three half-foot-long silver carp, two crucian carp, and two longnose gar.

Most satisfying was the one-pound-perch—he was a hard catch, so this was a full haul.

Take it home and steam it with mom!

Fang Qingye whistled as he rode his small scooter home, thrilled.

That evening, Fang Qingye stayed in, continuing to read and build his numerical model; at noon the next day, he played a single-player Warcraft game, checked the time, then rode his scooter straight to Song Dahai’s house.

Song Dahai’s villa stood on the eastern edge of the county, a three-story pseudo-European building with a stone lion crouching on either side of the gate, baring its fangs.

Song Dahai had an older brother named Song Dahu, who was already over thirty and served as deputy general manager of Kairui Real Estate’s headquarters, the future heir to the company—but he and his wife lived not here, but in a duplex apartment in town.

Their household also kept a German shepherd, fierce but familiar with Fang Qingye, who now licked its lips and wagged its tail at him.

“Where are your parents?” Fang Qingye asked Song Dahai, who came to open the door.

Song Dahai grinned: “Mom’s off playing mahjong, Dad hasn’t come back yet—how about we play a couple rounds of CS?”

CS: Counter-Strike had swept through internet cafes in the early 2000s; back then, Fang Qingye was still in high school and often sneaked out with Song Dahai and Liu Dong during evening self-study to play online at the cafe near school.

Back then, nearly every boy in the cafe played it—dozens split into two opposing rows, linked up for battle, buzzing with energy.

The cafes were filled with shouts of “GO GO!” and “Fire in the hole!” and the crackle of gunfire and explosions, but gradually declined as Warcraft began to rise.

Yet Song Dahai still loved it, perhaps because of his military service; now that no one played locally, he opened rooms on Haofang to find opponents.

Seeing Fang Qingye arrive, he immediately pulled him online, each taking a sniper rifle to duel on the Desert 2 map.

Fang Qingye refused.

“Dahai, you’re way better than me—this is just asking for a beating.”

“So what? Let me beat you once—come on, upstairs...”

Soon, gunfire and explosions echoed from upstairs.

Luckily, they only played two rounds before someone called out for Song Dahai outside—it was his father returning—and Fang Qingye seized the chance to log off.

Song Qingdong’s tea room was on the third floor; Fang Qingye followed him in, where all the furniture was Chinese redwood—a large redwood tea table stood in the center, set with gongfu tea utensils.

“Xiao Ye, sit,” Song Qingdong greeted with a smile.

Fang Qingye smelled alcohol on him—clearly just finished a business dinner—and sat on the redwood chair as Song Dahai joined him beside.

A friend from Fujian brought me some Da Hong Pao—supposedly from Niulan Gully in Wuyi Mountain, pure strain. Not as good as the mother trees, but close enough—let’s try some today.

Saying this, Song Qingdong took a small tin of tea from the cabinet and began boiling water.

He handled every step himself—warming the cups, placing the tea, rinsing it—all precise and meticulous, while Fang Qingye and Song Dahai watched.

After a while, the tea was ready; Song Qingdong poured each of them a cup.

“Taste it—how is it?”

Fang Qingye lifted the cup, sipped lightly: “Uncle Song, the flavor is excellent—there’s even a hint of orchid fragrance?”

“Correct—that’s the hallmark of Da Hong Pao: rich aroma with orchid notes... You know tea well?” Song Qingdong chuckled.

“Not really—my grandfather ran a nursery with all kinds of flowers, especially orchids, so I’m sensitive to that scent.”

Song Dahai, sitting beside him, also sipped his tea—but detected no orchid note.

He disliked tea, preferring beer or cola.

After sipping awhile, Song Qingdong shifted to the real topic: “Xiao Ye, you’re sharp—you already guessed why I invited you for tea today.”

“Is it about the loan?” Fang Qingye smiled.

“Yes. Last night over dinner, you saw how Director Xia acted—she said she’d ‘study it,’ but that was just a polite brush-off. The fact she took you to dinner means she trusts you, sees you as her confidant.”

Confidant?

Maybe not—perhaps just a shield?

Still, Xia He clearly admired him—he knew that much.

“Help me out—no matter what method, get Xia He to approve a ten-million-yuan loan. The more, the better. If you pull it off, I’ll repay you.”

Fang Qingye paused, set down his cup, then said: “I’ll do my best—but I can’t guarantee success. And no thanks needed—you said you and I are brothers.”

“Alright, thank you.”

Song Qingdong was pleased Fang Qingye agreed so readily—but secretly doubted: Could he really pull it off?

After finishing business, Song Qingdong said he wanted to rest, and they were free to leave.

Only then did Song Dahai ask: “Hey, Ziye, how are you going to convince your boss, Senior Xia?”

“It’s not that hard—but you need the right opportunity,” Fang Qingye replied casually.

“What opportunity?”

Fang Qingye smiled faintly, saying nothing.

“Fine, fine—I won’t ask. Just get it done,” Song Dahai said, shoving Fang Qingye toward the door.

“What for?”

“To play—this time I won’t beat you. Let’s go on Haofang.”

“Alright.”

Fang Qingye spent the afternoon amid gunfire and explosions, then ate a bowl of sour soup rice made by Song Dahai’s maid before leaving.

On the last day of the holiday, Fang Qingye didn’t go out—he read all day at home.

After the May Day holiday, Fang Qingye returned to work on schedule and seized the chance to review Kairui Real Estate’s loan application documents, mulling over Song Qingdong’s request.

Of course, he could go straight to Xia He, state his purpose, and ask her to approve the loan—but Fang Qingye knew:

Based on his decade-plus of workplace experience before his rebirth, the chance of success would be nearly zero.

Xia He was grateful to him and admired him—but that didn’t mean he could make requests, especially ones that exposed her to risk.

More importantly, Xia He internally disagreed!

He needed an opportunity.

Unexpectedly, the opportunity came quickly.

That afternoon, just before quitting time, Fang Qingye went to the bike shed to retrieve his scooter when he heard Office Director Wu Shengli shouting in the courtyard: “Old Zhang! Old Zhang!”

No answer.

“Where’s Old Zhang? His phone’s off! Director Xia’s meeting’s over—she’s waiting for him to pick her up! If he doesn’t show, he’s fired!” Wu Shengli fumed.

“Where did Director Xia go for the meeting?” Fang Qingye asked a female colleague riding her bicycle nearby.

“I heard it was at the county government—they summoned all branch managers to discuss supporting the real estate sector.”

Supporting real estate?

Fang Qingye instantly realized—this was the perfect opening!

He didn’t retrieve his scooter but walked toward Wu Shengli: “Director Wu, Master Zhang must have an emergency—I’ll go pick up Director Xia.”

“You can drive?” Wu Shengli doubted.

“Yes—I got my license in college, often drove friends’ cars. I just don’t have the company key.” Fang Qingye smiled.

“Alright, I’ll get you a spare key.”

Wu Shengli returned to his office and came back two minutes later with a key.

“Take the Passat—drive slow, watch the road.”

“Don’t worry—I’m a great driver.”

Fang Qingye took the key, drove the Passat out of the garage, and headed toward the government building.

The Ninxin County government building stood in the newly developed district, about six kilometers from the old town—reportedly moved there to boost real estate in the new area.

Fang Qingye arrived at the government building in ten minutes and saw Xia He, dressed in a sharp office suit, waiting by the main entrance.