After breaking up with my boyfriend, I made a fortune and rose rapidly in my career.

On the day of the peace talks.

At 9:30 a.m., a black minivan with a temporary license plate from the Singapore Consulate drove into the underground parking garage of the Marina Bay Hotel.

Han Zhiming was in the monitoring room at the end of the corridor on the third floor. The three screens in front of him displayed real-time images of Haiyue Hall, the corridor and the underground parking garage.

The car door opened.

Two people got out. The one in front was a young man of Asian appearance, wearing a suit and carrying an aluminum alloy briefcase; he seemed to be an assistant or entourage member. The other man wore a dark gray trench coat, was of medium build, and walked with a steady gait. His face was half-obscured by the shadows of the garage.

Han Zhiming said something into the walkie-talkie.

"The two are going upstairs."

In the next room, a technician from the National Security Bureau, wearing headphones, had his fingers hovering over the keyboard, ready to start sound collection at any moment.

At 9:40, the door to Haiyue Hall was pushed open.

Chen Ping sat on a single sofa in the reception area, with two cups of tea on the coffee table in front of him. He was wearing a dark blue suit, without a tie, and the top button of his shirt was undone.

The young assistant came in first, placed the briefcase on the tea table by the door, and then stepped back to stand in the corner.

A man in a trench coat walked in.

He took off his trench coat and draped it over the back of the chair. Underneath was a well-tailored dark stand-up collar shirt, and a Parker pen with a gold clip was clipped to his left breast pocket.

The man was in his early fifties, with a thin face, high cheekbones, and thin lips. His hairline was receding significantly, but the remaining hair was neatly styled.

He walked straight to the sofa opposite Chen Ping, but instead of sitting down, he looked around the room first.

His gaze swept across the ceiling, then looked at the area under the coffee table and the folds in the curtains.

Then he sat down.

"Deputy Secretary-General Chen."

He spoke. His voice wasn't loud, but his pronunciation was clear, and he spoke with a slight Beijing accent.

"William Hart has authorized me to represent M~Tek Asia Pacific in informal consultations with you regarding the intellectual property dispute."

He took a business card out of his shirt pocket and handed it over with both hands.

Chen Ping took the business card and glanced at it.

It reads: Gu Deren. Senior Strategic Advisor, M~Tek Asia Pacific.

Gu Deren. GDR

GDR reversed, becomes RGD.

Chen Ping placed the business card on the coffee table, pressing down on one corner of it with his finger.

"Mr. Gu, please have a seat."

Gu Deren had already sat down. He picked up his teacup, glanced at the color of the tea, but didn't drink it.

"Let's get straight to the point." Chen Ping leaned back on the sofa, his hands crossed over his stomach.

"Our demands are very simple." Gu Deren put down his teacup, clasped his hands together on his knees, and said, "Your company should cease the forced implementation of the ChipFire standard in the semiconductor manufacturing field and restore the internationally accepted IP core licensing system. In exchange, M~Tek will withdraw its lawsuit in The Hague and is willing to offer more favorable cooperation terms to ChipFire Alliance member companies within the existing licensing framework."

"Where is Gao Ran?"

"Gao Ran comes with conditions." Gu Deren tapped his index finger on his knee. "This person possesses M~Tek's core trade secrets, which fall within the scope of our legitimate commercial pursuit."

Chen Ping didn't respond to him.

He was looking at Gu Deren's hands.

There is an old scar on my left ring finger, extending from the base of the finger to the first joint. Judging from the deep creases left after the wound healed, it was a crush injury.

The hand with which Shen Yayun played the guqin also lost half of its ring finger.

Chen Ping shifted his gaze away from Gu Deren's hands.

"Mr. Gu, I have a personal question."

Gu Deren raised his eyebrows slightly.

"What year were you born in M~Tek?"

"This is unrelated to the current consultations."

"Perhaps it's related." Chen Ping leaned forward a few centimeters. "In the autumn of the Gengchen year, three people took a group photo in front of the Second Guesthouse of the Jiangsu Provincial Committee. On the left is Qin Daguan, and on the right is Shen Yayun. The face of the person in the middle has been blurred out."

Gu Deren's pupils contracted slightly.

It was a very short time, less than 0.5 seconds, but Chen Pingfang saw it.

"There were thirty-two people in that training class, and the class monitor was one of the most outstanding." Chen Pingfang's voice was flat and emotionless. "Twenty-four years later, Qin Daguan went to a detention center, and Shen Yayun handed over the USB drive and disappeared. Where did the class monitor go?"

Gu Deren's fingers stopped tapping his knees. His hands rested flat on his thighs, fingertips touching the fabric, motionless.

The assistant in the corner shifted his stance, moving his right hand two centimeters from his side to behind his waist.

Chen Ping noticed it, but didn't look in that direction.

Gu Deren remained silent for a long time.

Then he laughed.

His smile was faint, tinged with reminiscence.

"Put Comrade Ping Fang"

He changed his form of address directly, calling him Comrade Pingfang.

"You and your father look very alike."

Chen Ping's fingertips dug into the leather of the sofa armrest.

On the screen in the adjacent monitoring room, Han Zhiming saw Chen Pingfang's right hand clench, his knuckles turning white. He had never seen Chen Pingfang react like this before.

In the Haiyue Hall, the tea on the coffee table had gone cold. Neither cup had been touched.

Gu Deren stood up and picked up his trench coat from the back of the chair.

"Today's negotiations are over." He draped his trench coat over his arm and looked down at Chen Pingfang.

"Go back and ask your mother what your father did in Suzhou that autumn of the Gengchen year."

Gu Deren turned and walked towards the door.

The assistant picked up the briefcase and followed behind.

Chen Ping sat motionless on the sofa. His gaze remained fixed on Gu Deren's departing figure until the door closed.

The business card on the coffee table was pushed aside by the airflow from the air conditioner and flipped over.

The back is blank. In the center of the blank space, a symbol is drawn with very fine pencil lines.

A folding fan.

The pencil lines on the back of the business card, resembling a folding fan, are so fine they are almost invisible.

Chen Ping turned the business card over and over three times before placing it on the coffee table.

When Han Zhiming rushed in from the monitoring room, Chen Pingfang was still sitting in the same spot, his back straight, without moving.

"Director," Han Zhiming said in a low voice, "Gu Deren has come downstairs, and the car has left. Should I follow?"

"Need not."

"What he said..."

"I heard you." Chen Ping interrupted him, stood up, and took his trench coat off the back of the chair. "Contact Liang Bowen. Tell him I'm going to the Chinese Academy of Social Sciences now."

---

The office building of the Chinese Academy of Social Sciences was well heated, and the corridors smelled of old paper.

Liang Bowen's office is at the very back of the third floor.

When Chen Ping pushed open the door, the old man was standing in front of the bookshelf, holding a yellowed hardcover book between two fingers, without turning around.

"I knew you'd come." Liang Bowen put the notebook back on the bookshelf, turned around, and sat down in the chair. "I knew it the moment you unfolded that photo."

Chen Ping sat down opposite him without beating around the bush.

"My father."