by Song Ying
Cui liked the way things were moving.
“Hong Yiming might have been the last person to see Hu Guohao alive. Find him as soon as possible and see what he knows.”
“Yes, Chief.”
“I hope this is a simple drowning case,” Cui said wistfully, before they gathered up their gear to head back.
If only he could convince himself of that. Greater Meisha was four or five kilometers from the tourist center of Lesser Meisha, and he was puzzled why Hu’s body would wash up so far from where he’d started. Besides, they hadn’t found his clothes or any personal effects either on the beach or in the locker room.
The only possible explanation was that he’d swum from Greater Meisha across the shark barrier, had suffered a heart attack and drowned. The tide had then carried his body up to the beach.
As Cui was turning to leave, his gaze fell on the stone jetty that jutted out into the bay. But why had the body washed up so close to the pier?
— 3 —
Room 707 at the White Cloud Hotel in Guangzhou.
Eight a.m., Monday morning. Nie Feng woke up to the sound of a ringing telephone.
“This is your wake-up call, sir.”
“Oh, thanks.” Nie yawned and leaped out of bed.
A journalist and special-feature writer for Western Sunshine magazine, Nie Feng was a swarthy, athletic-looking man in his early forties. Sporting a crew cut, he had a likable, smiling face. As a top student in Sichuan’s C University School of Journalism, with a double major in psychology, he was highly valued by his editor-in-chief.
He’d worked until three that morning to finish a special feature for Western Sunshine, accomplishing the task that editor-in-chief Wu had been pushing him to wrap up. Now he could finally relax. A business trip to the Pearl River Delta area was a rare treat, so he’d made prior arrangements to visit a publisher friend in Zhuhai and see how well the magazine was doing in the south. Western Sunshine, a newcomer from the southwest, was a broad-ranging, full-color magazine with a cultural focus, and an influential publication with both domestic and foreign circulation. Wu was a seasoned pro who placed stringent demands on his contributors; it was he who’d come up with the Western Sunshine mission statement: Unique viewpoint—New ideas—A Showcase for the cultural tastes of China’s West.
Nie quickly washed up and went downstairs to the White Cloud Terrace for morning tea.
The Cantonese love their morning tea; diners can choose from an array of dim sum in steamers on small carts pushed around by smiling waitresses. A dazzling display of steaming, bite-sized items appears when the bamboo covers are removed: green-crystal buns, shrimp dumplings, golden chestnut cakes, mara layer cakes, and so on. Naturally, each meal translates into a hefty charge. Back in Chengdu, two meaty buns, a bowl of congee, and a plate of pickled cabbage cost no more than one and a half yuan, while in Guangdong, a bowl of congee, two steamed vegetables, and a dessert easily cost thirty or forty yuan. Since breakfast was not included in the room charge, Nie rarely splurged for morning tea when he checked into a hotel to write one of his feature articles.
He walked into the crowded restaurant, where natty businessmen in groups of four or five or as few as two were smoking and talking on their cell phones or with one another. There was also a family that spanned several generations, out for morning tea and happily sending snippets of melodious but incomprehensible Cantonese his way.
Nie took a seat in a red cloth chair in a side room; a waitress in a checkered blouse came over with a tea menu.
“What kind of tea would you like, sir?”
Opening the menu, he was shocked by the prices.
Gold Brand Iron Buddha, 138 yuan per person.
Ginseng Iron Buddha, 60 yuan per person.
Royal Century, 38 yuan per person.
The list went on.
He quietly turned to the second page, where he found and ordered the common High Mountain Iron Buddha, at ten yuan a pop. Later he learned that ordering tea was not required.
After the tea arrived, the waitress placed a yellow order form on the table, with the detailed prices for dim sum. He checked off several breakfast items: congee with lean pork and a thousand-year egg, steamed chicken feet with shredded peppers, spareribs steamed in preserved soy sauce, and a steamer of tiny meat buns.
It took hardly any time for the food to arrive, and Nie set to work. The chicken feet had a strong flavor and were quite tasty.
A newspaper rack displaying local as well as Hong Kong and Guangdong newspapers stood against the wall by the next table.
As he ate his congee, he reached out for a Guangdong morning paper.
South China newspapers are known for their more elevated approach to journalism, with serious cultural content and economic sophistication; they rarely rely on gossip and exotica to attract readers. They were Nie’s favorites.
The major front-page news of the day:
CHINA “JOINING THE WORLD” ENTERS THE SUBSTANTIVE PHASE OF MULTILATERAL TALKS
“WIND AND CLOUD” SATELLITE IS SUCCESSFULLY LAUNCHED
There was also an item about the human genome map. According to the Associated Press, two American research groups would make a joint announcement that the map was essentially completed. Experts described the research as biology’s equivalent of the Apollo Project; understanding the human genetic makeup would eventually lead to miracle drugs, and one day, the mysteries of the human aging process and illnesses would be unveiled.
When he turned to the second page, Shenzhen News, a bold headline above a half-column story jumped out at him:
HU GUOHAO, CEO OF LANDMARK REALTY, ACCIDENTALLY DROWNS WHILE SWIMMING
Nie’s gaze froze, shocked to read that Landmark Realty’s CEO was dead. He was incredulous, because a mere four days earlier he had interviewed Hu.
Putting down his congee bowl and the newspaper, he waved the waitress over.
“Check, please.”
She handed him his check for 46 yuan, including the tea.
After paying, he left the restaurant and crossed the street to a Friendship Store newspaper kiosk, where he bought several Shenzhen and Guangdong newspapers.
He scanned them for news of Hu’s drowning, and found it under bold headlines:
SHENZHEN BILLIONAIRE HU GUOHAO DIES UNEXPECTEDLY AT LESSER MEISHA BEACH
Was the cause a heart attack?
With Hu Guohao’s death, who will take over Landmark?
Landmark CEO dies at Lesser Meisha, leaving many unanswered questions.
According to one of the papers:
Mr. Zhong, assistant to the CEO of Landmark Realty, confirmed that Hu Guohao, CEO and Chairman of the Board of Landmark Realty, passed away on June 24 at the age of 58. Sources say that Hu drowned while swimming beyond the shark barrier at Lesser Meisha Beach. Experts are trying to determine if it might have been the result of a heart attack. No definitive cause has yet been announced.
Another paper included Hu’s portrait photo; he was dressed in a suit, with closely cropped hair and a radiant smile.
It was a smile tinged with mockery, familiar to Nie Feng. On the morning of June twenty-second, he’d interviewed Hu for three hours and had just finished the article that morning under the title “The Westward Strategy of a Real Estate Tycoon in South China.” Nie could still recall Hu’s ambitious buyout plans, his insightful views on real estate development in western China, as well as the tycoon’s expansive manner. How could such an energetic heavyweight die so suddenly?
On the day of the interview, Hu had commented liberally on a wide range of topics, talking and laughing with confidence. He had no doubts regarding Landmark’s upcoming development in the Yantian seaside district, and although Nie sensed that beneath his expansive demeanor, Hu was feeling either pressure or fatigue, he detected no omens of misfortune.
Why in the world would such an important businessman risk his life by swimming beyond the shark barrier, only to be swallowed up by the waves of Lesser Meisha?
&nbs
p; Perhaps owing to his instincts as a journalist, Nie felt that Hu’s death was too sudden.
Even though he’d eaten only half his breakfast, he raced back to his hotel room.
Endless questions flooded his mind as he dialed the number for the CEO’s office.
“Landmark Realty, may I help you?”
It sounded like Ah-ying, Hu’s assistant.
“Hello, this is Nie Feng.”
“Oh, hello.” There was a hint of reluctance in her voice.
“Is the news about Mr. Hu true?” he asked.
“Yes … it’s true.”
“How could he have just drowned?” Nie was puzzled.
“It came as a total shock to us all. It seems that the police…”
Ah-ying sounded evasive, obviously a sign of her own disbelief, but Nie was able to confirm Hu’s death.
“Have the police reached some kind of conclusion yet?” Nie sensed something unusual.
“It seems that…”
She used “it seems” again. Was she puzzled or was there something she could not say?
Since there was no point in continuing, he hung up. After mulling over what to do next, he decided to leave for Shenzhen.
He rang his friend at Zhuhai Publishers.
“Sorry, pal, but something came up and I can’t see you today.”
“What’s so urgent?”
“I’ll tell you later. I can’t talk about it over the phone.”
“It’s a scoop, isn’t it?” His friend had a reporter’s nose.
“Maybe, maybe not. It’s got something to do with my special piece.”
Then he called his editor-in-chief in Chengdu, telling him he’d finished his article late the night before and had already e-mailed it over. Nearly all of Nie Feng’s stories appeared on the first page.
Wu sounded pleased on the phone, as he said brightly, “Perfect! Just in time for the next issue. I’ll treat you to a meal at Lao Ma’s Hot Pot when you return.”
“No need for that, just up my fee for this one,” Nie said half jokingly, recalling how the editorial committee underpaid him each time.
“No problem. This is a special feature, so you’ll get a special fee. Say, when are you coming back?”
“I was going to take the train tomorrow, but something’s come up.”
“What’s that?” Wu’s ears pricked up.
“I’m not sure yet, I’ll let you know tomorrow.”
After hanging up, Nie packed his bag and checked out of the hotel, then took a taxi to the Guangzhou Train Station, where, half an hour later, he boarded T757, a special express train for Shenzhen.
Guangzhong’s gray buildings and undulating highway overpasses flew past his window, and as the train rumbled along, Nie kept thinking back to the interview at Landmark four days earlier.
He remembered every detail about his meeting with Hu. Particularly unforgettable was the luxurious office, which must have occupied at least two hundred square meters. He felt as if he’d entered a palatial hall the moment he stepped into Hu’s office. In the country’s interior, not even a provincial governor could boast such an impressive office.
All the furnishings were of the finest quality, including the carpet, with its auspicious design, and the linen wall hangings.
Hu had sat in his black leather chair behind a massive desk, looking quite poised as the interview began.
Dressed in a dark blue suit, he was tie-less. A bulbous nose and broad, bold face gave him a somewhat aggressive appearance, but he was personable and approachable, quite easygoing, in fact. An enormous photograph of the Landmark Building hung on the wall behind him. Glass cabinets on both sides were filled with trophies and books; a gold-plated pen set, a desk calendar, and a black record-a-phone rested on the desk, in front of which sat a gleaming lifelike black wood carving of an African crocodile, its mouth open wide.
Hu gave a brief account of Landmark’s business ventures and its successes. It had started out as a small real estate company in Hainan, but with tenacity, hard work, bold vision, and an unbending will to win, he had turned it into a megacompany after years of fierce competition. Hu did not bother to conceal his pride when he talked about his rising fortunes in Hainan years before.
“Ten years ago, when I was selling real estate with a friend in Hainan, there were more than fifteen thousand real estate agencies. It was so crowded it felt like a marketplace. If a steamed bun had dropped from the sky, it could easily have killed more than one Realtor.”
Hu, who spoke with a Henan accent, swatted away the imaginary steamed bun with his hand.
“But the number of agencies dropped to a few hundred, and we were one of them. Ha-ha. Luck has been with me.”
As a complacent smile creased the corners of his mouth, Hu exuded a roguish charm.
As for China’s real estate development, he believed that now was the time to move westward. After ten years of large-scale development, China’s real estate market was well organized and ripe for further investment, so it was simply a matter of time before outside developers came in. Whoever moved first would reap the greatest profits. Now there were two keys to success in Western China. The first was capital, the second brand name. Hu then described Landmark’s ambitious acquisition plan; the first step was to acquire land in the Tiandongba area along the shore.
“The value of that land will definitely climb.” A sly glint shone in his beady eyes.
The second step was to move westward. “Didn’t you say there’s no Landmark building in Chengdu? Well, I’ll build a Landmark Building West on Renmin South Road. What do you say to that?”
Witnessing the style and behavior of a true real estate tycoon, Nie Feng realized the importance of bold vision and impressive bearing in the success of a private businessman. It was obvious that Hu was in total control of the conglomerate.
When asked about his hobbies, Hu said he liked to swim and jog, and didn’t play golf.
“That’s a pastime for cultured people.”
As the interview neared its end, Ah-ying came in with a glass of water.
“Chairman Hu, it’s time for your medicine.”
Hu shook out two white tablets from a small bottle on his desk, tossed them into his mouth, took the glass from Ah-ying, and downed the pills.
“Aspirin, a cure for everything,” he said in a self-mocking tone.
“Do you have a cold?” Nie asked.
“No, Mr. Hu has a heart condition,” Ah-ying answered for him.
“The doctor told me I have coronary heart disease. That’s utter nonsense. Do I look like I have a heart problem?”
“No.” Nie said, and meant it.
TWO
Landmark Realty
— 1 —
Landmark Realty Corporation. A twenty-four-story building whose blue-tinted glass skin emitted a mysterious luster in the sunlight.
Nie Feng strode into the lobby, only to see that he’d been outpaced by more than two dozen reporters.
His only consolation was that these “crownless kings” wore unhappy looks, as they were held back by a red velvet rope.
A tall fellow who looked like a TV cameraman was muttering, “This isn’t a military base. Why won’t they let us in?” A female reporter with shoulder-length hair was arguing with a security guard.
Hu Guohao’s sudden death had sent shock waves through the business world, and rumors about the cause had spread like wildfire overnight, which naturally drew the media’s attention. Everyone was vying for firsthand, exclusive news, but Landmark Realty was being unusually guarded.
Two uniformed guards stood on the other side of the rope, their hostility plain for all to see.
The reporters came from all over, including the provincial and city papers, radio and TV stations, as well as out-of-town media. Conglomerate employees kept the journalists at arm’s length, tight-lipped and refusing all interviews.
An elevator to the left of the lobby opened, and out stepped a man of medium height in a brown
suit and black tie. A middle-aged man, with the look of a driver, was right behind him. Someone recognized the man in the suit as Landmark’s vice-president, Zhou Zhengxing. The reporters swarmed around him.
“Mr. Zhou, did Hu Guohao really drown?”
“Everyone says there’s something odd about Hu Guohao’s death. Is that true?”
“With Hu Guohao’s death, who will take over as Landmark’s CEO?”
“Sorry, I’m really sorry, but I’m due at City Hall for an urgent meeting.”
With a heartfelt smile on his dark face, Zhou nodded apologetically and quickened his pace on his way out.
Nie Feng walked up as Zhou passed by, and his first impression was of an upright, honest man of considerable wisdom who only looked to be slightly simpleminded.
“Mr. Zhou, why was Hu Guohao swimming at Lesser Meisha in the middle of the night?”
The female reporter ran after Zhou, who waved on his way out and ducked into a black Audi. The driver slammed the door shut and drove off.
Zhou might have appeared to some to be harried, but not to Nie. If anything, the man seemed quite composed.
“Not your run-of-the-mill businessman.” Nie made a mental note.
Silence returned to the lobby, at least for the moment.
The reporters remained behind the velvet rope, waiting and griping.
Suddenly, notes from what sounded like a harmonica came from the bottom floor of the building. It was a familiar tune, pleasant if a bit sad. Nie looked around, but failed to see who was playing the harmonica. Nor, surprisingly, did he spot any speakers or cassette players.
But the moment was interrupted when Zhong Tao, the Landmark CEO’s assistant, came into the lobby with two staffers. He was wearing a gray suit and a red printed tie. A young man behind him was cautiously rolling up a yellow sheet of paper.
The reporters swarmed over, raising their microphones and pocket recorders.
Zhong stopped in front of the rope, where he fielded reporters’ questions in a calm, poised manner. A man in his early forties, he looked both intelligent and competent, with slanting brows, a leonine nose, and bright eyes. The shadow of a beard on his cheeks left a solid and trustworthy impression.