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

Chen Ping did not return the call immediately.

He copied the number onto a sticky note, tore it off, and pasted it onto a blank page of his desk calendar. His finger paused on the string of numbers for two seconds.

Zhou Dingbang wanted to see him.

On his first day in office, he blocked a 12 million yuan funding request from the Retired Cadres Center, and that very afternoon, the former provincial party secretary's secretary came knocking on his door. This swift response indicates one thing: Zhou Dingbang is eyeing that money for the Retired Cadres Center.

Chen Ping picked up the landline and dialed the number.

It rang twice before the other end answered.

"Secretary Fang, this is Chen Pingfang."

"Hello, Secretary-General Chen." The voice on the other end of the phone was neither old nor young, polite yet measured. "Old Zhou said he'd like to invite you over this weekend. Just to his home; you don't need to bring anything. Saturday morning at ten o'clock, is that convenient?"

"Convenient. Send me the address."

"Okay, I'll send it to your phone shortly."

The phone hangs up.

Chen Ping peeled the note off the calendar, folded it twice, and stuffed it into his shirt pocket.

At 9:45 a.m. on Saturday, Chen Ping parked his car in front of No. 17 Wutong Road.

The courtyard wasn't large, but its location was excellent. Wutong Road was the core area of ​​the provincial capital's old cadre residential area, filled with uniform three-story detached houses. The courtyard walls were low, made of red bricks, and covered with a layer of withered brown vines.

The doorbell rang once, and a man in his early forties opened the door. He had a buzz cut, his shirt was tucked into his trousers, and he stood ramrod straight. He was Secretary Fang.

"Secretary-General Chen, Elder Zhou is waiting for you in his study. Please come in."

Walk through a short corridor and turn into the study on the right.

The study is about twenty square meters, with mahogany bookshelves against three walls. The gold lettering on the spines of the books alternates between light and shadow in the sunlight streaming in from the window. In the center is an old-fashioned desk with a felt mat on the tabletop. An inkstone sits on the left, and the water in the brush washer is clear.

Zhou Dingbang was sitting in a chair behind his desk.

He was seventy-three years old, and his hair was completely white, but it was neatly combed. Although he was old, his eyes still looked very bright.

He was wearing a dark cotton-padded coat with a badge pinned to it.

"You've arrived. Please have a seat."

His voice sounded loud and powerful.

Chen Ping then walked over and sat down in a chair opposite the desk.

Then Secretary Fang came in with tea. He poured tea for the two of them, then left and closed the door behind him.

The cup contained tea, a rather dark color, and was steaming.

Zhou Dingbang didn't rush to speak. He took a seal out of his desk drawer, turned it over to look at the seal script on the bottom, and then put it back. The movement was unusually slow, each step carrying a sense of unhurried control.

"I heard you're doing a good job in the management committee."

Chen Ping picked up his teacup and took a sip.

"It's my duty."

"A production value of 41.2 billion, is that just part of your job?" Zhou Dingbang's lips twitched slightly. "If your father had had your drive back then, things wouldn't have come to this..."

He stopped halfway through his sentence.

Chen Ping put the teacup back on the table.

"Mr. Zhou, are you very familiar with my father?"

Zhou Dingbang leaned back in his chair, resting his hands on the armrests. His nails were neatly manicured, and a jade thumb ring adorned his ring finger.

"Your dad and I joined the provincial academy of social sciences in the same year. He did research, and I did administration. Later, I was transferred, but he stayed. Do you know why he didn't leave?"

Chen Ping didn't respond.

"Stubborn." Zhou Dingbang said the word very slowly. "Your father is a learned man, with a strong pen, but he has one flaw—he's stubbornly opinionated. Once he's made up his mind about something, not even nine oxen could pull him back."

A gust of wind blew in through the window, and the withered vines of the Virginia creeper scratched against the glass twice.

"You should know about what happened in the year of Gengchen," Zhou Dingbang said, his gaze fixed on Chen Pingfang's face. "Your father took on that research project, wrote the report, and insisted on submitting it. Several people tried to dissuade him, more than one. I tried to dissuade him too."

Chen Ping's back remained pressed against the armchair, not moving an inch.

"What advice did you give?"

"I told him that the situation in Sujiang had just stabilized, personnel changes had been made where necessary, and funding had been blocked where necessary, and the higher-ups were already handling it. Submitting his report wouldn't just be lifting the lid, it would be overturning the table. It involves too many people, and we can't afford to cause any damage."

Did he listen?

"What do you think?" Zhou Dingbang twirled his thumb on the jade ring. "He submitted the report. The next day, the project was abruptly halted. The report disappeared from the archives."

Chen Pingfang's breathing was so even that no change could be heard.

"and then?"

"Then, your dad had health problems."

Zhou Dingbang spoke these words so softly they almost blended into the steam of the white tea. But every word struck Chen Pingfang's eardrums.

The father's "health problems" were officially attributed to overwork and sudden cardiac arrest.

Zhou Dingbang knew perfectly well the cause and effect of this matter.

He was not a bystander; he was a participant.

Chen Ping raised his head.

"Mr. Zhou, you didn't invite me here today just to reminisce about the past, did you?"

Zhou Dingbang smiled. The smile was faint, but the sharpness in his eyes was not hidden by the wrinkles.

"Ping Fang, you're a smart man. A smart man should understand one thing—this ship, Su Jiang, almost capsized twenty years ago. Now that it's finally stabilized, do you really want it to capsize again?"

"I don't want the boat to capsize."

"So, can we leave the matter from the year Gengchen here?"

Chen Ping looked down at the color of the tea in his cup. The foam had dissipated, and the tea leaves had sunk to the bottom.

"Mr. Zhou, I just arrived at the provincial government, and the first thing I need to do is help Governor Qin draft a new round of state-owned asset audit plan. The audit scope covers the use of special funds by all subordinate units of the provincial government. This is routine work and has nothing to do with the Year of Gengchen."

The study was silent for five seconds.

Zhou Dingbang's jade thumb ring stopped on the second joint of his ring finger and stopped turning.

"All subordinate units?"

"all."

Chen Ping pronounced the word casually, as if he were reporting on a task. But both of them could sense the underlying meaning in his words.

All subordinate units, including the Provincial Retired Cadres Activity Center.

The old debts of 41.5 million, plus the newly reported 12 million this year, are all within the scope of the audit.

Zhou Dingbang stared at him for a long time. A bronze crane ornament on the bookshelf was illuminated by the light from the window, its shadow cast on the felt, motionless.

"Your dad has the same temper."

After saying this, Zhou Dingbang picked up his teacup and took a sip.

"The tea's gone cold. Fang Ming, get a hot pot."

The moment Secretary Fang pushed open the door, the atmosphere in the study changed. Zhou Dingbang began to talk about calligraphy, about his recent copy of Yan Zhenqing's "Draft of a Eulogy for My Nephew," and how to match the shades of ink with the texture of the Xuan paper.

Chen Ping responded with a few words, neither more nor less.

At 10:40, he got up to say goodbye.

Zhou Dingbang didn't get up to see him off; he just waved from his armchair.

"Lie it flat, and come sit here often."

Secretary Fang led him out of the short corridor and to the courtyard gate.

"Secretary-General Chen, please take care."

Chen Ping nodded, pushed open the courtyard gate, and walked towards the car parked by the roadside.

The November wind blew down from the tops of the sycamore trees, and the withered leaves swirled on the ground.

As he opened the car door, his gaze swept across the windshield.

A piece of white paper, folded twice, was stuck in the crack of the driver's side window.

Chen Pingfang didn't rush to get in the car. He glanced left and right—Wutong Road was deserted, with only the silhouette of an elderly man walking his dog turning a corner about 200 meters away.

He pulled the paper out from the crack in the car window and unfolded it.

A small piece of white paper, about the size of a palm, had a line of text written in the middle with a ballpoint pen. The handwriting was unfamiliar and the strokes were messy, but each character was legible.

**Su Gong (Gengchen) Criminal Retrial Case No. 0037**

A case file number.

"Su Gong" is the internal code of the Jiangsu Provincial Public Security Bureau, and "Xing Fu" is an abbreviation for criminal review. Year of Gengchen.

Chen Ping folded the paper back to its original shape and held it between his fingers.

Someone handed Zhou Dingbang a criminal review case file number from twenty years ago at his doorstep.

This person knew he would come today. He knew where he parked. He knew what he talked about with Zhou Dingbang.

The car door was half open, and a cold draft slipped in through the crack, brushing against the back of his hand.

Chen Ping stuffed the paper into the deepest part of his inner pocket, got into the driver's seat, and closed the car door.

In the rearview mirror, the red brick wall of No. 17 Wutong Road was quiet, and the withered vines of the ivy swayed twice in the wind.

He started the engine but didn't shift into gear immediately.

My thumb rested on the stitching of the steering wheel and rubbed it in circles.

Suzhou Public Security Bureau (Gengchen) Criminal Retrial Case No. 0037.

My father's death underwent a criminal review.