Chapter 115 — Fireworks
The woman from the Changsan immediately shouted in protest, “He’s lying! He met with Japanese men in the opium den—”
He Shuwei knelt there, looking pitiful, “It was Third Uncle who ordered me to do it, Father. I had no choice. After so many years, I’ve treated you as my real father. But Third Uncle said that if I didn’t follow his instructions, he’d drive me out of the He family.”
He Dongting’s face was cold as water.
He Shuwei continued his desperate plea. He knew how much his father cared about family ties. He could admit to being weak and cowardly, to being unwilling to leave the family—but he could never admit to collaborating with the Japanese. If he did, it would mean admitting to murder. And if anyone investigated, exposure was only a matter of time.
“I only met the Japanese merchant that one time—because of the last birthday banquet. Third Uncle wanted to show off and invited them to congratulate him. It was only then I learned I’d been switched at birth with Xie Jing. I was foolish, lost my head for a moment, and told Mr. Yichuan that Xie Jing had left the He house by carriage. It was my fault. I was afraid you’d stop valuing me, afraid he’d outshine me. I only wanted to give him a little lesson—I never imagined it would lead to a car accident…”
He Shuwei’s voice trembled as he wept, gambling everything on his father’s mercy.
After a long silence, He Dongting took a boat ticket from his pocket, placed it on the table, and pushed it toward him. “You’ve committed a grave mistake. You can’t stay in Shanghai. This ship leaves tonight. Go.”
He Shuwei froze, then slowly reached out with trembling hands.
He Dongting pressed down on the ticket, looked deeply into his eyes, then released it.
Two bodyguards escorted He Shuwei to the car. The others in the room were sent to the police. Soon, the once-bustling He mansion hall was silent and empty, leaving only He Dongting alone inside.
Unlike the usual lively atmosphere, now every footstep echoed.
Footsteps approached. A jar of wine was set on the table. An old friend sat across from him—Xie Siquan.
He Dongting raised his head. “You came to laugh at me?”
Xie Siquan poured wine calmly. “No. I came to drink with you.”
He poured two cups, drained his in one gulp, showing the empty bottom. “After all these years of quarrels between us, it’s time to stop. From today, I won’t trouble the He family again.”
He Dongting lifted his cup and drank. After a while, his hoarse voice came, “I failed as a father. I raised one wrong child, and almost ruined Jing’er. All the blame lies with me… Take him to Sichuan, Siquan. I don’t deserve to keep him by my side.”
Xie Siquan raised a brow. “You’re really willing to let me take him?”
He Dongting smiled bitterly. “First, I want to reflect on myself. Second, the He family has made enemies of the Japanese. It’ll take time for things to settle. Keeping Jing’er here is too dangerous.”
He drank two more cups, then coughed. He tried to suppress it, but the coughs worsened. When he covered his mouth with a handkerchief, bright red blood stained the cloth.
Xie Siquan straightened up. “What’s wrong?”
He Dongting folded the handkerchief neatly. “I changed doctors recently. They found traces of mild poisoning from over the years. Luckily it’s not fatal—treated early, I can still live another ten years.”
Xie Siquan cursed the Japanese and slammed down his cup.
He Dongting tried to pour again, but Xie Siquan stopped him, “You’re in this condition and still drinking? Enough. Once you’re better, there’ll be time for wine.”
He Dongting smiled faintly and nodded.
Xie Siquan glanced at the clock—it had been nearly an hour. He tapped the table, frowning, “Tell me honestly—did you arrange for someone to take care of He Shuwei at the docks? It’s been so long, why no word yet? Don’t tell me you went soft-hearted again.”
He Dongting shook his head and sighed. “I already gave him a chance.”
“What?”
He Dongting looked down at his glass. “Three days of mourning, and still no remorse.”
Xie Siquan’s eyes narrowed. “Three days… the only one who died was Third Master He. So—He Shuwei was the Third Master’s son?”
On the way to the docks.
He Shuwei’s eyelids twitched nonstop. He kept glancing out the window to confirm the car was headed toward the docks, but unease gnawed at him. His heart thudded wildly. Something felt wrong.
He slapped the front seat. “Stop! I want to get out!”
“The master ordered us to take you to the docks,” the driver said.
He Shuwei grabbed for the door—but it was locked. “Stop the car—”
Before he finished, the driver yanked the wheel. The car swerved violently and stopped crosswise in the road.
He Shuwei almost tumbled from the backseat. Outside, night had fallen. Footsteps approached—then a crash as the car door was forced open. The driver gave a muffled groan and slumped over the steering wheel.
The door beside He Shuwei was pulled open. A man in black bent down, speaking in accented Chinese: “Master Shuwei, Mr. Yichuan sent me. You’re in danger. Come with me—I’ll explain on the way!”
He hesitated only a second, then followed.
There was no one else in the new car. The man in black drove, leaving He Shuwei in the back. Outside, more men in black remained behind.
“What are they doing there?” He Shuwei asked.
“People from the He family came. They’re blocking them off.”
He Shuwei’s heart pounded. “The He family?”
“Yes. Check your ticket—look at the date. You’re not boarding any ship tonight.”
He Shuwei pulled it out under the dim car light—his hands trembling. The departure date was three days ago.
His blood ran cold. “No… no, that can’t be—three days ago?”
The man said flatly, “He Dongting wants you dead.”
He Shuwei collapsed into the seat. Memories flashed—the opium den, Third Master’s death, He Dongting’s icy stare. His temples throbbed painfully. He clutched his head and screamed.
No wonder—no wonder after the mourning, He Dongting had asked him if he had “anything left to say.” That had been his last chance. And He Shuwei, blinded by arrogance, had destroyed it himself.
The driver spoke again, now in smoother Chinese. “Mr. Yichuan says you should lay low. Do you remember the Japanese freighter you boarded before—the one where you met his men?”
“Yes,” He Shuwei said weakly. “They were with Mr. Yichuan.”
“Good. I’ll take you there again. There’s a case by your feet—money and gold bars for when you’re at sea.”
He Shuwei reached down and found the heavy case. He hugged it tightly.
“Remember,” the man said, “the fewer people who know, the safer you’ll be. Once on board, you’re on your own.”
“Understood.”
The car stopped at another dock. He Shuwei quickly got out, clutching the black suitcase, and hurried toward the ship.
The car didn’t leave. It stayed parked far away—waiting.
The driver checked his watch, reading quietly under his breath—in perfect Mandarin this time. If Xie Jing had been there, he would’ve recognized the man behind the beard as Zhang Huwei, the best fighter from the Eastern Courtyard’s security team.
—
East Suburb – Factory District
The Bai family’s factories had been rebuilt. Bai Mingyu kept one small building for working late. Usually, only he, Xie Jing, and a few guards stayed there.
Xie Jing had been living there for several days. Bai Mingyu had been too busy to rest. Only tonight did he finally take a break—but it was already deep into the night.
Xie Jing wandered to the rooftop terrace. The summer breeze was cool and pleasant. From here, the docks weren’t far, and the air was fresher than in the city.
From the east came a distant rumble—then the sky bloomed with fireworks.
He relaxed slightly. The earlier noise had been so loud he’d thought something had exploded.
He climbed onto the marble railing and sat, gazing up at the bursting colors that painted the night sky.
Then someone wrapped him from behind—Lord Bai Jiu.
Xie Jing startled, glancing back. “You scared me, master.”
Lord Bai Jiu held him tighter. “I should be the one scared. Sitting up here—what if you fall?”
“There’s grass below,” Xie Jing said, smiling. “It’s soft.”
Lord Bai Jiu frowned, unconvinced, and pulled him closer.
Xie Jing leaned in and kissed him—once, twice—until Lord Bai Jiu’s expression softened again. “Did you see the fireworks? They’re beautiful. I didn’t even hear you come up.”
Lord Bai Jiu kissed his nose. “Mm.”
More fireworks flared overhead—brilliant, deafening, filling the night.
The noise and light drowned out the real explosion at the docks—the Japanese freighter engulfed in flames.
Xie Jing, unaware, tilted his head back, eyes bright, watching the sky. In the reflection of the fireworks, his eyes shone like stars.
Lord Bai Jiu only looked at him. He kissed his forehead, full of tenderness.
As long as his Jing’er could see the fireworks, he didn’t need to see the darkness.
The road ahead was long—but he would always be there.
He lifted Xie Jing down from the railing, gently smoothed his windblown hair, and smiled. “Jing’er, in a few days, go to Sichuan with your uncle for a while. I’ll come for you once I finish my work here.”
Xie Jing blinked. “What work? I can help—”
Lord Bai Jiu shook his head. “Not this time.”
Xie Jing frowned but stayed silent.
Lord Bai Jiu pinched his chin, teasing. “Don’t sulk. I’m planning to build a soda plant—it’ll need lots of salt. Going to Sichuan is how you can help me.”
That eased Xie Jing’s worry. “All right. I’ll go. Give me a few men to take along.”
“I’ll send Wang Su and the others,” Lord Bai Jiu said.
Wang Su was one of the best shooters in the security team, second only to Xie Jing himself.
Xie Jing nodded. “If it’s just about salt, Uncle’s fleet can handle that,” he said softly, still reluctant to leave.
“It’s not just that,” Lord Bai Jiu said gently. “Your uncle has searched for you for twenty years. Go back—let him have peace of mind. I’ll join you later. There’s some unfinished business here. I had some dealings with Mr. He—our methods differed. I might have… overstepped.”
Xie Jing hesitated. “Should I go talk to him?”
Lord Bai Jiu chuckled. “No need. Just go to Sichuan and enjoy yourself. By year’s end, everything will be settled. I’ll come get you.”
Xie Jing, reluctant but obedient, nodded.
At the He mansion.
When He Dongting received the phone call, it was past midnight. Upon hearing that He Shuwei had boarded a Japanese ship—and that it had exploded—he already understood.
He was silent for a long time. Then he asked, “The car ambush—was it arranged by your Lord Bai Jiu?”
The voice on the other end didn’t hide it. “Yes. Lord Bai Jiu had men disguise themselves as hijackers and gave him a suitcase. It wasn’t gold or silver inside—it was explosives.”
“I see.”
“There’s one more thing Lord Bai Jiu said—”
“What?”
“He said your hesitation harms those around you. So he handled the matter in the northern way—clean and final. He asks that you not take offense.”
The tone was polite, but the message left no room for dispute.
After a pause, He Dongting replied quietly, “Please thank him for me. But only this once. Never again.”
Author’s note:
(1)
Playing chess:
He Dongting: “I’ll move my bishop—”
Bai Jiu: “Checkmate.”
(2)
Dealing with the fake heir:
He Dongting: “Send him to the docks—”
Bai Jiu: “Already dead.”
(3)
Fighting over Xie Jing:
He Dongting: “I—”
Bai Jiu: “Mine.”
He Dongting: “??!”
