The day Qi Xu was promoted to vice president of the Shen Group, the weather couldn’t have been worse—thunder rumbled, lightning flashed, and rain poured down in sheets. The city’s emergency alerts blared on the radio and phones, warning citizens to stay indoors.
Rain pounded against the tightly shut windows of the conference room, loud enough to nearly drown out the heated arguments inside.
The board had just announced Qi Xu’s appointment as vice president, and Shen Fengkai’s team immediately voiced fierce opposition.
Everyone argued till their faces flushed, all seemingly with reason, yet every word was really just about protecting their own interests.
Qi Xu sat quietly, tapping his thigh lightly, his gaze lowered—calm and detached, as though all the chaos around him were nothing but background noise. He didn’t say a single word.
In the end, no one won the shouting match, and the board could only decide to make it official by posting Qi Xu’s appointment on the company website that very day.
When the meeting—more like a noisy market—finally ended, Qi Xu strolled out at his own pace, followed by his energetic assistant, Li Kaixing.
“Good thing I went to the temple last weekend to pray,” Li said cheerfully. “Must’ve been my sincerity that moved the Buddha. First day back at work, and we get good news! So, about my salary—should I expect a little bonus?”
Qi Xu chuckled. The first few words were meaningless chatter; it was the last sentence that really mattered.
He wasn’t a strict boss, and everyone on his team could joke with him off the clock.
“Alright,” Qi Xu said with a small smile. “Sounds fair. Everyone gets a raise.”
The group behind him burst out laughing. Nothing lifts workplace morale like good news.
But as Qi Xu’s team left in high spirits, Shen Fengkai appeared at the other end of the hallway with his entourage, his expression dark as ever.
Everyone knew the vice president and president were at odds. The employees instinctively made room, some pretending to busy themselves while secretly watching the drama unfold.
Shen Fengkai, for once, dropped his usual sneer. He looked Qi Xu up and down—the once-isolated newcomer who had now gained powerful allies and enough influence that others spoke for him in board meetings.
“Congratulations, Vice President Qi. You finally got what you wanted.”
Qi Xu curved his lips in a faint smile. “Thank you, President Shen. I booked a private room at Yunhe tonight. No fun celebrating alone—why don’t you join us?”
He knew exactly how to get under Shen Fengkai’s skin.
Sure enough, disgust flickered across Shen Fengkai’s face. “Qi Xu, I don’t know how you got your hands on Uncle’s shares or the overseas project. You can fight me all you want, but don’t drag him into this—he’s innocent. Don’t push things too far.”
Always with that self-righteous tone. The Shen family had never truly accepted Qi Xu, and Shen Fengkai never believed that Qi’s relationship with Uncle Shen Zuo-hong could be better than his own.
Qi Xu shrugged casually. “So what? You’re worried I’ll take your president’s chair? Then you’d better watch your people more closely—stop letting them leak trade secrets, or I might have something to use against you.”
Shen Fengkai glared. “I’m the eldest son of the Shen family—your brother. You think the board will really let you stay in that seat?”
“I’m not even a Shen,” Qi Xu replied coolly. “Who you are has nothing to do with me. I’m fine being a Qi.”
For a moment, Shen Fengkai froze. So that was it—Qi Xu wanted the Shen Group to carry his own surname. His ambition was monstrous.
Qi Xu didn’t bother to continue the argument. He turned and left with his team.
As his first act as vice president, he cleaned house—cutting off the parasitic branches of the Shen family who’d been feeding off the company for years.
Those relatives didn’t dare make a scene at the office; pride mattered more than position. Instead, they ran straight to the Shen family mansion to complain.
Shen Zhuohai, the current head of the family, was so worn down by their daily whining that he finally summoned Qi Xu home.
Qi Xu had long since moved out. The old house was just a formality now—a name without meaning. He’d only ever gone back during holidays when his grandfather was alive.
The old man’s dying wish had been for Qi Xu to reconcile with the family. So, for the first time since the funeral, Qi Xu stepped back into the Shen household.
The moment he saw those so-called relatives in the living room, he knew exactly why he’d been called back.
He turned on his heel to leave, but Shen Zhuohai frowned and ordered the servants to stop him. “Where are you going? Your mother was in the hospital and you didn’t visit. Now that she’s home, you can’t even stay for a meal?”
Qi Xu turned back coldly. “Oh, I can eat. I just didn’t realize your family dinners now include guests from the refugee camp. Is the Shen house a shelter now?”
His third uncle exploded into curses—heartless, ungrateful, all the usual insults. Qi Xu didn’t even flinch.
Just then, Zeng Yun came down the stairs, supported by Shen Zeyu.
She’d recently had minor surgery and was still recovering. When she saw Qi Xu, her eyes lit up. “Xiao Xu!”
“Mom, careful,” Shen Zeyu murmured, helping her sit down. “The doctor said not to get emotional.”
Zeng Yun patted his hand with a soft sigh. “Yes, yes, our dear housekeeper Zeyu.”
Qi Xu said nothing. If they wouldn’t let him leave, he might as well sit. Since moving out, he’d stopped caring about appearances—no one could tell him how to sit, eat, or speak anymore.
Predictably, the others ran to complain to Zeng Yun again. She looked troubled. The Shen family had always been harmonious on the surface—occasional disputes, sure, but never like this, and certainly never all directed at her own son.
“Maybe firing them was too harsh,” she said gently. “They’re your relatives, after all. They made mistakes, yes, but nothing unforgivable.”
Her sister-in-law’s family immediately perked up, sensing her support.
Shen Zeyu cut in. “Mom, it’s best you don’t involve yourself in company matters. Uncle, Auntie—please, she needs rest. Let my older brother handle this. We’re family; we should help each other.”
Just like that, Qi Xu was painted as the villain. When his aunt started hinting that Zeyu should be given a place in the company, Qi Xu almost laughed out loud.
Zeyu, in the Shen Group? If that ever happened, Qi Xu would personally see him out.
Maybe Shen Zhuohai knew that too—he’d never actually planned to let Zeyu in, but secretly transferred him some shares later on.
The side branches praised Zeyu endlessly while Shen Zhuohai smiled, clearly pleased. A warm, happy family—if you ignored Qi’s absence.
He slipped out quietly; no one even noticed.
Eventually, Shen Fengkai failed to contain the mess his family caused. With Qi Xu backing the board, those parasites were permanently removed from the company.
Every weekend, Qi Xu returned to the old mansion. Since his grandfather’s passing, most of the staff had been dismissed, leaving only Uncle Li and a few elderly servants.
Each visit began the same—he’d light incense in the Buddha room, then spend hours practicing calligraphy in the study, calming his mind.
The old man’s belongings were still there, including a cabinet filled with every sheet of Qi’s childhood handwriting practice—none thrown away.
Back then, he couldn’t understand why parents kept their children’s awards and certificates. His father had never cared; the fact that Qi’s work hadn’t been torn up on the spot was miracle enough.
It was only later, when someone else cared enough to save those things, that he realized what that kind of love meant—and by then, that person was gone.
Work kept him busy, and loneliness never really hit until the rare moments he stopped. But even then, he wasn’t the kind who needed to talk.
At the old house, his restless heart always found peace. The place had become his quiet refuge.
That afternoon, the lunch table was unusually full.
Uncle Li explained, “Old Master Xie next door sent over a few dishes. Coincidentally, they’re all your favorites, young master.”
Qi Xu preferred sweet-and-sour flavors—everyone in the old house knew that.
He picked up a piece of sweet-and-sour pork, tasted it, and raised an eyebrow—it was perfect.
The Shen and Xie families’ elders had been lifelong friends, visiting each other during every holiday.
Qi Xu made a mental note to pay a proper visit soon.
But before he could, news came: Xie Huai was back in the country.
The information didn’t even come from the business circle—it came from Li Kaixing, who somehow always knew everything.
“Word is,” Li said, lounging on the office sofa, “that the Xie Group’s new overseas project—originally under President Shen—is now being handled by Xie Huai himself. I overheard it in the pantry. He’s only just returned, and he’s already taking on a major contract. Guess they’re grooming him as heir.”
Qi Xu froze for a moment at the name—not from emotion, just recognition.
It had been years since he’d heard it.
Back in college, Xie Huai had been everywhere—at every event, leading every club, later becoming student council president.
After graduation, Shen Zeyu went abroad with him, which became a frequent dinner-table topic at home.
When Zeyu came back and Qi Xu moved out, he stopped hearing about either of them.
Now, years later, the name resurfaced. So, he thought, I do still remember him after all.
Not that it mattered. He’d never really been part of that world of polished elites.
Ten years ago, the fight between them had made sure of that.
The Shen-Xie partnership went smoothly—at least until the signing ceremony, which was followed by a celebration banquet.
The day before, Qi Xuaccidentally scraped his arm when a metal rack fell, soaking his sleeve with blood and frightening both his assistant and Li Kaixing half to death.
The assistant’s eyes turned red with guilt, the usually sharp negotiator unable to form a full sentence. “If I hadn’t bumped into it… you wouldn’t have been hurt, Mr. Qi.”
Qi Xu remained calm. It was a minor wound—he even took the time to reassure them.
At the hospital, the doctor cleaned the cut, gave him a tetanus shot, and warned him to avoid alcohol.
As they picked up his antibiotics, Li said, “You’re not going to the banquet tomorrow, right? Doctor said no drinking. Stay home and rest. You’re the backbone of the team, you’ve got to take care of yourself.”
Li knew how hard Qi Xupushed himself—rarely sick, but constantly exhausted. He’d never go to the hospital unless absolutely necessary.
Qi Xu waved it off. “It’s just an arm, not a leg. I can still walk, can’t I? It’s a big event. I should be there. You know how business works—connections are built over drinks.”
Li chuckled. “Well, the project wasn’t ours anyway. I admit I’m a bit jealous. Still, I’d love to see this young Master Xie in person.”
Qi Xu said nothing. He had no desire to meet Xie Huai—professionally or personally. They weren’t close. Never had been.
