PMWAIAAPM Chapter 29

Chapter 29

Since the incident at the Star Sea Amusement Park in the northern suburbs, the company’s financial statements have looked poor, and the real estate company is facing the need to transform in the internet age, making liquidity a top priority.

The scale of the company has grown to the point where it’s no longer just a few friends playing house; he needs to attract investment and build connections.

Tan Yushen holds a significant position in international finance and possesses substantial resources. It’s already been rumored that the Tan family has only one son, and Tan Zhiyu was raised in the palms of his parents since he was a child.

Xing Yang is now in need of assistance to facilitate this collaboration, and the dinner is scheduled at the Hua Tian Hotel.

The international jewelry charity gala held once a year in the capital city attracts not just local elites but guests from around the world. Previously, Xing Yang might not have had the qualifications to attend such events; he is still a young businessman under thirty, and the tricks he knows have already become outdated in the presence of these financial giants.

The invitation was given to him by Tan Yushen. Naturally, for Xing Yang to gain access to this heavenly door, he must pay the price—the Star Sea Amusement Park project not only has to surrender fifteen percent of its net profits, but even all the earnings from attending the Hua Tian dinner must split fifty percent with Tan Yushen.

In other words, if Xing Yang manages to find a partner willing to invest one hundred million at the Hua Tian gala, he would only receive fifty million.

To soar into high society, one naturally has to buy a plane ticket at an expensive price, and Xing Yang understands this principle.

At the venue, simply and elegantly decorated in gray and white, Xing Yang is in conversation with several newly acquainted investors: “Mr. Xing is so young, the future looks limitless!”

Several men stand together, their secretaries behind them holding number plates, ready to bid on the charity jewels showcased by the hosts on stage.

“You flatter me.” Xing Yang, being the junior in the group, respectfully downs his drink whenever someone offers praise.

In the distance, thunderous applause suddenly erupts.

Following the sound to locate its source, he sees not just the jewels under the spotlight but also the agent who has just taken the stage.

“Tan, isn’t that Zhiyu?”

“This kid, no longer small but still likes to show off; I heard he canceled a commitment today out of consideration for my return and insisted on appearing at the gala, even saying he would serve as the agent for today’s jewels with all proceeds going to charity.” Tan Yushen chuckles, swirling his wine glass.

“This child really has grown handsome; my daughter loves his movies.”

“Indeed, are they preparing arranged marriages for your children…?”

“Nowadays, as long as young people don’t go overboard, let them be,” Tan Yushen replies cheerfully, his tone light-hearted.

In the elite circles where arranged marriages are still necessary, Tan Yushen’s perspective feels refreshingly unconventional.

The venue for the gala is vast, like a grand stage play. On stage, Tan Zhiyu smoothly answers the hosts’ questions, and when he steps down, he walks in their direction, surrounded by bosses he used to call uncles as a child.

“Dad.” Tan Zhiyu stands with his back straight; his slender, triangular physique complements the sleek black suit that gives off an unmatched elegance. He tilts his head and focuses his handsome face on Xing Yang: “Is this your new partner? I haven’t seen him before.”

Tan Yushen is puzzled: “Isn’t the film Mr. Xing is investing in the one starring Zhiyu? Didn’t you two meet before?”

Tan Zhiyu looks at him sincerely: “Really? I’ve been too busy lately.”

“Have we met?” he asks again.

“No…” Xing Yang humbly lowers his head: “It’s an honor to collaborate with Mr. Tan’s son.”

He accommodates everyone present, but he feels quite at home; then, raising his glass, he finishes the red wine: “I hope to have a pleasant cooperation with Young Master Tan in the future.”

Tan Zhiyu could have chosen not to come.

His bond with his father is shallow, and their father-son relationship is so slight it’s hard to articulate. Tan Yushen, although not remarried, has a family abroad, complete with children. He is strict with his children, never allowing for laxity.

Though he was sad at home this morning, he decides to clarify things with Xing Yang.

If he doesn’t like it, there’s no need to force it.

A forced relationship doesn’t bear sweet fruit.

As an invited agent, this is also his first time seeing how Xing Yang deals in the business world.

Those older men tease him to drink; Secretary Wang wants to step in to block the drinks but is halted by him: “It’s an honor for me to meet a few of you here, so let’s toast to that.”

His approach is straightforward, and for his goals, he is genuinely unyielding.

At the dinner following the charity gala’s conclusion, Tan Zhiyu occupies a central position at the table, watching as he gets bullied by several older gentlemen. They compel him into concessions, letting profits slide, and although Xing Yang is a junior, he humorously lightens the mood: “I’ll drink two more cups myself; after all, I’m just a small-time real estate businessman. I truly can’t give up more on the margins, but if you don’t mind, I have a collected painting by Teacher Wang Fan at home. How about we balance things out?”

He has long grasped everyone’s boundaries and tastes. Having consumed who knows how many bottles of drinks throughout the night, anyone caught by Xing Yang ends up ensnared in an investment spider web.

President Wang of Jingtai Technology has already surpassed sixty, with his son still studying in Toronto: “Mr. Xing is still single, right? Ah, everyone says my son is a promising material for academic research, but he’s not interested in managing a company. He’s actually a little younger than you…”

“Mr. Xing’s style of handling matters doesn’t resemble an omega at all. If you’re not married, how about I introduce you one day?” Tan Yushen claps him on the shoulder, seemingly approving of the thought.

All eyes at the table turn to Xing Yang, and Tan Zhiyu taps nervously on the table with his fingertips, curious about Xing Yang’s response.

Xing Yang has a good tolerance for alcohol, but there is a limit to everything. His flushed face, the warmth escaping his breath, distorts the chopsticks on the table. Secretary Wang hands him a cup of honey water: “Our Mr. Xing is still unmarried.”

“Indeed, as the junior, I am foolish. For matters in business, I need to seek advice from all of you, let alone such a significant matter as marriage; who could fancy a workaholic always away from home,”

Laughter rings out in the private room, joking that he’s too self-deprecating, that he’s young, and that there’s still time for everything.

——

“Cough, cough—”

At midnight, Xing Yang can’t remember how much he has drunk. His face is red, nearly buried in the sink, on the verge of throwing up breakfast.

The red velvet carpet in the restroom darkens from water splatters.

Thud.

The restroom door swings open from the outside, each space being a separate stall. Xing Yang assumes it’s Secretary Wang bringing water. He pulls out painkillers from his pocket and puts them in his mouth, splashing water on his face. Still a bit hoarse from the recent vomiting, he asks, “Have Tan and the others left?”

“Not yet.” A man stands behind him, observing him wash his face, his inner dress shirt undone in the mirror.

“Hmm?” Hearing an unusual tone, Xing Yang opens his eyes, supporting himself on the sink amid dizziness: “Zhiyu…”

“Going through so much trouble to please them, all for some money; you really are quite superficial.” Tan Zhiyu scoffs lightly, showing his disdain.

He dislikes seeing Xing Yang trying to placate those old men at the dinner table, not allowing his gaze to linger on him for even half a second.

He despises this version of Xing Yang, even more than he hates those maddening bastards making things difficult for him.

“Is that so?” Xing Yang wipes his face, chewing the painkiller in his mouth. Habitually, he pulls out a suppressor from his pocket.

Feeling a bit dizzy, he bites off the protective shell on the needle, pushes away the short hair on the back of his neck, revealing the honey-colored gland: “Then in Mr. Tan’s imagination, what am I like?”

“Would you mind giving me an injection of suppressants?”

Tan Zhiyu: “!?”

He isn’t dead yet, so why use suppressants?