At nineteen, Zhuang Xu met Li Shanqing for the first time.
It was early autumn in Bingang, marked by the season’s first cold snap. The bright sun, which had been shining perfectly, seemed to have been stolen away, vanishing without a trace. The sky and the sea were cloaked in the gray of an overcast day.
The weather forecaster reminded citizens to add layers, as there was a high likelihood of rain starting by evening.
In the afternoon, Zhuang Xu arrived at Chen Zhou Liang Law Firm with two elders to discuss the details of preserving his father’s estate with Lawyer Zhou Shuxue.
Lawyer Zhou was one of Bingang’s top estate litigation attorneys, sharing a similar background with Zhuang Xu’s father. She had transitioned from military to civilian life and had handled numerous high-profile disputes with an exceptionally high success rate. In the two weeks Zhuang Xu had interacted with her, he had never seen her act unprofessionally—until three o’clock that afternoon when her short-haired assistant knocked and entered.
The assistant hurriedly approached, leaned close to her ear, and whispered a few words.
Sitting nearby, Zhuang Xu caught key phrases: “Shanqing,” “school,” “fight.”
After listening for a moment, Lawyer Zhou’s expression grew uneasy. She turned to Zhuang Xu and apologized, “I’m terribly sorry, I have an urgent matter to attend to and need to make a phone call. Could I trouble you all to wait for ten minutes?” After receiving their consent, she quickly left.
Ten minutes later, she returned to the meeting room on time and resumed discussing the case with Zhuang Xu and the others, offering suggestions. This was originally just a minor interruption, not significant enough to leave an impression on Zhuang Xu. However, as Lawyer Zhou escorted Zhuang Xu and the two elders out after finalizing all details, they passed a small meeting room with floor-to-ceiling glass windows.
Inside sat sixteen-year-old Li Shanqing.
The meeting room was perfectly square, its glass spotless. On the desk was a red-and-white medical kit, and a person who appeared to be a doctor sat across from Li Shanqing, disinfecting his wounds. Lawyer Zhou’s assistant stood behind him, watching nervously.
As with every encounter that followed, Li Shanqing’s appearance was frail and sickly.
His body seemed boneless, devoid of strength, slumped softly against the chair, letting the doctor tend to him. His chin was slightly raised, his breathing so faint it was barely noticeable, his chest hardly rising, as if he were a life-sized, exquisite doll displayed in a transparent glass case.
His skin was snow-white, with noticeable bruising at the corner of his mouth. His eyes were long and narrow, with large, dark, glossy pupils. When Zhuang Xu first saw him, he thought Li Shanqing seemed distracted, his expression unusually innocent and endearing.
But in the next moment, Li Shanqing seemed to sense movement outside and glanced over.
His lazy gaze met Zhuang Xu’s, pausing abruptly, suddenly sharp with an inexplicable intensity. Then, gripping the armrests, he sat up straight, turned toward the meeting room’s exterior, and fixed his eyes on Zhuang Xu without blinking.
His stare was blatant, his curiosity unmasked, and so intense it bordered on invasive, reaching a level of rudeness in Zhuang Xu’s eyes. A defensive irritation rose in Zhuang Xu, and he looked away, though in his peripheral vision, he noticed Li Shanqing speaking to the assistant, who also glanced in Zhuang Xu’s direction, discussing something unknown.
“This is my son,” Lawyer Zhou noticed and introduced briefly.
“Did your son get injured at school?” Zhuang Xu’s uncle, Zhuang Zhizhong, asked with polite concern.
“Yes,” Lawyer Zhou nodded, slightly embarrassed, and explained softly, “I don’t know what happened today, but he got into a conflict at school. I didn’t have time to pick him up, so I apologized to the principal over the phone and sent my assistant to bring him back. I stepped out earlier to handle this matter. I’m really sorry.”
“No big deal. Kids getting into disputes with classmates at school is normal,” Zhuang Zhizhong reassured her. “My son’s had his share of fights. The key is not to lose! Speaking of which, Lawyer Zhou, would you like me to introduce you to my son’s boxing coach?”
Lawyer Zhou shook her head. “His health isn’t good; he can’t do sports.”
“How can his health improve without exercise? You can’t coddle kids too much, or they’ll get spoiled!”
Lawyer Zhou didn’t seem to agree with his perspective but didn’t argue, only sighed and escorted them to the elevator outside the firm.
This was the first tumultuous autumn of Zhuang Xu’s life.
His father, Zhuang Zhicheng, was in his prime, at a critical point in his career, when he died suddenly in a car accident, leaving no clear will.
By law, his mother should have been the first in line to manage the company, but on the third day after the accident, the company’s chief operating officer, Han Miao, produced a letter of intent allegedly drafted by Zhuang Zhicheng before his death. It claimed Zhuang Zhicheng had grown weary of company management, wished to focus on laboratory work, and was preparing to hire a professional manager, with Han Miao intending to act on the chairman’s wishes.
Having spent day and night with his father, Zhuang Xu knew his father would never have had such intentions. Zhou Kaiqi, the executive vice president and chairman’s secretary, also confirmed that no such letter of intent existed.
Over the past two weeks, most of the company’s executives remained noncommittal. Only Zhou Kaiqi, his father’s closest subordinate, and his uncle Zhuang Zhizhong, the company’s chief financial officer, stood firmly by his side. After careful selection, the three hired Lawyer Zhou to face Han Miao in court.
At this time, Zhuang Xu was beginning his final year of university, majoring in biomedical engineering with a minor in computer science. Already under pressure from graduation, he had yet to recover from the grief of his father’s sudden death and now had to muster new strength to fight for control of the company. The weight was immense, and he could hardly share it with others.
After getting into the car, rain fell like fine powder, fogging the windows. In the distance, the slow tolling of the landmark clock tower echoed. It was six o’clock.
The group briefly discussed Zhuang Xu’s father’s letter of intent before falling silent.
They dropped Zhuang Xu off at home first.
Zhuang Xu’s home was in an old villa district downtown, lush with dense greenery. The neighborhood was so old that moss and mold grew in the corners of stone steps that the property staff and maids often failed to clean properly.
Zhuang Xu stepped out of the car without an umbrella, smelling the mix of mold and vegetation in the air. The household maid had already opened the door and stood waiting for him. The dampness seemed tangible, seeping from the misty steps into his home.
Not a single light was on in the living room. The room was dim, and in front of his father’s portrait, an incense burner held three nearly burned-out sticks, their faint white smoke and flickering embers the only light source in the house.
His mother still hadn’t accepted his father’s death and had barely spoken in the past two weeks, not even visiting the company. Approaching her, Zhuang Xu saw her dressed in black again, sitting with her head bowed on one side of the sofa. Her sleeve covered her wrist, revealing half of her hand, so thin that her veins protruded. Her wedding ring on her ring finger looked like a deflated balloon discarded by a child, hanging on a withered winter branch.
Zhuang Xu walked over, sat with her, and asked if she was hungry or wanted to eat.
His mother shook her head. Zhuang Xu waited a bit longer, then, acting as the head of the household in his father’s place, made the decision for her, taking her hand and leading her to the dining room.
After dinner, Zhuang Xu returned to the study to complete his assignments. This had been his father’s workspace, with a full wall of bookshelves. The shelves held worn-out biology and medical texts, various journals, and children’s science books from Zhuang Xu’s childhood.
The desk was large, over two meters long, with three computers and several framed photos of Zhuang Xu and his parents in the lab, taken when he was three, eight, fifteen, and nineteen.
The photos’ resolution improved over time, and the lab grew larger and more modern. His father evolved from a young lab assistant to the prominent chairman of a pharmaceutical technology group. What remained constant was the loving gaze his parents directed at him in every photo, a reminder of how happy their family had once been.
In the two weeks since his father’s death, Zhuang Xu had had moments of near collapse.
He had considered several times putting away these warm family photos to avoid the untimely pain of nostalgia and the useless vulnerability it brought.
Like his mother, he missed his father. Sometimes, upon waking, he’d momentarily believe his father was still alive, waiting in the room, hoping his father would knock on his door to discuss his studies or share visions of the future of biomedical technology.
Like his mother, Zhuang Xu missed their family before it shattered.
But longing was useless, and pain was futile. He had too many tasks to complete—his father’s legacy and the responsibilities of family and company weighed heavily on his shoulders. Spending precious time mourning lost happiness was pointless.
Instead of packing away the frames, Zhuang Xu resolved to be harder on himself, to face every painful emotion head-on to grow stronger.
After finishing his professor’s assignments, he read a journal his father had been reading before his death. Just as he was about to read the final article and rest, his phone screen lit up.
Zhuang Xu’s lock screen displayed the weather and time, with a default Earth background. Below the nineteen-degree Celsius and moderate rain icon, on the dark nighttime Earth, a message appeared from an unknown contact.
He picked up the phone and opened it. This was the first message Li Shanqing sent him.
As with every conversation and text exchange that followed, Li Shanqing was always self-absorbed, heedless of others’ reactions: “So you’re Zhuang Xu. I’ve seen your name in the news a lot but haven’t seen many photos of you. You’re pretty handsome, huh. Don’t you like getting your picture taken?”
The message was inexplicable and utterly rude, annoying Zhuang Xu. He replied, “Who are you?”
When he asked, Zhuang Xu already had a hunch. Seeing the response, he was almost certain of the sender’s identity. Recalling the uncomfortable stare from that afternoon and the pampered demeanor, he had no patience for nonsense and didn’t reply.
Just three minutes later, the impatient sender revealed the truth with another message: “I’m Li Shanqing, the son of Lawyer Zhou, who’s handling your case. Did you guess it?”
“How did you get my number?” Zhuang Xu asked.
“Of course, I calculated it. I’m a fortune-telling master. I also predicted you’ll win your lawsuit against that Han Miao.”
The response and tone were utterly childish. Anyone could guess that this disobedient teenager had likely taken Zhuang Xu’s number from his mother’s phone. Strictly speaking, this involved a breach of client privacy by Lawyer Zhou, but Zhuang Xu was lenient and didn’t plan to pursue it. He didn’t reply either, continuing to read his article.
Soon after, Li Shanqing sent another message unprompted: “If you win, that means my prediction was right, doesn’t it? So how are you going to thank me?”
Zhuang Xu was already struggling to read the article due to Li Shanqing’s incessant messages, and now his irritation peaked, making it impossible to continue. Frustrated, he replied, “Stop messaging me, or I’ll forward these to Lawyer Zhou.”
“No, don’t! I’m sorry, okay?”
Li Shanqing immediately sent several crying emojis, followed after a moment by a long message: “I didn’t mean any harm. I’m just really interested in Weiyuan Biotech and SyncPulse. I’ve been following SyncPulse since its large-scale military news three years ago. Last year, I made a model for a fourth-generation medical sustained-release device at the Youth Science and Technology Innovation Competition and won gold. Your dad even personally replied to me. How can you be so mean to a curious high school student?”
Except for the last sentence, Li Shanqing finally stopped playing mystic or spouting nonsense, successfully dissuading Zhuang Xu from blocking him or reporting to Lawyer Zhou. It also genuinely piqued Zhuang Xu’s interest.
After some hesitation, Zhuang Xu gave up reading, closed the journal, and looked at the message on his phone screen, unable to resist replying: “What did my father say to you?”
Not long after, Li Shanqing sent a photo of his certificate and a letter.
The handwriting on the letter was indeed his father’s: “Shanqing: I had the privilege of seeing such a mature work at the high school science exhibition, and it makes me feel the younger generation is formidable. Weiyuan Biotech Group looks forward to your future!” Signed, “Zhuang Zhicheng.”
Immediately after, Li Shanqing said to Zhuang Xu: “If you want, I can give you this letter. It’s kind of a keepsake from your dad. I really didn’t mean any harm, so don’t be mad, okay?”
Li Shanqing’s childishness and generosity suddenly made Zhuang Xu’s irritation seem petty. After some thought, Zhuang Xu softened his tone: “My father wrote it to you, so you should keep it.”
“Okay, let me know if you ever want it,” Li Shanqing said, but then quickly followed up: “If I have questions I don’t understand, can I ask you in the future?”
Noticing the obvious overreach, Zhuang Xu didn’t relent and firmly refused: “I’m Lawyer Zhou’s client, not your tutor. If you have questions, ask your teachers. I won’t tell Lawyer Zhou, but message me less. I won’t reply unless it’s important.”
Out of courtesy, though, he saved Li Shanqing’s number.
Li Shanqing replied, “Okay, okay, okay, okay, big client. Good night.”
Years later, a journalist wrote a feature on Li Shanqing, interviewing a college lab classmate.
The classmate, now working at a major pharmaceutical research lab, spoke of Li Shanqing with a mix of admiration and frustration: “Noah is too smart, a guy who’s great at manipulating people. If he wants, he can become your best friend. But Noah always has his motives. You can’t let your guard down with him, or you’ll end up stuck processing his data for months.”
Zhuang Xu happened to see that magazine, with “Li Shanqing” in bold on the cover, and flipped through it.
The feature detailed Li Shanqing’s life fairly well, though its wording was somewhat reserved, failing to capture his full personality—perhaps due to his PR team’s influence.
Li Shanqing was not as kind as his name suggested. He lacked empathy, excelled at persistent pestering, and was a profit-driven gambler, always acting with the most entitled attitude while doing the most reckless, morally dubious things.
Zhuang Xu had once misjudged him, letting his guard down, and thus knew Li Shanqing’s flaws better than anyone, believing himself more cautious than anyone.
But he never told anyone, including Li Shanqing himself, that on the night of their first meeting at nineteen, Zhuang Xu didn’t dream of the car accident or blood but of Li Shanqing.
If Li Shanqing knew, he’d surely be smug, but the frail boy in the dream was far more obedient than the real Li Shanqing Zhuang Xu later came to know.
He sat quietly in an armchair. When Zhuang Xu approached, he gave a supportive smile and said, “Zhuang Xu, I predicted it. You’ll win this lawsuit.”
