Zhang Bin was thoroughly satisfied with his life.

A relaxed job. A reasonably functional marriage. His wife had let herself go over the years, but he had a tender young mistress available for regular encounters of body and soul — by his own assessment, he was doing quite well for himself.

He’d roll into the office around nine in the morning, stamp a few documents, sleep through his lunch break until four in the afternoon, play a few rounds of Fight the Landlord on his computer, and then it was practically time to go home already.

Around five, his younger cousin called — he’d made plans with a couple of friends, dinner and drinks tonight, was Zhang Bin free to join?

Zhang Bin thought about it for half a second. “On your salary? Six, seven thousand a month? Stop eating out every other day. As it happens, someone’s taking me to dinner tonight — bring your friends, I’ll take you somewhere decent.”

“You’re the best, big brother.”

This wasn’t the first time Zhang Bin had pulled this move, and his cousin had long since made peace with it. Around six, the cousin showed up at the school gate with two of his hangers-on, waiting for Zhang Bin to collect them.

The moment they got in the car, the cousin launched into a stream of flattery — every other sentence “my brother this” and “my brother that,” warmer than any actual sibling. His two friends piled on right behind him.

And Zhang Bin ate every word of it. He sat back in the car, waving off the compliments with “oh, it’s nothing,” “you’re too kind,” “I’m just a working man like anyone else” — while the corners of his mouth crept steadily toward his ears.

Xu Ye had left campus right after class and secured a private room at a fairly upscale restaurant from half past five onward. He waited there until six thirty before Zhang Bin finally made his unhurried appearance.

Xu Ye had assumed he was coming alone and had ordered six dishes accordingly — plenty for two. He had not anticipated that Zhang Bin would bring three additional people, instantly turning a dinner for two into a table for five.

“Director Zhang — and these gentlemen are…?”

Zhang Bin grinned amiably. “Just some friends of mine — ran into them on the way over. If it’s a bother, we can always reschedule.”

Reschedule what. You’ve already walked through the door. If I say it’s a bother now, good luck getting you out here again.

Xu Ye was seething internally. Externally, he said, “Not a bother at all, Director Zhang. Please, come right in.”

He showed them to the private room, excused himself on a pretext, and went back to the counter to quietly add more dishes to the order.

There was an art to ordering for a business dinner.

Total headcount divided by two = number of cold dishes. Total headcount = number of hot dishes. Cold dishes plus hot dishes plus one soup = total dishes. Tonight’s table had five people — that meant three cold dishes, five hot dishes, and a soup: nine total. But business meals ran better on even numbers, so Xu Ye added one more cold dish, a plate of smashed cucumber. Something to go with the drinks.

Speaking of drinks — Xu Ye hadn’t ordered any. He’d wait and ask Zhang Bin what he preferred. If it was something in the hundred-yuan range, fine. If it ran into the hundreds, he’d grit his teeth and cover it — getting things done through people required gifts and goodwill, and that was just the cost of it.

But if they got through a full spread and expensive liquor and Zhang Bin still wouldn’t commit—

Then I’ll make sure you pay back every last yuan of this, all at once.

Xu Ye returned to the room and sat down beside Zhang Bin, exchanged pleasantries with the others, then turned to Zhang Bin with an easy smile. “Director Zhang, what do you usually like to drink? I’ll have the server bring something over.”

Zhang Bin didn’t hesitate. “Moutai’s fine. Doesn’t go to your head.”

When the server came in with the cold dishes, Xu Ye steeled himself and ordered a bottle of Moutai. [TL: 茅台, China’s most prestigious baijiu — a bottle in a restaurant setting in 2014 would typically run well over a thousand yuan, making it a significant hospitality expense] Once the food and drinks had all arrived, the five of them settled into the rhythm of eating and talking.

“Director Zhang, vending machines on campus are really the direction things are heading. I think this is genuinely good for everyone — for you, for the school, for the students…”

Xu Ye was still building toward his pitch when Zhang Bin reached over and clapped him on the shoulder. “I know, I know. I’ve got a sense of it. Let me do a quick review and I’ll get back to you. Come on, drink up.”

Xu Ye tried several more times to steer the conversation back to the vending machines — each time, Zhang Bin found a way to deflect without giving a direct answer.

All Xu Ye managed to extract was a rough timeline.

Zhang Bin considered it. “Give me a day or two.”

After that, Xu Ye dropped the subject. The rest of the dinner had nothing to do with him — it was Zhang Bin and his cousin and the two flatterers, talking over each other the whole way through.

When Xu Ye went to settle at the counter at the end, the total came out to just under two thousand yuan.

To put that in context: for most university students at the time, a full month’s living expenses didn’t clear a thousand.

Xu Ye wasn’t short on money, but he ran a tight ship by habit, and two thousand yuan for a single dinner stung him somewhere real.

He took a taxi back to campus. He’d expected Zhang Bin to drag things out until Thursday — but on Wednesday, Zhang Bin messaged him first.

Zhang Bin: “If you’re free this evening, we could talk about the commission arrangement.”

Xu Ye read the message and frowned. “Commission? Does that mean venue fees and electricity get folded into the commission?”

Zhang Bin didn’t elaborate. Just: “Let’s talk in person.”

So that evening, Xu Ye arranged another meeting. This time Zhang Bin came alone — but still ordered a bottle of Moutai. The previous night’s unfinished bottle, he’d taken home with him; tonight he was looking to do the same.

Xu Ye didn’t comment. He told himself that if they could actually get this deal closed tonight, a few thousand yuan was a price he could live with.

Zhang Bin didn’t bother with pleasantries this time. He held up three fingers before they’d even properly sat down. “I can get venue fees and electricity compressed down to the minimum. In exchange, I want thirty percent of your total gross revenue as a facilitation fee.”

“Thirty percent of total gross revenue?!“

Xu Ye couldn’t stay seated. “Director Zhang, our margins on these machines aren’t what you might think. There’s depreciation on the units themselves, cost of goods, labor costs, and a stack of other overhead on top of that. If you’re taking thirty percent off the top of gross revenue, there’s nothing left for us.”

If Zhang Bin had asked for thirty percent of net profit, Xu Ye might have at least considered it. But thirty percent of gross? That was a non-starter.

Zhang Bin, however, didn’t budge. “You’ll still make money, don’t worry. Young people shouldn’t aim too high.”

Xu Ye poured him a cup of baijiu. “Director Zhang, can we talk this through a bit more? There’s got to be some flexibility here.”

His tone was almost deferential — practically holding Zhang Bin up on a pedestal.

Zhang Bin still shook his head. “No flexibility on this one.”

That shut down everything Xu Ye had been about to say.

He stopped talking. Zhang Bin didn’t seem bothered in the slightest — he sat there completely at ease, confident he had the upper hand. Whether Xu Ye agreed or not, Zhang Bin came out fine either way.

Xu Ye sat there in silence, watching Zhang Bin shovel food and sip his Moutai. A long stretch passed. Then Xu Ye’s expression went flat.

“Director Zhang, I don’t think we’re going to reach an agreement tonight.”

Zhang Bin smiled pleasantly. “Why don’t you take a little more time to think it over?”

“Nothing to think over. Thirty percent is out of the question.”

Xu Ye stood up and left.

Zhang Bin didn’t try to stop him.

Outside the restaurant, Xu Ye walked all the way to the subway station, bought his ticket, and boarded the train. Once he was on, he opened WeChat, forwarded every single photo Qin Zhiwei had covertly taken — Zhang Bin and his mistress, out shopping together — to Zhang Bin’s contact, and then deleted him.

Back in the private room, Zhang Bin was happily working through his food and drink when he heard his phone ping. He picked it up at leisure and tapped to look.

Five or six photographs.

He went rigid on the spot, like something had struck him across the face. He sat there frozen.

When his hands steadied enough to respond, he tried to send a message: “Where did you get these?!”

Message failed to send.

It took him a second to register what that meant.

Xu Ye had already deleted him.

“Son of a—!!!”

Zhang Bin slammed his cup down hard enough to shatter it on the floor, lurched to his feet, and paced back and forth across the private room a dozen times before digging through his contacts for Xu Ye’s phone number and calling it.

But—

“Hello, the number you have dialed is currently unavailable. Please try again later…”

“Hello, the number you have dialed is currently unavailable. Please try again later…”

“Hello, the number you have dialed is currently unavailable. Please try again later…”

(End of Chapter 112)