Step By Step Pressure

November 26, Saturday.

Early in the morning, Zhao Chen's phone started ringing.

The words "Porcelain Azalea" lit up on the screen.

He stared at the name for two seconds before answering.

"Xiao Chen?" Su Wantang's voice came through the receiver, still gentle, but Zhao Chen keenly caught a trace of tension in it, like a thin string being lightly pulled taut.

"Your dad said... you must come home for dinner tonight."

She paused, then added, speaking slightly faster than usual, "Wang Ma will make your favorite dishes."

Zhao Chen walked over to the hotel window.

Outside, dusk was devouring Shan City, while the lights across the Jialing River gradually came on, blurring into a hazy ribbon of light against the not-yet-complete night.

A cargo ship slowly passed over the river, its deep horn sounding.

"Alright." His answer was simple. "I'll go home."

The person on the other end seemed to let out a breath of relief, yet also seemed even more worried.

"Then... I'll have Wang Ma prepare more food. Have you... been well lately?"

"I'm fine." Zhao Chen paused. "I'll be back on time."

After hanging up, he remained where he was, his gaze fixed on the glittering cluster of buildings where his father's company was located.

What was coming would come eventually.

He thought for over half an hour, then called Zhang Qingxue.

He mainly asked whether there was a legitimate way to delay the Share Pledge process.

Zhang Qingxue gave him an affirmative answer.

Only then did he feel at ease.

By evening, Shan City was shrouded in its typical winter fog.

The damp chill seeped into his collar, and the glow of the streetlights spread through the thick mist into fuzzy patches of yellow.

Zhao Chen did not take a taxi. He chose to walk.

He passed through familiar streets, heading toward the villa halfway up the mountain, overlooking the river.

Every step fell upon wet stone pavement, his footsteps light and steady, like some kind of countdown.

The villa was brightly lit, warm light spilling from the floor-to-ceiling windows as if trying to drive away the cold outside.

Su Wantang opened the door.

She wore a light camel-colored turtleneck cashmere dress today, making her fair complexion stand out. Her long hair was loosely pinned up, with a few softly curled strands hanging by her ears.

When she saw Zhao Chen, her eyes lit up. Then that brightness was covered by more complicated emotions—concern, worry, and a trace of guilt that was difficult to put into words.

"Come in quickly. It's cold outside." She stepped aside and took the coat he removed, her fingertips icy cold.

In the dining room, exquisite tableware and several appetizers had already been arranged on the long table.

Zhao Jianguo sat at the head of the table, looking at something on his phone, his brows habitually furrowed.

Hearing the footsteps, he looked up. A near-perfect smile instantly appeared on his face. It softened the usual sharpness in his eyes somewhat, yet looked a little unreal.

"Xiao Chen's back."

He set down his phone and pointed to the seat beside him. "Sit. We were waiting for you."

Zhao Chen sat down as instructed, his gaze sweeping over the table.

The dishes were indeed all things he used to enjoy: La Zi Ji, Mao Xue Wang, Boiled Fish... The red oil gleamed brightly, and the aroma was enticing.

Wang Ma was still busy in the kitchen, the sound of spatulas striking pans drifting out.

Su Wantang sat across from Zhao Chen. Picking up the serving chopsticks, she first placed a piece of chicken into Zhao Jianguo's bowl, then naturally picked up the largest piece and put it into Zhao Chen's bowl. "Try it. Wang Ma got the heat just right today."

"Thank you," Zhao Chen said.

Dinner began amid a deliberately cultivated atmosphere of warmth.

Zhao Jianguo asked about Zhao Chen's studies, listened to some harmless anecdotes from school, and even brought up the weather.

"The fog has been especially heavy this winter." He took a sip of Maotai and spoke as if casually.

"But no matter how thick the fog is, once the sun comes out, it disperses. When doing things and looking at problems, you need the vision to see through the fog."

Zhao Chen picked up a slice of fish and gave a noncommittal hum.

After three rounds of drinks, more than half the dishes had been eaten.

The formulaic warmth on Zhao Jianguo's face slowly receded like the tide, revealing the hard rock beneath—the rock of a businessman.

He set down his chopsticks and picked up a hot towel to wipe his hands. His movements were slow, as though he were gathering his thoughts.

"Xiao Chen," he began, his voice lower than before, "the matter I mentioned to you last time... you've more or less made up your mind, haven't you?"

Zhao Chen also set down his chopsticks and wiped the corner of his mouth with a napkin, unhurriedly. "Dad, you mean the Share Pledge?"

"Yes." Zhao Jianguo leaned forward slightly, elbows braced on the table, his gaze fixed on Zhao Chen.

"You know the company's recent situation. The stock price hasn't been stable, and there's pressure from the banks. Those prime plots are practically within our grasp—we're just short of the final bit of funding.

"This money can help the company, and it can help our family get through this hurdle."

His tone was earnest and heavy, even carrying a rare note of pleading vulnerability.

"Dad," Zhao Chen looked up, his eyes clear, with the directness expected of a young man.

"It's not that I'm unwilling. Aunt Zhang explained it very clearly last time—this kind of related-party pledge carries too much risk. It could affect you and the company's reputation. Besides, that was Mother's..."

"Zhang Qingxue again!" Zhao Jianguo cut him off sharply, his voice suddenly rising. The gentleness on his face shattered at once, revealing the agitation and impatience beneath. "She's a lawyer, of course she'll exaggerate the risks! But does she know that if the company can't get through this, forget your little bit of shares—even Henglong could end up belonging to someone else!"