A Borrowed Flame in the Rain

Zhao Guipu’s tone carried a trace of amusement, casual and unbothered, yet it plunged the entire table into sudden silence.

Everyone present—including Wu Qie himself—instinctively shifted their gaze to that bowl of pickled radish old duck soup.

Golden duck meat floated in the bowl, dotted with a few yellow daylily buds, while the sharp sourness of the pickled radish seemed to seep straight into everyone’s noses.

Wu Wenxiong looked at the soup, then at his son’s face, recalling his good-for-nothing son’s bold declaration about making Zhao Guipu marry into the Wu family.

Under the table, Li Junbi gripped the tablecloth tightly, using every ounce of restraint in her life to stop herself from yanking it off completely.

Zhao Shu raised his head, staring at Zhao Guipu in confusion.

Only Wu Qie, the person involved, remained expressionless and strangely calm, a single word surfacing in his mind: ‘Huh?’

The sudden silence in the private room felt jarring.

Yet the one who caused it acted as if nothing had happened.

Zhao Guipu reached out, took another bowl of soup, placed it in front of Wu Wenxiong, then turned to Zhao Shu.

“How long are you planning to hold the lazy Susan? Not letting anyone eat?”

Zhao Shu blinked.

“Oh.”

He let go of the turntable.

The table began rotating again.

Good, good.

Just normal soup distribution.

Wu Qie had a bowl, Wu Wenxiong had one—maybe Wu Qie just got his first because he happened to be closer.

Wu Wenxiong took out a handkerchief and wiped his forehead.

Breaking into a slight sweat in this weather was unexpected.

He took a sip of soup and smiled.

“This soup was a good choice.”

It sounded forced, but it broke the tension.

Everyone at the table quietly let out a breath.

Zhao Shu seemed a little embarrassed.

He had only stopped the turntable because no one was eating yet, but now it made him look like he lacked table manners.

Once the atmosphere returned to normal, he couldn’t help but complain.

“How was I supposed to know you’d suddenly start serving soup? That was scary. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have held it that long.”

—And anyway, since when did serving soup become Zhao Guipu’s job?

Zhao Guipu glanced at him, clearly not considering it a big deal, and didn’t bother responding.

He simply turned back to continue talking with Wu Wenxiong.

Meanwhile, Wu Qie sat silently on his right, keeping a low profile.

He finished that bowl of duck soup completely, even picking out and eating the duck meat and daylilies.

Until the spoon clinked against the empty bowl, Zhao Guipu made no further strange moves.

He simply focused on eating, as if the younger generation beside him didn’t exist.

At the table, Wu Wenxiong and Zhao Guipu calculated that with the number of ships Zhao Corporation could lease out, a three-year long-term contract would generate enough funds to acquire about 10% of Julong Group’s shares.

Combined with Zhao Guipu’s existing 20%, securing Chengxin Port was practically guaranteed.

There might even be surplus funds left over.

Zhao Guipu mentioned he wanted to replace part of his fleet, and the Japanese shipyard involved in the previous ribbon-cutting ceremony was offering trade-ins—perfect timing for an upgrade.

If the trade blockade lasted more than three months, short-term leases could bring in a large sum.

But compared to that, long-term leasing—though less profitable per deal—would generate roughly twenty times the total income in the short run.

—In the past, European port capitalists would never have crossed oceans to lease ships from Asia.

But now, they had no choice.

Refusing cooperation out of pride would mean watching their empire sink into the ocean.

This was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.

“Looking at it this way, long-term leasing really does bring in significant cash flow,” Wu Wenxiong said.

Cash was king in this era.

And Zhao Guipu’s real focus was the oil shipping route.

For years, racial bias had excluded Asian shipowners from that sector.

Now, he was forcing open a door.

Times had changed.

At seventeen, he saved the Zhao family.

At twenty, he declared his ships would sail across the world.

And now—

Wu Wenxiong laughed.

“Whoever gave you the idea to choose long-term leasing over short-term must be thanked properly.”

It sounded like casual curiosity.

But Zhao Guipu didn’t bite.

He simply smiled without answering.

Beside him, Wu Qie calmly spat a chicken bone into his dish.

His face remained expressionless, as if none of this had anything to do with him.

Because in his mind, it didn’t.

At most, his words had been a small reminder.

Even without him, Zhao Guipu would have figured it out sooner or later.

So Wu Qie didn’t feel proud at all.

He simply focused on eating his 688 yuan chicken.

His phone lit up.

He glanced down.

[ZHAO: A’Qie, did you hear that? Your dad told me to thank you properly.]

Wu Qie blinked, forcing his gaze not to drift.

[Wu Qie: Heard it.]

[Wu Qie: You’re welcome.]

[Wu Qie: No need to share this one though. Otherwise your new ships might have my name on them.]

He put his phone down and picked up a vegetable, chewing quietly like a rabbit.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Zhao Guipu glance at his phone and chuckle softly.

The meal ended close to ten at night.

Wu Wenxiong and Zhao Guipu had drunk quite a bit.

Li Junbi took Wu Wenxiong to the parking lot for a walk to sober up.

Wu Qie stayed behind to settle the bill.

Zhao Guipu didn’t leave immediately.

He said he wanted to smoke outside.

He sent Zhao Shu to call the driver.

Before leaving, Zhao Shu looked his brother up and down.

“You okay on your own?”

Zhao Guipu tapped the cigarette pack in his palm and laughed.

“I’m your brother, not your father. I’m not that old.”

Zhao Shu cursed at him for talking nonsense.

While they spoke, Wu Qie stood nearby confirming the bill with the manager.

At that moment, Zhao Shu leaned in.

“Keep an eye on him. If he falls into the flower bed while smoking, he’ll make headlines tomorrow.”

Zhao Guipu said nothing.

Zhao Shu assumed he was tipsy.

“He doesn’t talk much when he’s drunk. Just keep an eye on him.”

Wu Qie nodded.

Out of the corner of his eye, he clearly saw Zhao Guipu’s lips curl upward slightly at the words “haven’t had much contact.”

As if he found something amusing.

When Wu Qie stepped outside, it was pouring rain.

The night was soaked through with damp cold air.

Zhao Guipu stood under the entrance, just as before.

Suit jacket draped over his arm.

Cigarette between his fingers—unlit.

Rain drifted in, dampening his shirt.

Wu Qie glanced around.

The car hadn’t arrived.

So he went back inside, borrowed an umbrella, and returned.

He opened it and held it over Zhao Guipu.

The rain softened instantly beneath the shelter.

Zhao Guipu looked up slightly.

“Hmm?”

The atmosphere shifted.

Something softer crept into the cold night.

Wu Qie tilted his head up.

“The car’s not here yet?”

“Mm. I told them to wait.”

His tone was lazy.

Zhao Guipu tried lighting the cigarette, but the lighter failed.

A hand reached over and took it from him.

Wu Qie lit it effortlessly.

The flame flickered to life.

Zhao Guipu leaned closer, lighting the cigarette.

The distance between them closed.

Warm breath brushed against Wu Qie’s fingers.

The cigarette tip glowed faintly in the dark.

Wu Qie returned the lighter to his pocket.

Then Zhao Guipu spoke.

“I noticed earlier.”

Wu Qie looked up.

“You tried to seat Zhao Shu next to me and sit farther away.”

Wu Qie froze slightly.

“I thought you wouldn’t point it out.”

“I was wondering,” Zhao Guipu continued, adjusting the umbrella slightly,

“why you went back on your word.”

“You said you wouldn’t avoid me.”

Wu Qie looked away.

“No.”

“Were you nervous?”

“…If you didn’t speak like you were collecting a debt, I wouldn’t be.”

Zhao Guipu chuckled.

Then, without warning, he placed the cigarette at Wu Qie’s lips.

“Calm down.”

Wu Qie instinctively took it.

The smoke brushed past his senses.

His heartbeat only sped up.

“Don’t do it again,” Zhao Guipu said lightly.

Wu Qie stayed silent.

Holding the umbrella.

Holding the cigarette.

Staring blankly.

The car finally arrived.

Zhao Shu leaned out.

Then froze.

Wu Qie was holding an umbrella—but only over himself.

Zhao Guipu’s shoulder was soaked.

“…What the hell.”

Wu Qie only realized then.

Zhao Guipu smiled faintly.

“Good night, A’Qie.”

“Good night.”

He watched him leave.

Later, in the car, Li Junbi leaned forward.

“Why do you smell like smoke?”

Wu Qie blinked.

“…Honestly, I don’t really know either.”