Starting a business

Watching Ye Mian walk away, Jiang Chen returned to his car. As soon as he closed the door, his phone rang. He glanced at the screen—a number he didn’t recognize. He answered, and the caller gave him an address. Jiang Chen quietly ended the call.

He started the car, leaving Wen University behind, and drove toward the outskirts of the city. When he reached the crematorium, he parked and closed his eyes, rubbing his fatigued brow. A wad of cash sat on the seat beside him.

Looking through the window, he saw the crematorium of Wen City, set in a desolate, uninhabited place. The red and yellow forests stood tall, the brilliant sunset outlining an autumn unique to the wooded hills.

But no one who came here ever had the heart to stop and admire it.

The silence was almost oppressive.

After a short rest, Jiang Chen opened his eyes, picked up the cash, and got out, heading into the crematorium.

The stoker who received him had already obtained the death certificate from the police. After Jiang Chen signed the necessary documents, the worker led him to the observation room in front of the furnace.

Jiang Chen watched impassively as the body was pushed into the flames, his face devoid of any emotion.

The stoker standing nearby was surprised. Most relatives who came here were pitiable—if they didn’t break down in tears, their faces were at least marked by grief.

But here was someone who seemed utterly indifferent.

And yet, for someone so uninterested, he was generous with money, even choosing the finest urn.

After a while, the worker couldn’t help but ask, “Is this your father?”

They had worked here so long, superstition had faded and numbness had set in. They asked directly.

Jiang Chen offered a faint smile. “Yes, he is.”

The stoker was silent for a few seconds, then offered a very official, “My condolences.”

Jiang Chen only smiled, offering no further response.

There was not a trace of emotion in him.

Perhaps when he was young, there had been. In those countless days and nights, when not even a patch of healthy skin remained, forced to kneel, eat garbage, fight dogs for scraps, the pain leaving him afraid to sleep.

Many times, he had almost not survived.

Hatred had long since given way to numbness.

Even as a child, he had learned that hatred was useless—its value could not compare to a single bowl of plain rice.

After watching for a while, he returned to his car, fetched another bundle of cash, and handed it to the stoker as he stepped out to smoke, his eyes deep and inscrutable.

After a long silence, he said quietly, “Thank you. I have some other matters to attend to.”

The money was more than enough—a generous tip.

The stoker understood at once, took the money, and told him he could leave.

He turned away, but couldn’t help feeling pity for the one lying in the furnace.

He sighed, tossing the money into a locker.

To him, Jiang Chen was a most unfilial son.

No matter how much money he gave, if he couldn’t even collect his own father’s ashes, how could he be called a man?

The desolate wind swept mercilessly through the mountains and forests.

Before leaving, Jiang Chen cast a final glance at the crematorium behind him.

He withdrew his gaze, lashes lowered.

He actually found it funny.

And indeed, he did smile.

People were right—he really was cold-blooded.

The one who had tormented him for so long had died so easily.

It only made his own suffering seem worthless.

In November, the skies were shrouded with oppressive clouds, nearly suffocating.

After Ye Mian returned to her dorm, she tossed the box Jiang Chen had given her onto the bed.

She opened the window, letting the wind sweep through the room, trying to dispel the stifling air.

As the wind blew, the tears she’d worked so hard to dry came falling again.

Droplets slipped uncontrollably down her chin, landing in the palm of her hand.

She tried to wipe them away with her fingers.

But the more she wiped, the more they fell.

Eventually, she gave up and turned instead to her computer, quietly working on her illustrations.

When her vision blurred with tears, she wiped them away and kept drawing, not stopping until deep into the night.

She spent two full months like this, hardly leaving her room except for classes, hiding away to sketch.

Numbing her nerves, she thought to herself:

Sadness is no excuse for letting oneself fall apart.

Given a second chance, every moment should be cherished.

For herself, and for the confidence to stand before Jiang Chen one day.

Yes.

She hadn’t given up.

She still liked Jiang Chen. Even after being rejected, she couldn’t help it.

...

Media companies were always generous. Soon after submitting her first draft, she received half of her payment.

She realized she might have a bit of talent for drawing.

But Ye Mian knew well—talent could never replace skill.

This time, she’d just been lucky to be chosen.

To earn a living off illustration long-term was nearly impossible.

So, while she worked, Ye Mian also began following trends in emerging industries.

If she remembered correctly,

The country was now in the midst of a shift from old to new media.

Before long, the livestreaming industry would rise, and all kinds of beautiful young men and women would begin to explore this new path. Those who caught the wave early would reap the greatest rewards.

To seize this opportunity, she needed her first bit of capital.

Her illustration fees amounted to just over ten thousand yuan.

She carefully calculated her savings from the past two years.

Combined, it was a lot for a college student, but far from enough to start a business.

After several nights of consideration, she decided to call Ye Haisheng.

Her family’s situation was improving steadily—her father worked with wealthy clients, earning a high salary. After receiving compensation for a demolished house, they’d bought two apartments, one of which they rented out, and still had a considerable sum in savings.

On the phone, she carefully explained her ambitions to her father, saying that the country was encouraging student entrepreneurship and that she wanted a hundred thousand yuan to start a business.

Ye Haisheng listened for a long time, but in the end, he gave her the money.

Seeing the transfer notification for a hundred thousand yuan, Ye Mian felt a pang of sorrow.

It had come too easily.

Not because her plan was particularly convincing,

But because her father’s guilt toward her ran deep.

When it came to money, as long as she used it for the right reasons, Ye Haisheng never hesitated.

In the blink of an eye, it was already mid-January.

After submitting her final illustrations to the media company, Ye Mian could finally take a breather.

Qin Feifei and Wang Xiang, upon hearing this, immediately organized a dinner.

The venue...

They chose the Thai restaurant she and Jiang Chen had once visited.

As they entered, the proprietress greeted them warmly.

Looking at the familiar decor and the rosebush in the sunroom, Ye Mian’s heart gave a jolt, and she quickly averted her gaze.

It had been two months since she’d last seen Jiang Chen.

She had kept herself busy, deliberately leaving no time to think about him.

At least, she knew, nothing would happen to Jiang Chen for the next few years.

It had been a long time since their last gathering, and Qin Feifei was excited, chattering away to Ye Mian.

Finally, she looked at Ye Mian and couldn’t help but ask, “Mianmian... do you know... about Jiang Chen?”

Hearing his name again from a friend, Ye Mian’s fingers tightened slightly. She guessed he might have become even more successful, envied by all the students. So she smiled and shook her head. “What about him?”

Wang Xiang placed her phone on the table and poured her a glass of lemon water. “He went abroad. Maybe because of what happened last time, the university arranged a foreign exchange spot for him. He left yesterday.”

Qin Feifei, worried Ye Mian might overthink it, added quickly, “We only found out today ourselves.”

Bang—

Ye Mian’s smile froze. The lemon water she’d just picked up spilled all over her.

(End of chapter)