Chapter Thirty-Six: Melancholy

Zhao Fan sighed with worry. “Let’s hope nothing goes wrong.”

Mu Tianrong offered comfort. “Mr. Zhao, there’s no need to worry. As long as the appraisal is genuine, the people in Hong Kong will help arrange the paperwork for you to attend the auction.”

The Song Dynasty shadow porcelain wind-listening vase, if authentic, was simply beyond any monetary comparison.

Zhao Fan glanced at him but said nothing more.

That evening, Zhao Fan invited Mu Tianrong to dinner. As they sat comfortably after a hearty meal and drinks, Mu Tianrong suddenly brought up Xu An.

“I wonder if Mr. Zhao still remembers Xu An?”

“The manager of Yilan Residence. Why?”

As Zhao Fan asked, a vague sense of familiarity stirred in him, as if Mu Tianrong had mentioned Xu An to him just a few days ago.

“That market lost money. The development company behind Yilan Residence demanded that Xu An pay off the debts, fired him outright, and even took him to court for compensation.”

The market...

Zhao Fan raised an eyebrow. “If I’m not mistaken, Manager Mu, you also had some connections to that market, didn’t you?”

Mu Tianrong and Xu An had gone to great lengths to persuade him to buy the market.

Mu Tianrong smiled faintly. “That was before. Now, not anymore.”

Zhao Fan narrowed his eyes, then after a few seconds, smiled with an air of indifference, as if nothing concerned him.

He didn’t know what Mu Tianrong had done, but Xu An’s dismissal was most certainly connected to him.

But that market… Zhao Fan was tempted.

“Is the market now in Xu An’s name?”

“That’s correct.”

Tapping his finger on the table, Zhao Fan asked, “What’s the current price for that market?”

“One million,” Mu Tianrong said, raising a finger. “Half of what it was before.”

One million—half the price?

Zhao Fan shook his head. “Manager Mu, is it really half?”

Mu Tianrong smiled, the implication clear without words.

“Mr. Zhao, are you interested in buying?”

“I’m tempted.”

“Want me to make the introductions?”

“No need for now.”

Their gazes met, and both men shared a meaningful smile.

When dinner was over, Mu Tianrong was picked up, and Zhao Fan walked alone down the street.

“Zhao Fan, Zhao Fan?”

A sudden call drew his attention. As he turned his head, a car pulled up beside him.

“Why are you here alone?” The window rolled down to reveal Yang Yuqing’s face.

“Miss Yang,” Zhao Fan greeted her. “Just taking a walk.”

“You walked this far just for a stroll?” Yang Yuqing’s lips curved with a subtle smile; she knew well where Zhao Fan lived.

“Yes, the farther I go, the more relaxed I feel.”

“I see. Want a ride home?”

“Thank you.”

With a convenient ride, Zhao Fan accepted readily.

“I’ve visited your supermarket a few more times these days. Business is getting better and better. You’re really impressive.”

“Thank you for the compliment.”

After a brief silence, Yang Yuqing turned her head, speaking with some uncertainty. “You don’t seem to be in a good mood?”

“No,” Zhao Fan answered flatly.

Yang Yuqing let the matter drop, though Zhao Fan’s expression clearly betrayed him.

But since he was unwilling to talk about it, she saw no reason to press.

“Miss, we’ve arrived,” the driver called from the front.

Zhao Fan opened the car door. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Yang Yuqing hesitated, then finally couldn’t help herself. She leaned against the window and said, “Your supermarket business is thriving, but the place is too small. You should really expand soon, or else…”

Or else what? Yang Yuqing left it unsaid, but Zhao Fan understood her meaning—someone might be eyeing his successful business, wanting a share.

“Thank you.”

This thank you was for her warning.

“You’re welcome.”

Yang Yuqing’s eyes curved, and her smile seemed all the more genuine.

“Go on.”

The car drove away. Zhao Fan stood watching until it disappeared, then turned to head home.

With both his parents in the hospital, he was alone in the house that night.

Reviewing his recent plans, Zhao Fan took out paper and pen and jotted down some thoughts, finally circling “supermarket.”

The first supermarket had a good location, but it was far too small. Expansion was imperative. In that case, the market Mu Tianrong had suggested might be worth acquiring.

But as for Xu An…

After some thought, Zhao Fan decided to set aside that idea for now. He could open a second supermarket, but it didn’t have to be at Xu An’s market.

With the current scale, it would be better just to open more branches.

As for later…

Zhao Fan recalled what Bai Yu had said about that plot of land—valued at fifty million—it was certainly not a small property.

As long as he waited for the auction result of the Song Dynasty shadow porcelain vase, he would gain that land for free.

Wait.

Having settled his mind, Zhao Fan folded up the paper, ready to go to bed.

The phone rang.

Glancing at the screen, Zhao Fan saw it was Mu Tianrong and answered.

“Manager Mu, calling so late—is something the matter?”

“Mr. Zhao.”

Zhao Fan was startled. “…Xu An?”

The voice on the line was not Mu Tianrong’s, but Xu An’s.

“It’s me.”

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Zhao Fan asked, “Is Manager Mu with you?”

“Yes.”

“Very well. Why did you call?”

“About the market—are you still interested, Mr. Zhao?”

Xu An’s voice sounded utterly exhausted.

Realizing this, Zhao Fan recalled what Mu Tianrong had mentioned over dinner about Xu An being sued by his former employer. Clearly, Xu An had been having a terrible time these past days.

“I am interested in the market, but about the price…”

“I can give it to you, Mr. Zhao.”

Give it to him?

Zhao Fan’s heart skipped a beat, but he kept his voice steady. “What are your terms?”

“A share. I’ll give you the market, as my stake. Would you agree, Mr. Zhao?”

A stake in exchange for the market?

Zhao Fan’s gaze sharpened. On the surface, it looked as if Xu An was suffering a loss, but with the supermarket’s prospects, it was Zhao Fan who stood to lose out.

Silence filled the line.

Xu An sighed and spoke again. “Given the supermarket’s potential, you would indeed lose out, Mr. Zhao. But having a ready-made location would help you more. Just think—if you refuse and waste time negotiating, how much profit will you lose? Do you still think you’d be at a loss?”

Zhao Fan’s fingers tightened. Xu An was right—time is money. If he could get the market now, he would earn far more.

More importantly, he wouldn’t have to worry about someone else seizing the opportunity to poach his business.

“Two percent. You can have a two percent share. Not a bit more.”

Zhao Fan stated his stance firmly—take the two percent, or the deal was off.

Xu An replied, “No problem. Two percent it is. But I have one condition.”

“Go on.”

“I want my dividends paid monthly in advance.”

Zhao Fan understood—Xu An had been pushed to the brink by his former company.

“Agreed.”

“If that’s settled, when shall we sign the contract?”

Mentioning the contract, Zhao Fan stroked his chin. “Tomorrow evening at seven, Lao Hong’s Private Kitchen.”

“Alright.”

The night passed quietly. By morning, rain was falling.