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

"Have the parameters for this degradation model been finalized? Will the yield really drop below 61%?"

Shen Changlin's voice trembled at the end, his Sichuan accent tinged with urgency, spilling out from the receiver.

Chen Ping leaned back in his chair, picked up the technical report on the table, turned to page forty-seven, and scanned the numbers again.

"Mr. Shen, it's all clearly stated in the technical report, I have nothing to add. If you have any questions, you can contact the Sujiang Chipfire project office directly."

"Secretary Chen, please don't hang up~ I just have one question: how much longer will the application period for authorization at the grassroots level last?"

"I suggest you ask Deputy Team Leader Zhong Mingyuan about this. He signed the suspension letter."

The breathing on the other end of the phone quickened, and Shen Changlin didn't speak again.

Chen Ping put down the receiver, closed the technical report, and locked it in the safe.

The bait has been cast. Whether Shen Changlin will take the bait is one thing; the key is whether he and Zhong Mingyuan will argue over this email.

The brother-in-law signed the suspension letter, but the brother-in-law's company was on the verge of collapse. For the first time, a rift appeared between the interests of this father-in-law and son-in-law.

Han Zhiming finished tidying up the documents on the table and stood at the door waiting.

"Director, what are the plans for tomorrow?"

"Going back to the provincial capital. It's my mom's birthday."

Han Zhiming was taken aback. Having followed Chen Pingfang for so long, this was the first time he had heard him mention his family.

The next morning at ten o'clock, the Passat drove into an old street on the eastern outskirts of the provincial capital. The plane trees formed a dense canopy, their shade cutting the road into fragments. Chen Ping parked the car in front of a six-story old apartment building, then carried two boxes of cakes up to the third floor.

The door wasn't locked. The moment it was pushed open, a strong fragrance of orchids wafted out.

In the living room, near the window, the coffee table had been moved to make room for a small pot of orchids. The leaves were narrow and long, dark green with a purplish tinge, and the flower stems were slender, with three pale yellow flowers at the top.

Cold-resistant orchid.

Chen Pingfang recognized this variety. His father had displayed a whole row of them in his study when he was alive. But that kind of Cymbidium goeringii was from Fujian and Yue, and its leaves were wider. This one in front of him was different—the leaf edges had extremely fine serrations, and the tips of the petals were slightly curled inward.

It comes from Sichuan. Moreover, it's a wild species from the high altitudes of western Sichuan, and it's almost impossible to find on the market.

"mom."

The sound of a spatula hitting a wok came from the kitchen. Chen's mother came out wearing an apron, her hair tied in a bun, her forehead dusted with flour. She was in her early sixties, but her back was still straight.

"You didn't even tell me you were coming back, so I could have cooked a couple more dishes."

"Where did this orchid come from?"

Chen's mother glanced at the window.

"One of your students brought this over the day before yesterday. He said he brought it from his hometown and wanted me to keep it as a pet."

Which student?

"His surname is Wei, and his given name is something like Jun. He's tall, wears gold-rimmed glasses, and speaks very politely. He said he attended your class at the Provincial Party School and has always wanted to visit you."

Chen Ping placed the cake on the table, walked over to the orchid, and squatted down. The flowerpot was made of purple clay, with a line of small characters engraved on the bottom: "Made in Qionglai Kiln".

Qionglai is a county-level city under the jurisdiction of Chengdu, Sichuan Province.

He pulled out his phone and searched for "Wei Liangjun" in the list of attendees for the Chipfire project. No results. He then scrolled through the provincial Party School's student roster for the past three years, page by page.

The seventh name in the third row of the second training class for young and middle-aged cadres: Wei Liangjun, deputy director of the Industry Division of the Development and Reform Commission of Sichuan Province.

People from Sichuan Province.

Chen Ping put his phone back in his pocket, not rushing to stand up. He had indeed crossed paths with Wei Liangjun at the Party School, but they were only classmates, not his student. Yet Wei Liangjun had proactively come to deliver flowers to Chen's mother, using the guise of a "student."

This person is trying to get close to him, but not to him, but to his mother.

"Mom, what else did he say?"

Chen's mother had already returned to the kitchen and answered through the cooking fumes.

"We chatted for a while. They asked how I was feeling and if anyone was taking care of me. They also mentioned knowing that my dad used to like growing orchids and that they specifically chose this variety."

Chen Ping ran his thumb along the edge of the flowerpot.

I knew his father liked to grow orchids. This isn't information you can easily find with a simple search. His father worked at the provincial academy of social sciences before his death; the academic circle was small, and his personal hobbies would never be mentioned in any public materials.

Wei Liangjun either has contact with his father's old friends or with people who have investigated his father's background.

"Mom, was there anyone with the surname Song who was Dad's former colleague at the Chinese Academy of Social Sciences?"

The sound of the spatula stopped for a moment.

Chen's mother poked half her body out of the kitchen, flour dusting off her apron.

"Song Baiqing?"

"You remember him?"

"How could I not remember? The year your father passed away, there were quite a few people at the funeral, and Song Baiqing was there too. He was tall and thin, wearing a gray suit, and stood in the last row. He didn't say a word the whole time."

Chen's mother turned off the stove, wiped her hands, came out, and sat on the armrest of the sofa.

"However, he contacted me once after the funeral."

"What do you want?"

"You said your dad had a work notebook and wanted to take it for academic reference. I didn't give it to him."

Why?

Chen's mother looked up at him.

"Before your father passed away, he instructed that the things in the study should not be given to anyone who came to ask for them. I don't understand those things, but I remember what your father said."

"Where is that notebook now?"

"The second shelf of the cabinet in the study is locked. The key is in my dressing table drawer."

Chen Ping didn't go to the study. He squatted in front of the orchid pot, piecing together several lines in his mind.

Song Baiqing, deceased. A native of Sichuan. He worked with his father at the Sichuan Academy of Social Sciences. He attempted to take his father's notebooks at the funeral.

Wei Liangjun, from the Development and Reform Commission of Sichuan Province, sent a pot of Sichuan-grown Cymbidium orchids to Chen's mother under the guise of being a "student."

Flowerpots made in Qionglai kilns. Song Baiqing's hometown is also Qionglai.

He reached out and lifted the flowerpot, turning it over to examine the bottom. Next to the drain hole, a small piece of black glue was stuck to the glazed surface of the purple clay.

Chen Ping tried to pry it open with his fingernail, but couldn't get it open.

He took a toothpick from the coffee table and carefully probed along the edge twice. A corner of the rubber surface lifted up, revealing a metal piece about the size of a thumbnail underneath.

Miniature listening device.

Chen Ping gently put the flowerpot back in its original position without removing the listening device.

He stood up and patted the dirt off his knees.

Chen's mother called from the kitchen, "Lie flat, wash your hands and eat."

"They're here."

He went to the bathroom, turned on the faucet, and stood silently for ten seconds looking at himself in the mirror.

Wei Liangjun wasn't there to ingratiate himself. He was there to plant his spies. A potted orchid sat in Chen's mother's living room, its sound system operating 24/7.

Chen Ping turned off the water, dried his hands, and went back to the living room.

The mother and son sat down for a quiet lunch. The mother cooked four dishes: braised pork ribs, stir-fried pea shoots, garlic shrimp, and tomato egg soup. Chen Ping ate two bowls of rice and finished the plate of pork ribs completely.

When it was time to clear the dishes after the meal, Chen's mother went to the kitchen.

Chen Pingfang was the only one left in the living room.

He walked to the orchid pot, bent down, and his lips were less than ten centimeters from the bottom of the pot.

"Wei Liangjun, I received the orchids, thank you."

He paused for a moment, his voice neither too loud nor too soft, just enough for the listening device to pick up.

"I'll be going to Sichuan next week, you're welcome to come along."