Chapter 25: Dionysus (5)

In Tan Zhao’s vision, Wen Mingwei would deliberate for a while before agreeing to work with him. Then, they would outline a plan and discuss together how to deal with those people on the board of directors.

His first guess was correct; Wen Mingwei did indeed take a day to consider it, giving him an answer only on the following afternoon.

His second guess, however, was wrong. Wen Mingwei did not discuss anything with him; instead, he sent over a file directly.

The file was comprehensive, containing all private information on the twenty-seven directors of the Tan Group—excluding Tan Zhao—as well as the acting chairman, Tan Yi. It covered family history, social circles, medical records, tax status, financial dealings, personal hobbies, and more. The data was categorized and detailed to a hair-raising degree.

Take one executive director as an example: his dossier included his history of success, his marriage and romantic history, how many times he had cheated, the backgrounds of those he had affairs with, and whether he had any sensitive social connections. It also included evidence of his abuse of power for personal gain and his exploitation of subordinates, as well as his vacation preferences, his exposure to certain types of new narcotics, his religious beliefs, and his penchant for collecting antiques—though he was frequently swindled. The antique painting hanging in his living room, supposedly worth fifty million, was a fake.

Tan Zhao felt his scalp tingle as he read.

If it were just the information of one or two people, it would be unremarkable. But nearly thirty individuals had been skinned and dismantled; they had no secrets left.

It was obvious that this information could not have been gathered in a single day. Wen Mingwei had been at it for a long time.

So, when did it start? And what was his motive?

Tan Zhao was in his car at the time, speaking to Wen Mingwei on the phone. His first reaction was to ask, "Have you ever investigated me?"

Wen Mingwei let out a laugh and, surprisingly, did not deny it. "Guess."

Tan Zhao: "..."

No wonder Wen Mingwei knew exactly what he liked to eat and was well-versed in his personal preferences before he even had to ask.

In truth, Tan Zhao could understand a behind-the-scenes strategist having a desire for information control. But if one were to apply this need for control to a romantic relationship, it seemed a bit—

Tan Zhao paused, recalling various popular tropes from films and television, such as the "dangerous boyfriend" or the "yandere lover."

Wen Mingwei didn't look the part at all.

Then again, if he were, it didn't seem entirely unacceptable.

Wen Mingwei, unaware of what the young master was imagining, spoke in his usual soft, gentle tone: "Take your time reading it. You don't need me to teach you what to do next, do you?"

"Of course not," Tan Zhao replied.

—The first day of their collaboration.

Tan Zhao did not reply to his uncle, who had been waiting for his news. Instead, he drove a high-profile sports car to the company, looking refreshed and brimming with spirit.

Just as some were secretly speculating that the young master might have found some way to make a comeback and were waiting for him to act, he did nothing at all. He simply brought two cleaners, opened the door to the chairman's office—the one Tan Yingzhuo had used while alive—and had the room thoroughly scrubbed.

It felt like a silent omen. The hundred-story-plus Tan Group headquarters descended into an eerie silence, like the stillness before a storm.

Without asking for anyone's permission, Tan Zhao moved all his office belongings into that room in broad daylight and sat in his grandfather's chair.

Tan Yi was furious, ordering him to move out immediately and stop causing a scene.

Tan Zhao remained unmoved, looking back at him calmly. He thought to himself that he hadn't noticed before, but every time Tan Yi spoke to him in public, he used words like "nonsense," "childish," "be serious," or "can't you be more mature?" It was as if he were trying to brainwash everyone, welding the label of "unreliable" firmly onto him.

He had indeed had his own issues back then, but he had always been earnest and serious about company business; he had never "caused a scene." His only fault was that his temper was too visible and his presence too volatile, which inevitably made him seem less steady.

But now he understood: "steadiness" was actually quite simple.

He only needed to be like Wen Mingwei—acting as if he hadn't heard a word, casting a casual, indifferent glance at the other person. Without him having to say much, the other party would naturally feel slighted and fly into a rage.

"Please, calm down."

Tan Zhao picked up a pen from the desk and, subconsciously imitating Wen Mingwei's habit, tapped the table with composure. He turned his cold gaze toward the door and said, "I'm simply moving to a different office; it's a waste of resources to leave it empty. If you really find it an eyesore, you can just peel the word 'Chairman' off the door, and there won't be a problem."

Tan Yi: "..."

The young master had changed his face overnight, his attitude now unfathomable. It left Tan Yi feeling insecure and the entire company in a state of panic.

Since he sat there and refused to leave, and no one dared to move against him, they had to let it be. Thus, the chairman's office became his as a matter of course.

Other than that, Tan Zhao did nothing.

On the second day, he still took no obvious action, only meeting privately with a younger, non-board executive.

On the third day, he attended the board meeting called to finalize the acting chairman's position. At first, he watched coldly from the sidelines, offering no opinion. But when the voting began, he suddenly struck, randomly selecting an old director who was a staunch supporter of Tan Yi. He publicly displayed evidence of the man's illicit activities and violations of company conduct, demanding that, according to regulations, he be voted off the board first and then handed over to the judicial authorities.

On the fourth day, during the endless stream of meetings, Tan Zhao proposed that the executive he had met with earlier fill the vacancy and be promoted to the board. No one spoke up to agree, but no one spoke up to oppose, either. The twenty-seven directors present, including him and the acting chairman, cast one vote in opposition, one in favor, and twenty-six abstentions.

Abstention meant the board had returned to a state of wait-and-see; no one dared to take a side rashly.

By this point, in just four short days, Tan Zhao had shaken off his decline and returned with high spirits.

During the day at the company, Tan Zhao was always expressionless, his sharp suit immaculate, the top button of his shirt fastened, his leather shoes polished to a shine. He walked with a cold breeze in his wake.

He seemed like a different person, chilling to behold.

But at night, when he returned home, he would change his face. He would often lean toward Wen Mingwei, letting the latter help him undo his tie as if he had no hands of his own, then cling to him for a kiss and tell him everything that had happened that day.

Although he was just as exhausted as before, the exhaustion of the past had been gray and dismal; the current exhaustion held a glimmer of hope.

Tan Zhao had always been a confident person, but in these past few days, he was increasingly triumphant, like a majestic lion whose aura could not be suppressed.

As his "keeper," Wen Mingwei was satisfied, though he couldn't help but feel a touch of emotion.

He suddenly realized that the way he looked at Tan Zhao now was the same way the Marshal had looked at him many years ago.

—The year he first met the Marshal, Wen Mingwei was twelve.

It was a wretched scene back then.

It was no coincidence, because the Wen Mingwei of that time lived in a state of wretchedness and tragedy; it was difficult for anyone to ever catch a glimpse of his polished side.

If he remembered correctly, he was being tormented by Wen Mingzhi that day. The latter had endless ways to bully him, with lackeys helping to devise schemes. Wen Mingwei tried to avoid that group every day, but they would seek him out personally, making it impossible to escape.

He had been cornered at the door of his room, and a dress was thrown at his feet.

Wen Mingzhi said, "My friend says you look like a girl. Why don't you dress up as one and show us?"

"..."

"What do you say, my dear, good brother?"

Wen Mingwei walked out with a dark face, only to be grabbed by the shoulder and shoved back. Without hesitation, he threw a punch at Wen Mingzhi’s face, breaking his second brother’s ugly nose and causing blood to spray everywhere.

Surprised by his strength, Wen Mingzhi paused for a moment before flying into a rage.

The rest unfolded as it always did: Wen Mingwei curled up skillfully to protect his vital organs, while punches and kicks rained down on him like a storm.

Later, when he was beaten to the point where he couldn't crawl off the floor, he kept his face cold, neither begging for mercy nor shedding tears. In a fleeting moment of daze, he looked up and saw a strange face.

It was Zheng He, who had not been at the Wen family long—a nameless second lieutenant who had not yet become a Marshal.

Zheng He met Wen Mingwei’s eyes, which were filled with deep-seated hatred, and felt a jolt in his heart. He asked the person beside him, "Who is that?"

The man gave an awkward smile. "That’s our young master. The kids are just playing around. Let’s not get involved..."

"..." Zheng He was not Jian Qingzheng. Every day he spent at the Wen family, he was terrified of making a mistake. He didn't even dare to save a bullied young boy, acting subservient and full of hypocrisy.

Therefore, Wen Mingwei had no good impression of him at the start.

Their real acquaintance happened after Zheng He was also beaten by Wen Mingzhi.

That day, Wen Mingwei passed by and saw Zheng He being thrown out the door by his second brother’s henchmen, accompanied by a few vile insults. Wen Mingwei didn't know the specifics, but he wasn't in a good mood either. Seeing this, he mocked, "You’re an adult, aren't you? Must be thirty? To shamelessly suck up to Wen Mingzhi, don't you feel pathetic?"

Zheng He climbed up from the ground, neither angry nor embarrassed. He calmly dusted off his clothes and said, "To accomplish extraordinary things, one must naturally endure what ordinary people cannot."

"What kind of nonsense is that?"

Wen Mingwei turned to leave, but Zheng He actually followed him. "I heard, your name is Wen Mingwei, and you're an illegitimate child."

"None of your damn business."

"I don't think you look like your father."

"..."

Wen Mingwei’s footsteps faltered. Zheng He smiled. "Have you had dinner? Do you want to eat with me? My treat."

Wen Mingwei didn't want to go, but for some reason he couldn't explain, not only did he go, he even called Jian Qingzheng along.

Later, he thought it might have been because Zheng He’s tone had been so natural—not like an adult talking to a child, but like a conversation between peers—which made him feel "taken seriously" in a way he never had before.

From then on, Zheng He met with him often.

Of course, it was usually in secret, because Zheng He was still pretending to curry favor with Wen Mingzhi and didn't dare to offend him.

Zheng He was an ambitious man, but also an idealist—at least, the young Wen Mingwei believed that the version of him back then truly had ideals.

He said the Alliance government was incompetent and that he would personally clear the chaos, change society, and ensure that children could live in a safe environment where no one would ever be bullied without a path to justice.

"Like you."

Zheng He looked at Wen Mingwei, his eyes shining. "New Continent is not a place beyond the reach of the law. One day, I will be able to do it."

That was the Marshal’s political ideal in his youth.

And for many years after, it was the guiding light that sustained Wen Mingwei.

That was why he was willing to call Zheng He his teacher and accept his guidance and help.

His growth was exceptionally rapid. Later, almost every time they met, Zheng He would praise him for his recent deeds, looking at him as if he were looking at his own most successful work, filled with pride.

It was a pity that people change.

There are countless crossroads in life, and no two lucky souls can walk together forever.