Chapter 1: Reminiscing on Those Glorious, Eventful Years

Lin Zixuan invited an old classmate to dinner at a Japanese restaurant called “Asakusa Imaza” located in the western part of North Zhicheng. The owner was a Qin national who had self-funded a culinary apprenticeship in Japan, returned with a gilded sheen, and possessed considerable cooking skills. He maintained strict quality control and proudly claimed his establishment was one of the top ten upscale izakayas in North Zhicheng, with an average spending of around a thousand yuan per person—an amount that deterred most salaried workers. The hostess, dressed in a kimono with exquisite makeup and flamboyant charm, clasped her hands in front of her—left hand over right—and bowed deeply before gracefully leading the two men to the “Ogi Yellow” private room.

“Asakusa Imaza” featured nine private rooms of varying sizes: “Kanhi,” “Kawazu,” “Yoshino,” “Shidare,” “Sekiyama,” “Yaee,” “Fugenzo,” “Yukon,” and “Ogi Yellow.” The smallest room, “Ogi Yellow,” was ideal for two or three people to share a quiet drink. The guests removed their shoes and stepped onto the tatami mats. Against the wall stood a low table with a rectangular recess beneath it, allowing diners to stretch their legs comfortably while sitting on cushions, sparing them the awkwardness of cross-legged seating. The coziness of the private room lay in the wall directly behind the cushions, providing a comfortable backrest without the need for rigid posture that could lead to aches by the end of the meal.

When ordering, Lin Zixuan casually asked if there were any dietary restrictions. Sima did not bother to be polite and said he did not eat sashimi, curry, fried dishes, or cream-based stews; everything else was fine. Lin Zixuan was caught off guard—no sashimi, no curry, no fried food, no cream stews—what was left to eat at an izakaya? Chinese cuisine? He quickly regained his composure and turned to the server, who smiled understandingly and suggested they order sukiyaki. Eating just a hot pot seemed scant, so Lin Zixuan scanned the menu thoughtfully and added grilled chicken skewers, miso-simmered fish, sake-steamed clams, and oden for drinking. The sake was his own—Dassai 23, a 1.8-liter bottle—not cheap by his standards but barely a dent in his budget.

One dish after another arrived, each served in exquisite vessels with meticulous presentation, delighting the eye. Lin Zixuan did not rush to business, reminiscing instead on bygone days, talking more than eating. Sima drank and ate earnestly, occasionally replying perfunctorily. Back in school, Lin Zixuan had been the “star figure,” while Sima was a “transparent” outsider. Many old grievances and stories were new to him, and in retrospect, he felt he had wasted a beautiful youth.

The sukiyaki came last, steaming hot with a sweet, fragrant aroma. The ingredients were generous—marbled beef slices, aged tofu, shiitake and enoki mushrooms, konjac strands, crown daisies, baby bok choy, onions, and carrots—neatly arranged and dazzling. Before the server could explain, Lin Zixuan took over, describing sukiyaki as a sweet soy sauce hot pot where beef is dipped into raw egg, with a sweet and savory flavor that might be too strong for some. Sensing Lin’s restlessness, Sima waved the server away.

The room’s soundproofing was excellent, the flame under the portable stove quietly burning. After a brief silence, Lin Zixuan cleared his throat and said, “Well... you didn’t come to the last reunion. Lu Yu mentioned... if there’s a tricky problem, you might be able to help...” Lu Yu was their high school class monitor, very close to Lin Zixuan—inseparable like Meng and Jiao. After flunking the college entrance exam, his family sent him abroad, and he returned with a diploma to work quietly in the family business. A dream once rich, now painfully stark—a truly sad tale.

Sima picked up a slice of marbled beef, ate it without dipping in raw egg, and muttered, “There might be something, but it depends on the problem. Lu Ban is a good guy; his matters aren’t really hard to handle...”

Lin Zixuan carefully weighed Sima’s words—good guy, not hard to handle—and felt he understood. Every snake has its own path, every mouse its own way. Sima’s methods were unorthodox, striking from the shadows to solve problems or deal with troublesome people. Yet, when it came down to it, he hesitated. After years apart, could an old classmate still be trusted? Through the steam rising from the hot pot, Lin stared intently at Sima. Sima’s face remained unchanged as he continued eating the marbled beef, smiling and saying, “The beef’s excellent today. Don’t you want to try some?”

Seeing Sima’s hearty appetite and eagerness, Lin rang for the server to bring more marbled beef. The server noticed the broth was nearly gone and the side dishes were sparse, asking if they wanted another sukiyaki with double the beef. Lin, unconcerned with such details, nodded, then added, “Double isn’t enough—add as much as you can.”

The old classmate was hesitant and indecisive, but Sima didn’t push. Lu Ban had been clear on the phone: they were classmates first, willing to help but not forcing it. Lin Zixuan was now “President Lin,” and money was just numbers—collect what was owed without hesitation. Recently, Lin’s finances were tight; it’s easy to go from thrift to luxury but hard to return. Used to comfort, he urgently needed a large sum to plug holes. Lu Yu was trustworthy and had brokered the meeting that led to tonight’s dinner.

The server brought the sukiyaki again, this time in a larger pot, with marbled beef piled shakily like Mount Fuji. Lin didn’t pick up his chopsticks but watched, incredulous, as Sima devoured the meat. Lin ate and drank little; the food and sake were mostly consumed by Sima. His friend was slim, even somewhat gaunt—could he be the legendary “big eater” with an extraordinary appetite?

Sima ate contentedly. The marbled beef at “Asakusa Imaza” was imported from Japan, A5 grade, the finest quality, with delicate marbling like frost, an exquisite texture, and excellent chef skills. Apart from being expensive, it had no flaws. The second pot disappeared swiftly. After finishing the last half cup of sake, Sima put down his chopsticks and patiently waited for Lin to speak.

At last, Lin Zixuan made up his mind. He explained his role as an executive at a venture capital firm, though junior and essentially sidelined. Outwardly impressive, inwardly dissatisfied, he was unwilling to drift through days and wanted to build something of his own. Having invested much thought, he had set his sights on a promising telecommunications equipment company and was considering acquisition.

The company was not yet public, with clear internal shares: three founders each held 20%, and the remaining 40% belonged to a woman named Chen. Lin had approached the three founders separately but met resistance. He managed to persuade only one to sell shares at a high price, which would grant him a mere 20%. His goal was absolute control—67%. Shareholding thresholds were like topographical contours: 67% was the plateau of absolute power, 51% the ridge of relative control, and 34% the cliff of defensive veto. Without majority control, he could settle for 51%, meaning he needed to buy at least 31% from Ms. Chen.

Desperate and grasping at straws, he hoped Sima could help convince her.