Chapter 048: Still That Careful, Huh?

Chapter 048: Still That Careful, Huh?

The room was spacious, far larger than an ordinary restaurant private room built for a dozen guests, though it held only a single table, four wooden chairs, and a scattering of decorative pieces—flower stands, folding screens.

A man in his early forties sat at the table drinking tea, dressed in a plain high-collared T-shirt, baggy shorts, and slippers.

He was tall, carrying some weight but not excessively, the kind of build that read as sturdy rather than heavy. Stubble covered his jaw, his hair looked days overdue for a wash, and altogether he gave off a distinctly sloppy, unkempt air.

Either of the two bodyguards outside would have carried a hundred times his presence.

He looked, at a glance, like any ordinary middle-aged man you’d pass on the street—someone who might have kept himself in shape once, back before marriage and kids softened him around the edges, before he stopped bothering with how he looked, before the small grinding demands of daily life sanded down whatever sharpness he’d had in his youth and left him thoroughly average, thoroughly rough around the edges, the kind of man destined to drift through life without amounting to much.

That was the impression he gave at first glance.

Nobody would have guessed he had money or power.

In truth, he had both. Not just money—serious money.

One detail stood out: a faint scar along the right side of his neck. It was his most distinctive feature, and the reason he stuck to high collars—they hid it, at least partway.

As far as Wu Chen knew, the scar dated back to a car accident, years ago.

The moment Wu Chen stepped into the room, the sloppy man’s head turned toward the door.

He froze at the first sight of Wu Chen.

Wu Chen froze too.

For entirely different reasons.

The man froze because Wu Chen looked far too young. He’d expected a middle-aged tycoon who shared his particular hobby—someone maybe a bit younger than himself, but not by much.

Their brief phone call earlier had given him a hint: Wu Chen’s voice sounded somewhat young, though his tone carried real steadiness.

So he’d guessed early thirties. Something close to that.

He’d never imagined Wu Chen was barely in his twenties.

“So it’s you, Boss Lei.” Wu Chen spoke first, feigning surprise. He wanted the man to believe he’d simply recognized him—that the two of them really were fated to meet.

“Chen? Wu Chen?” the man asked. He’d guessed the character might be in Wu Chen’s given name from the game ID, Server-Dominating King·Chen, and had already gotten the surname over the phone.

“Yes, that’s me.” Wu Chen nodded and walked further in.

The bodyguard outside pulled the door shut.

“You know who I am?” the man asked, watching him cross the room.

“The second son of the Lei family, Hongfa Industrial. I’ve heard your name for a long time, Boss Lei. We really are fated.” Wu Chen smiled as he said it, letting something flicker across his expression at the word fated.

The man caught the flicker.

Wu Chen had made sure he would.

Wu Chen straightened his suit jacket and took the chair across from him.

Hongfa Industrial. Plenty of companies carried some version of that name—it wasn’t exactly unique, though it wasn’t quite a duplicate either, since a company’s full registered name always included its location and would read differently in full, with a different scope of business attached.

“Industrial” was simply a catch-all term, covering manufacturers and certain tech firms alike.

The Hongfa Industrial Wu Chen meant was Hongfa Weixing Precision Group, based in Guanan County, Huaixi City.

It ranked among the national top ten in contract manufacturing, with reach into air-conditioning R&D, auto parts production, and more. Total assets now exceeded sixty billion yuan.

The Lei family of Hongfa—the Lei clan—held 31 percent of Hongfa Group’s shares collectively, making them the company’s largest shareholder and its de facto controller.

Hongfa had started out as a struggling state-run factory in Guanan County, all but bankrupt. In the early ’90s, when privatization swept through, the factory’s director, Lei Zhenghui, scraped together enough capital to buy it outright, overhauled the business, and built it up fast.

Across thirty years, Hongfa Precision had weathered several near-collapses, taken on multiple rounds of financing, and eventually absorbed another major manufacturer, Weixing Industrial.

Each round of financing and each merger had diluted the family’s stake further, which was how they’d ended up holding only 31 percent.

But control never left their hands. Equity and voting power were two separate things.

The current chairman of Hongfa was still Lei Zhenghui, nearly seventy now and largely retired from day-to-day involvement. Actual operations fell to his eldest son, Lei You, who held the title of general manager.

The man sitting across from Wu Chen was Lei Zhenghui’s second son—his youngest.

Lei Cheng.

Forty-two this year, Lei Cheng ranked as the company’s seventh-largest individual shareholder, holding 5 percent of Hongfa’s shares. He also served as deputy general manager of Hongfa Weixing, and as chairman and general manager of Donghai Fumao Group, a Hongfa subsidiary.

He’d lived in Donghai for years and kept a handful of businesses of his own on the side, though nothing close to the scale of the family empire.

…

“My reputation, huh… ha.” Lei Cheng, sloppy and greasy as ever, laughed. It sounded open enough, but Wu Chen caught a thread of self-mockery running under it.

He looked back at Wu Chen and asked, “Which family are you from?”

“What family?” Wu Chen asked back, playing dumb.

He understood perfectly well.

Lei Cheng was already trying to place him within some major family—there was no other way to explain a man this young throwing more than ten million into a game server without blinking.

Clearly a rich kid, and a serious one at that.

“No family?” Lei Cheng frowned, puzzled, then let it go, lifting the teapot with a smile. “Never mind, I won’t pry. But little brother, at your age—why an old game like this? You really threw me off. Younger than I figured. More than ten years younger, easy.”

He refilled his own cup as he spoke, then poured one for Wu Chen.

Just the one pot, two cups, on the table.

“Just killing time. A lot’s been going on lately, too much pressure, and I wanted something that felt good to smash through. Last time I touched that game, I was in fourth grade.” Wu Chen smiled.

“Ha. Letting off steam, then?” Lei Cheng laughed, and sighed. “You rich kids these days—you spend even more recklessly than I do.”

“It’s manageable.” Wu Chen smiled, then glanced toward the door.

“Have some tea first.” Lei Cheng lifted his cup slightly.

Wu Chen picked his up, then said, “Boss Lei, those two outside your door don’t look like ordinary muscle. Still keeping this careful, huh? Worried your brother’s going to have you killed?”

Lei Cheng, teacup halfway to his lips, froze.

His eyes, when they came back to Wu Chen, had gone sharp.