The retail group under the Xiao family had recently acquired a chain of organic supermarkets in the United States, and Xiao Fengtai had been summoned by his father to make an appearance and get acquainted with the key players. Over the past few years, Xiao Zhizhong’s business had grown exponentially; he spent his days racing across the globe, practically living on his private jet. It had taken Xiao Fengtai a week’s notice for the secretary to squeeze a lunch slot into the narrow gaps between meetings.
Xiao Fengtai arrived at the restaurant ten minutes early, only to find Xiao Zhizhong already seated across the table, perusing the menu. Thanks to a disciplined routine, a healthy diet, and the guidance of private trainers, Xiao Zhizhong was exceptionally well-preserved. Though he had already passed his fiftieth year, his skin remained taut and his physique upright and sturdy. Dressed in a perfectly tailored suit, he looked to be in his early forties from a distance. Only upon closer inspection could one discern the marks of time in the fine lines at the corners of his eyes and the touch of silver emerging at his roots.
Hearing footsteps, he looked up and arched an eyebrow. "The conference call ended early. Didn't my secretary email you?"
Xiao Fengtai took his seat, unfolding the napkin across his lap. "There was an urgent matter in Beijing on my way here. Next time, tell her to call me directly."
The father and son were finally reunited after more than six months, yet there was no display of paternal warmth or filial piety. Xiao Fengtai reported on the exit status of the fund's current projects and the progress of the new round of fundraising. Xiao Zhizhong listened intently, offering a few pointers here and there.
Once they finished discussing the fund, the conversation shifted to the group’s recent strategic focus in the Asia-Pacific region and various personnel changes. For the most part, Xiao Zhizhong spoke while Xiao Fengtai listened, occasionally interjecting with a question. Xiao Zhizhong would sometimes ignore them, only providing brief answers when he deemed a point valuable.
In his teens, such a scene would have been unimaginable. Xiao Fengtai maintained an air of attentive listening, but his gaze drifted as he drifted into memory. Even after a ten-hour flight, his conversation with Jiang Tong continued to unsettle his heart, even triggering a long-absent sense of nostalgia.
When exactly had his relationship with his father begun to thaw? In his teens, he had hated the man deeply, blaming the entirety of his mother’s unhappiness and their broken home on Xiao Zhizhong. Seeing his father irritated or embarrassed because of him had been his greatest pleasure.
That lasted until the day Jiang Tong turned him in, and he was "escorted" back to the Xiao family’s coastal mansion by a dozen burly men. Exhausted from the journey and devastated by the emotional blow, Xiao Fengtai had lost the energy to resist. He had walked into his room like a hollow shell, only to find Xiao Zhizhong standing by the bookshelf, carefully examining the titles row by row.
Hearing the door, Xiao Zhizhong turned. For a moment, neither moved. Xiao Zhizhong looked his disheveled son up and down, his expression unreadable.
*Here it comes,* Xiao Fengtai thought, his face a mask of indifference. He sneered inwardly, waiting for the unprecedented lecture and punishment. He accepted his defeat—he had lost—but he believed he hadn't yielded to his grandmother’s tyranny. In that regard, he felt superior to his father.
His father merely looked at him with pity.
"Your grandmother knows everything about today. Stay home for the rest of the summer; don't go running off. I will personally take you to Cambridge." He brushed past Xiao Fengtai, heading for the door.
"Don't bother playing the 'good father' now," Xiao Fengtai huffed. "Say whatever you want to say. Or I can say it for you—I’m shameless, disgraceful, and unfit for your seat. I know you have someone else out there; why not use this chance to bring them home?"
Xiao Zhizhong stopped at the doorway.
"I am not a good father," he said without turning around. "I don't understand my own son at all."
Xiao Fengtai was stunned.
"Go to university and study hard. If you want to rebel against this family, wait until you’re financially independent after graduation," Xiao Zhizhong’s voice was calm, tinged with a hint of exhaustion. "Right now, you are no match for her."
For the remainder of that summer, Xiao Fengtai pointedly avoided his father. As the start of the semester approached, he fled Singapore as if escaping a fire. Throughout his university years, he never returned unless absolutely necessary.
After graduation, Madam Xiao wanted him to return to Singapore to enter the group directly, but Xiao Zhizhong instructed him through a secretary to work in Hong Kong instead. Xiao Fengtai accepted this obediently. After working in Hong Kong for a few years, he struck out on his own, using his first "pot of gold" from family funding to establish his own small fund.
Though he was a "second-generation" heir born with a silver spoon, the business world was ruthless. To carve out his own path through his own abilities, Xiao Fengtai had to pay his dues. Having survived several crises that nearly liquidated his fund, he gradually began to understand many of Xiao Zhizhong’s decisions.
With his mother’s death standing between them, he and Xiao Zhizhong would likely never be a close father and son in this lifetime. He no longer obsessed over whether his father had ever loved his mother; their relationship was defined by more than just blood. He, Xiao Zhizhong, and even Madam Xiao were all links in a much larger map. They had to follow one after another, maintaining the wealth the Xiao family passed down through generations.
"...So, when do you plan to return to Singapore?" His father’s question broke his reverie.
"A bit longer," Xiao Fengtai said evasively. "The fund is just getting started. I want to raise a few more rounds and mature our channels."
Xiao Zhizhong smiled. "Those are two different things."
"What I mean is, it’s time you considered your personal life."
Xiao Fengtai blinked. "I’m not ready yet..."
Xiao Zhizhong did not drop the subject. "You aren't young anymore. To give a nearby example, Tiffany’s son is already old enough to ask me for red envelopes."
"Find some time to come back to Singapore soon. I have a few friends whose daughters I’d like you to meet."
Xiao Fengtai forced himself to say, "It’s too early for me to consider a family. I’m really not ready..."
Xiao Zhizhong set down his cutlery and looked up at him. Whether it was a guilty conscience or not, Xiao Fengtai felt his father’s gaze was heavy with meaning.
"Are you sure?"
He worked to adjust his facial muscles, trying to look earnest and sincere. "Just give me a little more time."
Xiao Zhizhong had another meeting in the afternoon. His secretary called right on time to remind him that the driver was at the door. Xiao Fengtai stood by the roadside, smiling as he watched his father’s car disappear into the distance, letting out a long sigh of relief.
The brief moment of ease was quickly replaced by an indescribable irritability. The encroaching reality, the lingering past, the messy and incomprehensible present... To deal with this, Xiao Fengtai always had one simple, quick solution. He pulled out his phone and began scrolling through his contacts.
He knew a few Broadway actors who were quite adventurous. Not the stout, opera-type singers who turned beet-red hitting high notes, but dancers with long blonde hair, stunning features, and slender, tall frames—who also happened to have decent voices. It wasn't the peak performance season, so some might not be in New York, but he had to try his luck—and his luck was usually good.
He scrolled through his contacts from top to bottom and quickly found a few suitable candidates. But as his thumb rubbed over the names, he couldn't bring himself to press the call button. Xiao Fengtai stood there on the street, hesitating and pondering, breathing in exhaust fumes for fifteen minutes before finally cursing under his breath and shoving the phone back into his pocket. He hailed a taxi to return to his hotel.
*Forget it,* he thought gloomily, watching the cityscape blur past the window. He had meetings over the next two days and hadn't adjusted to the jet lag yet. It was better to head back and rest early so he wouldn't mess up his work.
Suddenly, his phone buzzed. He pulled it out, and the screen boldly displayed the culprit behind his current unease.
"Do you have time next weekend?" Jiang Tong had sent a WeChat message, accompanied by a photo. "I managed to get two tickets to a Broadway musical."
Jiang Tong was asking him out? Xiao Fengtai felt a surge of absurdity. He wanted to tell the man that he had slept with several performers in that orchestra; if Jiang Tong liked them, he could play host and introduce them.
He had thought there was a mutual understanding between them: once they stepped out of that hotel room, their relationship was strictly that of an investor and a founder—and in the eyes of outsiders, even that single layer was precarious and far from harmonious.
He had already drafted a refusal. He wrote it, deleted it, wrote it again. The hotel’s flags were visible in the distance, yet he still couldn't press send.
"It’s fine if it’s inconvenient," Jiang Tong seemed to sense his hesitation from the other side of the screen. "I just thought you might be interested... and I couldn't find anyone else to go with."
"The seats are very good; it would be a waste to let them go. I can give both to you. You can do whatever you want with them."
"I'll check my schedule," Xiao Fengtai finally replied. "I'll let you know in a few days."
The taxi pulled into the hotel driveway. As he got out, he gave the driver an extra dollar in tip, unaware that he was smiling.
***
