Chapter 13: The Veil of Maya (13)

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On the way to the hospital, Wen Mingwei’s phone remained connected to Tan Zhao’s call. Tan Zhao, assuming Wen Mingwei didn’t know his location, proactively gave him the hospital’s address and a password to enter.

It was a private hospital with strict security: electric fences surrounded the walls on all sides, and a dozen security guards blocked a crowd of reporters who had rushed over upon hearing the news. As Wen Mingwei’s car approached, cameras quickly pivoted toward him.

Unfortunately, the car windows were heavily tinted, the guards swiftly allowed entry, and the sharpest reporters only managed to capture an ordinary license plate number.

“I’ve arrived,” Wen Mingwei said into the phone.

He instructed Gu Jing to find a parking spot nearby. Looking around, more than twenty luxury cars were already parked outside the hospital building—likely relatives of Tan Yingzhuo and senior executives of the group.

Compared to these people, Wen Mingwei’s presence was unofficial and awkward; it was hard to introduce himself when they met. Perhaps realizing this, Tan Zhao didn’t invite him upstairs but told him to wait a moment and came down to meet him himself.

It was a blazing July morning, with the sun shining brightly, yet a heavy and solemn atmosphere enveloped the hospital’s surroundings. Medical staff occasionally hurried past under the shade of green trees, heads lowered and expressions grave.

Wen Mingwei rolled down the car window and saw Tan Zhao coming out of the building.

Tan Zhao had clearly not slept all night; his clothes were unchanged, his hair less styled than before, his face marked by exhaustion with slightly reddened eyes, as if he had been crying.

—Indeed, he looked “not well at all.”

Wen Mingwei opened the car door and beckoned to him. Tan Zhao immediately climbed in without a word.

Wen Mingwei said to Gu Jing, “You go rest for a bit.”

Gu Jing obeyed and left them alone.

Once the door closed, the heat from the sun was blocked out, and the light dimmed slightly. Tan Zhao sat to Wen Mingwei’s right. Looking closely, Wen Mingwei noticed a red thread wrapped around Tan Zhao’s wrist—the jade piece from last night, which he had taken off from his neck and clenched in his hand.

Wen Mingwei understood that this action wasn’t about the jade’s significance; Tan Zhao was just instinctively clutching something, gripping it tightly to vent his emotions.

“Tan Zhao,” Wen Mingwei called softly, “have you eaten anything this morning?”

“No appetite,” Tan Zhao replied, his head bowed, the tension in his profile apparent. His jaw tightened slightly, as if feeling that he wasn’t close enough to Wen Mingwei to let his guard down, forcing himself to suppress the sting rising in his sinuses and maintain his composure.

Wen Mingwei watched him in silence for a moment.

In truth, Wen Mingwei was a man who could speak well—he could deliver an impromptu speech without notes. Comforting Tan Zhao wouldn’t be difficult. But stripping away all the flowery and useless words, and offering a few sincere, heartfelt remarks was much harder.

After waiting a while without any response, Tan Zhao grew a little frustrated: “Why are you here? To keep me company while I zone out?”

Wen Mingwei was silent for a moment longer before saying, “I saw some news about your grandfather’s condition. What exactly happened?”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Tan Zhao said. “I’ve been discussing it all night, and it’s giving me a headache.”

“‘They’ meaning?”

“My eldest uncle, my second aunt, the board of directors.”

“……”

Wen Mingwei had been paying close attention to Tan Zhao for a long time and knew about everything around him, including some internal matters of the Tan family.

Overall, Tan Yingzhuo had been a dictatorial patriarch who ruled his children and subordinates with absolute authority. Apart from Tan Zhao, he favored no one and tolerated no challenges to his power.

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This is a common ailment of heads of large families. Wen Mingwei’s own grandfather, Old Master Wen, was similar back in the day. Unfortunately, Wen Mingwei was not the Tan family’s “Tan Zhao”—that role belonged to his second elder brother Wen Mingzhe.

Such families usually maintained a facade of peace, but behind the scenes, those out of favor harbored various thoughts—Wen Mingwei understood this better than anyone.

If time could rewind ten years, he might have even taken out his anger on Tan Zhao for this reason. But after his father and brothers died at his hands, when he recalled the unpleasant face of Wen Mingzhe back then, he felt not hatred but a kind of pitiful nostalgia.

Tan Zhao was not Wen Mingzhe; he was far less malicious in thought and deed.

But lacking cunning was not an advantage—it was a weakness. If thrown into a fiercely competitive environment, how much chance would he have to succeed?

Wen Mingwei unusually fell silent again, then suddenly asked, “Tan Zhao, what are your plans?”

“……”

The question was too broad. Red-eyed, Tan Zhao looked up but could not yet detach himself from his grief. He misunderstood Wen Mingwei’s meaning, thinking he was still probing about Tan Yingzhuo’s death—like those endless relatives and reporters.

“I’m already investigating. Grandpa had no history of heart disease…”

He lowered his head, leaning against the front seat. “But I don’t want to talk about that now. I just want a few minutes of quiet. Wen Mingwei, do you understand?”

“……”

The air conditioning inside the car was set at a comfortable temperature, yet Tan Zhao seemed chilled, his shoulders trembling slightly, losing all his composure.

Wen Mingwei silently reached out, pulling him into his arms. He felt Tan Zhao stiffen briefly, then submit, releasing all his strength and collapsing heavily against his shoulder.

“Don’t cry,” Wen Mingwei said. “If you don’t want to talk, then don’t. Just rest a bit.”

Tan Zhao pressed his temple against Wen Mingwei’s, not responding, and it seemed unlikely he would fall asleep.

Wen Mingwei gave him space to calm down, remaining silent for a long while. But Tan Zhao, dissatisfied with this quiet comfort, reached behind Wen Mingwei and fumbled for a moment before playfully undoing his hair—a childish prank, forcing him to say something.

But he did not speak.

Tan Zhao intensified his plea, needing comfort even more: “Wen Mingwei, I feel awful.”

“Hang in there,” Wen Mingwei said unexpectedly. “If you can’t process your emotions yourself, you’ll suffer even more later.”

“...Is that how you court me?”

Tan Zhao straightened up, about to lose his temper, but the next second Wen Mingwei pressed him back onto his shoulder. His nose brushed against the protruding bone of Wen Mingwei’s shoulder, sharp pain shooting through it. Before he could react, Wen Mingwei held the back of his head, stroking and massaging his neck like comforting a beloved dog—silent solace.

“……” Except for the times his grandfather treated him like this as a child, Tan Zhao had never been this close to anyone.

The more Wen Mingwei comforted him, the more his eyes stung, his throat tightened, as if pouring all the pent-up pain of the night into the touch soothing him.

Yet he did not cry. He forced himself to straighten suddenly, pushing Wen Mingwei back into the seat, adopting a stronger demeanor.

“You’re staying with me today,” Tan Zhao demanded unreasonably. “I have to meet the police later and attend a company meeting. You can’t leave; wait for me outside.”

“……”

Wen Mingwei let him pin him down, thought for a moment, then agreed, “Alright.”

Tan Zhao finally felt somewhat better. Just then, someone knocked on the car window.

It was Gu Jing’s voice: “Mingwei, someone is here to see Mr. Tan.”

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Wen Mingwei pushed Tan Zhao slightly aside and opened the car door.

Gu Jing stepped back politely, revealing a man in a black suit standing behind him—one of Tan Yingzhuo’s former secretaries.

The man clearly didn’t know Wen Mingwei, nor why he was so close to Tan Zhao, but he was well-mannered. After a brief glance, he averted his eyes and said, “Young master, the vice chairman requests you return immediately. There’s an urgent matter to discuss.”

Tan Zhao nodded solemnly and, before getting out, threw Wen Mingwei a look reminding him not to forget their earlier agreement.

After Tan Zhao left, Gu Jing returned to the car and closed the door.

In the rearview mirror, Wen Mingwei’s disheveled black hair and a shirt with two buttons undone showed no expression, but Gu Jing could sense his mood was far from good.

“Do you have any plans?” Gu Jing rarely questioned Wen Mingwei; he usually followed orders without asking why. But that phone call this morning had stirred memories—not only in Wen Mingwei but also in Gu Jing—leaving him somewhat unsettled.

Wen Mingwei didn’t answer immediately. Slowly buttoning up his shirt, he suddenly said, “Check who the marshal has been dealing with recently among the financial tycoons.”

Gu Jing immediately pulled out his phone.

He was Wen Mingwei’s living information network, with countless lines of surveillance. Usually, the most monitored person was Tan Zhao; besides him, several key figures were also tracked, including Marshal Zheng He and many of Wen Mingwei’s own subordinates.

Strictly speaking, Wen Mingwei was a man with a strong desire for control.

Not just over a single individual, but over everything—trying to keep all accessible information in his grasp to oversee the entire situation.

But unlike some other powerful figures with similar control obsessions, Wen Mingwei rarely lost his temper when matters slipped beyond control. He had no anger. Gu Jing couldn’t even recall the last time he saw Wen Mingwei angry.

The phone was filled with a flood of information. After a few minutes, Gu Jing reported the key points: “Twice. Six months ago, the marshal’s agent had a confidential meeting with Tan Yingzhuo’s trusted aide. Five months ago, there was a meeting with Tan Yi, then no further contact. It’s unclear whether communication was cut off, switched to other channels, or if they’re avoiding our surveillance. Apart from the Tan family, there have been no other contacts.”

Tan Yi was Tan Zhao’s uncle.

The same “vice chairman” mentioned by the secretary just now.

With Wen Mingwei’s understanding of Zheng He, once this man committed to a cooperation, he wouldn’t give up easily—otherwise, he wouldn’t have walked through the Wen family’s gates in the first place.

Now, his focus was the Tan family.

But Tan Yingzhuo was dead.

The reason was not hard to guess. Tan Yingzhuo was a farsighted, principled businessman—almost stubbornly so—who refused to involve the group in any criminal activities or allow external forces to influence its development, even during turbulent social times. How could he now easily compromise and take the risk of political entanglements?

Most likely, the failure to reach a cooperation agreement had incurred the marshal’s displeasure.

After all, the marshal was no longer the low-ranking officer he once was. He wouldn’t repeatedly lower himself to plead. In his eyes, Tan Yingzhuo was simply uncooperative and would be replaced by someone else. What he wanted was merely the Tan family’s capital.

And the person he intended to replace him with was probably the Tan Yi he had contacted before.

No wonder this morning Zheng He said on the phone that the one he wanted to use wasn’t Tan Zhao.

Wen Mingwei pondered for a moment, then shook his head and sighed, “Even the marshal can see our young master is useless.”

“……”

He felt a bit helpless, mixed with a subtle and indescribable tenderness. Then he fell silent and lowered his head to send a message to Tan Zhao.

After sending it, Wen Mingwei put down his phone, tidied his messy long hair, and instructed Gu Jing, “You can head back now. Leave the car here for me. You don’t need to follow today.”