Chapter 66 - The Price of Progress
The afternoon sun beat down on the glass facades of the High-tech Park, reflecting a blinding, clinical light that seemed to strip away any room for sentiment. Inside the executive conference room of Huaqing Tech, the air was chilled to a precise twenty-two degrees Celsius, smelling faintly of ozone and the expensive, bitter roast of the coffee served to the visiting investors.
Xiao Fengtai sat at the head of the table, his tailored suit a sharp contrast to the functional, slightly rumpled lab coats he saw through the glass partitions of the nearby research wing. Across from him sat Jiang Tong. The man who had once been a "lab grunt" in Singapore, surviving on seven-yuan wontons and the occasional bowl of small wontons, was now the "Pride of the West Coast Chinese Community," a scientist-entrepreneur whose every word carried the weight of millions in venture capital.
"The Series B term sheet is nearly finalized," Jiang Tong said, his voice steady and devoid of the youthful uncertainty Xiao Fengtai remembered from their days on the Island. He tapped a finger on the thick stack of due diligence reports. "We’ve adjusted the valuation discount to reflect the current market volatility, but Huaqing will not budge on the milestone payments. The funding must be released upon the successful completion of the Phase I clinical trials for BTK27. We cannot have the research stalled by bureaucratic delays at Huayu Capital."
Xiao Fengtai watched him, noting the way Jiang Tong’s "willow-leaf brows" furrowed in concentration. There was a "righteous indignation" in his posture, a "noble spirit" that hadn't been crushed by the years of "working under the table" or the grueling path to tenure.
"Huayu is prepared to meet those terms," Xiao Fengtai replied, his tone professional yet laced with an underlying tension. "We recognize that a 'desperate army is bound to win.' You’ve brought Huaqing this far on sheer will, Professor Jiang. We aren't here to be the 'oriole behind the mantis.' We want this partnership to be 'Pareto efficient' for both sides."
He used the economic terms like a shield, a way to bridge the gap between their shared past and their transactional present. As they signed the final documents, Xiao Fengtai felt a strange sense of "kindred sympathy." They were both "clad in fine raiment," successful and powerful, yet the air between them was thick with the ghosts of who they used to be—of Tom Yum Goong shared in humid hawker centers and the cheap burn of Erguotou.
"From an exchange of blows, friendship grows," Xiao Fengtai added as he capped his pen. It was a peace offering, an "olive branch" extended across a decade of silence.
Jiang Tong offered a small, tight smile—a "white lotus rising unsullied from the mud." "Business is business, Mr. Xiao. Let’s hope the clinical data is as cooperative as our legal teams."
As they walked out toward the lobby, the sterile atmosphere was suddenly punctured by a burst of childish laughter. A small boy, no more than four or five years old, came sprinting across the polished marble floor, his sneakers squeaking.
"Baba! Baba, look!"
The boy held up a crumpled drawing. Xiao Fengtai froze. The child was clearly mixed-race, his features a delicate, biracial blend of Jiang Tong’s sharp intellect and a softer, Western influence. This was Jiang Zhen—Dennis.
Jiang Tong knelt, his entire demeanor shifting. The "overbearing CEO" vanished, replaced by a man who looked truly "at home." He picked up the boy, who tucked his head into Jiang Tong’s shoulder with practiced ease.
"Dennis, what did I say about running in the office? I told you to stay with Auntie Beibei," Jiang Tong murmured, though there was no heat in his voice.
Xiao Fengtai felt a sharp, physical pang in his chest—a "cognitive dissonance" that no amount of financial logic could resolve. He had known about the son from the background checks, but seeing the child, seeing the living proof of Jiang Tong’s life without him, was like "hitting the southern wall."
The boy looked at Xiao Fengtai with wide, "apricot eyes," curious and unafraid. He was the "pearl on the crown" of Jiang Tong’s new life, a "milestone" that Xiao Fengtai could never claim.
"He’s... a remarkable child," Xiao Fengtai said, his voice sounding hollow even to his own ears.
"He is my life," Jiang Tong replied simply, his gaze meeting Xiao Fengtai’s with a clarity that was almost painful.
As Jiang Tong walked away, the boy waving a small hand over his father's shoulder, Xiao Fengtai realized that the "expectation gap" between them had become a permanent canyon. He had the "Series B" deal, he had the "voice" in the company, but he was still just a "foreign monk" trying to understand a temple he had long ago abandoned.
He checked his watch. It was time to go. Heathrow was waiting, and with it, the "imperial complaints" and high-stakes games of his father, Xiao Zhizhong. The "smoke and fire of the human world" was a beautiful thing, but for men like him, it was always just out of reach.
