Chapter Fifty-Eight: The Phantom

Yangzhou fried rice was once called “Golden Fragments of Rice” by Emperor Yang of Sui. In Zhang He’s eyes, however, it was simply egg fried rice, with the only difference being that he had eaten it every day for some time now. Today was no exception. That morning, he had packed a lunchbox to take to work—not that he had cooked it himself, of course. It was just leftovers from the Fatty couple’s dinner the night before. Rather than letting it go to waste, Zhang He figured he might as well make do and have it for lunch. Still, eating the same thing every day, his mouth had long since grown tired of it.

Zhang He naturally had his own way of eating: he sat in the office lounge, shoveling food into his mouth while listening to his colleagues gossip. In this way, the so-called “Golden Fragments of Rice” became a little less unpalatable. Unfortunately, the office was unusually quiet today. Even Chu Bo and Yu Yan, usually the most enthusiastic about Dynasty gossip, seemed to have run out of juicy news. Just as Zhang He was struggling to choke down his lunch, the silhouette of a successful man drifted in through the main entrance. President Li walked to the center of the lounge and clapped his hands, instantly quieting the room.

With a smile, President Li announced, “Everyone, I have some good news to share.”

All eyes fixed on him. President Li cleared his throat and declared, “This morning, Manager Jiang Yao of Sales Department Seven successfully closed a one-million-yuan deal. The client has already placed the order…”

The lounge erupted in a brief commotion, followed by a round of applause, with Chu Bo applauding the loudest.

But Zhang He continued to eat his fried rice, expressionless as ever. Whether Jiang Yao closed a million-yuan deal or the entire office won five million in the lottery, what did that have to do with him?

President Li’s next words, however, set off another wave of cheers: “Headquarters is extremely pleased with our branch’s performance. To reward Manager Jiang Yao and all our colleagues for their hard work, the company is inviting everyone from Sales to dinner tonight at Riverside Garden to celebrate Manager Jiang’s outstanding achievement…”

At these words, Zhang He promptly set down his lunchbox. Now, this did concern him.

A feast of meat and wine, all free—such opportunities were never to be missed by Zhang He. So, when the workday ended, he drifted along behind the crowd of colleagues.

Riverside Garden was not an actual garden, but a high-end hotel in Dream Star City, designed to resemble a lush floral paradise. The company had already reserved the largest private room. Tonight’s menu featured authentic Sichuan cuisine, a feast for all the senses. More than forty people sat around three tables. President Li, in his usual suit and tie, played the role of the prosperous executive, energetically raising his glass to enliven the atmosphere.

Yet the star of the evening was not him, but Jiang Yao, dressed in a standard black women’s suit. From a distance, she looked both sharp and radiant, clearly buoyed by the success of her big deal.

Of course, the one most pleased was Zhang He, who sat at the least conspicuous table, head down, eating with abandon.

Zhang He’s speed and manner of eating always reminded Chu Bo of the bad old days. Twelve dishes had already been served, and while the other tables’ food remained largely untouched as people chatted and toasted, eight plates on their table had already been demolished—mostly by Zhang He alone.

“Zhang, slow down, slow down…” Chu Bo cautioned in friendly concern.

“Mhm, mhm, mhm!” Zhang He responded cheerfully, but continued to snatch up pig’s ear with his chopsticks even more energetically. Chu Bo could only sweat beside him—this guy could be a culinary deity even today.

The atmosphere in the private room quickly became lively, with small groups chatting and toasting. Zhang He kept eating and drinking, and soon their table was picked clean. Chu Bo and others had slipped over to Jiang Yao’s table to join the fun.

President Li, slightly tipsy, wandered over to Zhang He’s side and coughed politely.

“Oh, President Li, please, have a seat!” Zhang He greeted his boss courteously.

President Li was equally polite. “Zhang, you’ve worked hard this month. Keep it up. Here, let me toast you.”

Indeed, Zhang He had worked hard this month—after more than ten days of toiling in Dynasty, he had yet to earn any real money. As for work, sitting around daydreaming every day was a skill in itself. Now that the boss was offering a toast, he had no choice but to drink.

This was a potent 52-proof spirit, notoriously called “Cheap Man’s Spring.” Without hesitation, Zhang He downed the small cup in one gulp.

“Zhang, your desk is near Manager Jiang’s—learn from her! Here’s to you closing a big deal soon.” President Li raised his glass again.

Without a word, Zhang He knocked it back.

“Zhang, does work stress you out? Tonight’s the time to relax. Cheers!” President Li raised his glass once more. Zhang He drank as if it were water.

“Zhang, are you seeing anyone? You’re not young anymore—you should settle down. A man with a family will have more success. Cheers!” Four drinks in a row, but Zhang He remained unruffled.

Though Jiang Yao was far off in the crowd, she hadn’t missed the interaction between Zhang He and President Li. She had been a bit disappointed when Zhang He, engrossed in eating, didn’t come over to toast her. But seeing him chatting and drinking with the boss, her eyes brightened—there were certainly advantages to being close to the leadership.

Yet as time went on, Jiang Yao grew puzzled. Toasting is common enough, but she had never seen a boss try so hard to get a subordinate drunk. Could it be that the two of them were…? She forced herself not to entertain such disturbing thoughts, never dreaming of President Li’s true intentions.

President Li had his suspicions about Zhang He’s dual identity. One was, of course, the obvious: a company employee. But the other, less known, might be that of a private investigator—how else would he know so much about President Li’s affair with Yao Wenfang?

The best way to get someone to talk is through drink—a method passed down for generations, tried and tested in countless situations from forging friendships to diplomacy. The problem was that after nearly half a bottle of Cheap Man’s Spring, Zhang He showed no signs of intoxication. Instead, he ate with even more gusto, and the table was nearly bare.

President Li signaled discreetly to a tall, beautiful colleague in the distance. Yao Wenfang approached, her voice so saccharine it could make your skin crawl: “Zhang He, dear, let me toast you!”

Zhang He didn’t even glance at her, just raised his glass in acknowledgement. Not out of malice, but in his eyes, a beautiful woman was something you could look at but not eat, while dishes were both pleasing to the eye and edible—a logic uniquely his own.

Yao Wenfang, following President Li’s lead, downed four or five drinks, and Zhang He matched her cup for cup. Nearby, Chu Bo watched in awe—this guy could eat and drink like a god. If he was already the God of Eating, becoming the God of Wine seemed only a matter of time.

By then, the two bottles of Cheap Man’s Spring were nearly gone, and while President Li and Yao Wenfang were both starting to feel woozy, Zhang He had hardly said a word, his mouth too busy with food to spare for conversation.

The dinner finally wound down around eight. President Li suggested KTV, but most colleagues preferred not to waste their precious time singing—hardcore Dynasty fans that they were, they were eager to rush home and log in.

Zhang He strolled home at his leisure, showing not the slightest sign of drunkenness. On the contrary, he looked every bit the leader of a mysterious organization, patrolling his territory as the bustling streets seemed to belong to him.

Though the night streets were noisy, Zhang He’s phone rang out even louder—a cheap knockoff with a blaring ringtone: “Two little kids are on the phone, hello, hello, what are you doing, hello, hello, I’m eating glutinous rice cake…”

He glanced at the caller ID—anonymous again.

Zhang He frowned. He was utterly helpless with this caller, who appeared as if from nowhere. No matter where Zhang He went, the caller always seemed to know. The strangest part was that Zhang He didn’t even know who he was, nor would the man ever reveal his identity or background.

A year ago, this “Ghost” had begun to appear, calling Zhang He every so often to harass him.

Sometimes Zhang He could hardly believe this bizarre situation himself, but the truth remained—it was happening to him.

“Did you enjoy tonight’s meal?” The Ghost’s opening always made it impossible for Zhang He to change the subject.

“It was all right,” Zhang He replied unhurriedly. By now, he had long since given up trying to uncover the Ghost’s identity—there was no point, and the Ghost never answered anyway.

The Ghost always asked questions, rarely answered them; Zhang He was used to his ways.

“I never noticed before, but you can really hold your liquor,” the Ghost remarked.

Zhang He belched. “So-so.”

The Ghost suddenly laughed, a raspy sound that would have startled anyone else, like a fiend cackling in the dark. But Zhang He wasn’t fazed—he knew the Ghost meant him no harm. It was the Ghost who had told him about President Li and Yao Wenfang’s affair.

“President Li and his mistress tried to probe you tonight, didn’t they?” the Ghost asked.

“No,” Zhang He replied.

“Good,” the Ghost sounded pleased. “They tried to get you drunk, not realizing your tolerance is greater than both of theirs put together, so they got nothing out of you and ended up drunk themselves.”

Zhang He’s tone was less than pleased. “Since you know everything, why bother calling to ask?”

The Ghost laughed again. “I’m just being kind.”

Zhang He chuckled. “I really don’t see where your kindness lies.”

“I’m only calling to remind you: as long as President Li doesn’t figure out how you know about his little affair, you can keep coasting at this company without worry.”

Zhang He fell silent. “I’m curious—were you at Riverside Garden tonight?”

“That I can answer with just two words,” the Ghost said.

“Which two words?”

“Goodbye.” With that, the line went dead. Zhang He could only smile wryly as he hung up. “I’ve never met anyone like you before, and I hope I never do again.”