Zhang Xing did not clasp his hands and exchange warm greetings. It was not that becoming Dragonhead of the Left Wing had gone to his head, but rather that, in this military and political climate, someone of the other man's status and position coming over was hardly anything extraordinary. Instead, his visitor's enthusiasm, speed, and impassioned generosity left Great Dragonhead Zhang feeling uneasy, making him wonder just how much opportunism lay behind this surrender.
Of course, people had to be allowed to seize opportunities. What mattered was making rewards and punishments clear, and working to establish that sufficiently accessible and fair path upward for everyone which he had been reflecting on so often lately.
With those things accomplished, whether they clasped hands or whether anyone was being opportunistic would cease to matter.
As for why he had always clasped hands and treated people like his dearest brothers before, even when he knew some of them were hesitant about so much as taking a chance, that followed another logic entirely.
It was like courtship and marriage. During courtship, whether both parties rushed toward each other or one alone harbored feelings, gestures beyond the ordinary, if things worked out, would become romance and memories carved into the heart-just as Zhang Xing would never forget Bai Yousi waiting for him in the rain in that hollow on Red Mountain. But marriage meant facing practical interests and daily life, rice and firewood, oil and salt. What mattered then was calmness in everyday life, respect for each other, and weathering the storms together on a material foundation. Romance and unforgettable memories were certainly welcome, but a lifetime together was possible without them. When both had grown old, even a life as plain as water could hold a thousand twists and turns.
Returning to the present,