Chapter 33.2

“Let him,” Chen Zhiqian replied casually as he stopped at a red light and looked over at Fan Qi. “If he buys in, he’s just burning money himself. Anyway, he’s rich—this small amount doesn’t matter to him.”

“True enough!”

The car pulled up to the Yuan Group building in Repulse Bay. The original Fan Qi had never really appreciated the architecture before, but now she was instantly taken with it—its fluid curves softened the clean, white exterior beautifully.

Fan Qi opened the door and got out, Chen Zhiqian following behind. After locking the car, he walked with her toward the entrance.

“You don’t need to come with me. It’s just a quick procedure—you can wait in the car.”

“I’ll go in with you. I’m here to visit an elder,” Chen Zhiqian said, striding forward with her.

The adjacent annex housed the main hall of the Shanghai Commercial Bank—a name that was a bit misleading, as there was no such bank in Shanghai.

Like the Yuan Group building, the bank had relocated south during the wartime years.

Inside, the hall was decorated in white and light natural wood, with soft curves everywhere. On the right, a light wooden spiral staircase with flowing lines led up to a mezzanine with matching railing.

Just then, an elderly gentleman in a suit, puffing on a cigar, stepped out onto the mezzanine and called down, “Zhiqian, come up.”

This man was Yuan Zai-de, a media tycoon in Hong Kong. His family had founded Yongyu Film Company in Shanghai during the 1930s. After the Mukden Incident, Mr. Yuan had been dispatched to Hong Kong, marking the beginning of the Yongyu media empire.

Chen’s father had once told Liu Xiangnian that during the Japanese occupation of Hong Kong, the old man who was assassinated had been none other than Mr. Yuan’s father.

Chen Zhiqian reached for Fan Qi’s hand. “Come on, let’s go greet Grandpa Yuan.”

Wait—he called this man “Grandpa”?

Fan Qi followed him upstairs. When they reached Yuan Zai-de, Chen Zhiqian said, “Grandpa Yuan, this is my wife, Fan Qi.”

“Hello, Grandpa Yuan,” Fan Qi greeted sweetly.

“What a fine-looking couple,” Mr. Yuan said, turning to lead them inside. “Come, let’s have tea in my office.”

As Chen Zhiqian led her forward, Fan Qi tugged at his arm. He leaned in and she whispered, “Won’t this delay the paperwork?”

“It won’t. You’ll still get it done,” he said quietly.

Mr. Yuan continued up the stairs, and the two followed.

One entire wall was covered in circular windows of various sizes. Who would have thought of turning an entire wall into a polka-dot pattern?

Through the round glass windows, they could see the seascape of Repulse Bay.

“What are you looking at?” Chen Zhiqian asked.

“This building is so beautiful—inside and out,” Fan Qi said softly, in awe.

Mr. Yuan paused. “All these design details were your grandmother’s ideas.”

“What? Grandma’s? From the 1930s?” The minimalist style looked fresh even by 21st-century standards.

“Yes. The building was co-designed by Marcus and your grandmother. Marcus did the structural design; Wanyin handled the details. We’ve maintained it exactly according to the original blueprints all these years—almost nothing has changed,” Mr. Yuan said, his voice filled with nostalgia.

“My father came to Hong Kong in such a rush this time. Next time, I’ll be sure he comes to see this place.”

“It’s been forty years since we last saw each other. Back then, your father was just a little boy. In the blink of an eye, now you’re a grown man. Time flies,” Mr. Yuan said, full of emotion as he led them to his office.

At the office door, Fan Qi turned to Chen Zhiqian. “Why don’t you stay and have tea with Mr. Yuan? I’ll head downstairs and finish the paperwork.”

Mr. Yuan turned back and said, “I’ll have someone bring the paperwork up to you.”

And just like that, Fan Qi found herself sitting in Mr. Yuan’s office with a panoramic sea view, watching Chen Zhiqian have tea with the legendary elder.

“The Adventures of Panda Xixi”—this cartoon series, Ah Yuan and I decided to push forward with it while Sino-American relations are still in a good place.”

Panda Xixi? Only then did Fan Qi realize what he was talking about, and turned to look at Chen Zhiqian. “Wasn’t it called Cuicui?”

“Didn’t you say Cuicui didn’t sound good?” he whispered beside her ear. “Or would you rather it be called Panda Qiqi?”

With that, Fan Qi gave him a quick sideways glance and lowered her head to sip her coffee. Chen Zhiqian and Mr. Yuan continued discussing the production of the cartoon series.

At that moment, a man in his forties knocked on the door. “Dad, you wanted to see me?”

“Come in.”

Fan Qi recognized him—Yuan Hai, the second son of the Yuan family, currently managing Yongxin’s radio and television networks. It was rumored that the change to the opening sequence of Tang Yuanchao’s project to Changxing had been orchestrated through him, thanks to a connection with Xu Xia from Changxing.

“This is Ah Qian, the grandson of your Aunt Wanyin. He’s been in Hong Kong for a year now. If his wife hadn’t shown up at the reception wearing your Aunt Wanyin’s necklace, I wouldn’t even have known her grandson was here.”

Hearing his father’s introduction, Yuan Hai looked briefly confused, but the expression quickly vanished. He stepped forward and extended his hand. “Hello.”

“Hello, Uncle. I’m Chen Zhiqian.”

Fan Qi chimed in beside him, “Hello, Uncle. I’m Fan Qi.”

Yuan Hai looked at her with slight surprise. “Hello.”

After the greetings, they all sat down. Mr. Yuan turned to his son and said, “Ah Qian has a pretty good idea—I wanted you to hear him out.”

Yuan Hai nodded. “OK.”

“Uncle, as you may know, Ah Yuan has invested in me. Our company currently makes television gaming consoles, and we’ve developed two flagship games—The Adventures of Panda Xixi and Super Tycoon. I’d like to commission Yongxin to produce an animated series based on Panda Xixi. Given our development timeline, the console will take about a year to launch, so the animation can be produced and aired in parallel. I estimate from pre-production to broadcast it’ll also take roughly a year…”

Combining gaming with animation? That was a pretty avant-garde idea for this era. Fan Qi immediately thought of her childhood favorite, Pikachu, a character born from a hit game. This approach could really work.

“Ah Yuan and I discussed how, with current close ties between the U.S. and China, there’s growing interest among Americans to understand China. Our plan is to distribute this series in North America. Through Panda Xixi’s journey—from its hometown in Sichuan—we aim to showcase a slice of China’s culture…”

Fan Qi agreed with him entirely. But why did the panda’s favorite foods include spicy Shanghai noodles, Nanjing’s salted duck, and Shandong’s jianbing guozi?

He was clearly discussing business seriously—so why did it feel like he was sneakily teasing her?

A secretary knocked and entered: “Sir, Ms. Fan’s paperwork is ready.”

Chen Zhiqian patted her hand. “Go take care of it.”

Fan Qi nodded, stood, and followed the secretary to a meeting room on the same floor. Inside were her agent Cai Jiadong and two staffers. Cai Jiadong looked at her like he’d seen a ghost.

The secretary stood beside her, waiting for her to sign. Fan Qi reviewed the settlement statement. Normally, her compensation from WO wouldn’t arrive for another two months, but to her surprise, it was being paid out immediately.

She signed and accepted a cash-filled envelope from one of the staffers. “Thank you!”

She took the money, and the secretary handed her the necessary documents—essential for transferring to her next employer.

In the outer office, the secretary found a folder, placed the documents inside, and handed it to her. “Ms. Fan, please keep this safe.”

Fan Qi returned to Mr. Yuan’s office and sat beside Chen Zhiqian.

He leaned toward her and said, “I spoke with Grandpa Yuan and Uncle—we’ll invite Shanghai Animation Film Studio to co-produce Panda Xixi.”

That brought back her childhood memories, and she instantly agreed. “Yes! And let’s add some ink-wash style elements. Not too Japanese or fully Western. Maybe Sun Wukong could make a guest appearance?”

Chen Zhiqian’s eyes sparkled with amusement. “Sure. You’ll help with creative input too?”

Fan Qi hesitated. “Better not. Let the professionals do their job. We just need to make the concept clear and not interfere too much with the creative process.”

As they spoke, Wang Shaoyang knocked and entered. “Boss.”

Fan Qi turned toward the voice. Why was Wang Shaoyang here?

Was Chen Zhiqian planning to let him direct the animation? Wasn’t he worried he’d turn the project into… something questionable?

“Shaoyang, weren’t you filming today? What a coincidence,” Mr. Yuan said, tone layered with hidden meaning.

Wang Shaoyang’s gaze flickered at the sight of the two. “I have an appointment.”

“Oh?” Mr. Yuan raised an eyebrow. “Calling you here didn’t disrupt anything, did it?”

Fan Qi stared at Wang Shaoyang. The phrase “I have an appointment” triggered something—after she saw Wang Shaoyang in the elevator the day before, her agent had called that very night. With only one week left on her contract, why the rush to end things early?

Could something shady have gone down at the company?

Suspicious and uneasy, Fan Qi looked toward Chen Zhiqian. She noticed his whole demeanor had shifted—no longer the warm, breezy man chatting with Mr. Yuan, but cold enough to freeze midsummer air.

Under that icy stare, even Wang Shaoyang’s walk looked stiff.

Wang Shaoyang answered nervously, “No.”

“Is it because the person you were meeting is sitting right here?” Mr. Yuan pressed.

Wang Shaoyang looked down at the floor. Normally confident and proud, the director now shrank like a quail before the entertainment tycoon.

Mr. Yuan stood and approached. “What did you say to Ms. Fan?”

Wang Shaoyang looked up at Fan Qi. In that moment, she felt muddled, and suddenly remembered Chen Zhiqian had also asked her what Wang Shaoyang had said.

Seeing the increasingly frosty look in Chen Zhiqian’s eyes, she came to a realization—seriously? Even when meeting at the office, there could be underhanded tricks?

Sweat began to bead on Wang Shaoyang’s forehead. Damn it—what terrible luck.