Chapter 138: Nienov

Mayor Shen Jiangang seemed to be stuck in a rut. He had listed every expensive liquor he could think of, but Zheng Hejin only shook his head with a bitter smile. Finally, Zheng said, "They haven’t submitted the application documents yet. I’ll report to you once they have."

Shen Jiangang couldn't help but sigh. "Forget it. Boss Feng has contributed significantly to our city's economy and was a pioneer during the early days of Shenzhen’s reform and opening-up. We trust his character." He added, "Keep supervising the matter closely."

Shen checked the clock on the wall. "It’s time to clock out. Let’s go grab a drink together. Tell you what, Lao Zheng, I managed to get my hands on something good today." With an air of mystery, he pulled two bottles of Xiao Li Bai liquor from his desk.

Both men were seasoned drinkers. Seeing the bottles, Zheng Hejin instinctively swallowed hard. "Isn't this in short supply?"

Shen Jiangang laughed heartily. "I found a way to get it, didn't I? Come on, let's head out for a meal."

As they walked out, they had no idea that the very brand they were discussing—Xiao Li Bai—was currently in the process of establishing itself in Shenzhen. It was simple: while the liquor was popular, there was no massive advertising campaign in the city yet. Its fame relied entirely on word-of-mouth among connoisseurs, and many didn't even know which distillery produced it. It was a peculiar phenomenon.

After stepping out of the office building, Zheng Hejin suddenly remembered something. "Mayor Shen, if I recall correctly, when I was studying in the Soviet Union, my mentor often reminisced about Chinese white spirits. Should we treat them with this liquor?"

Shen Jiangang patted his forehead. "How could I have forgotten that?" He looked at the bottles in his hand. "This is the liquor distributed by Boss Feng’s company, right?"

"I believe so."

"Perfect. Have your secretary contact their company later. We’ll use this to host them. It’s not overly expensive, but it’s mellow and has a great finish. The small bottles ensure no one overindulges—it’s a fitting way to show our hospitality." The two discussed it as they walked into a nearby restaurant.

…

Nivanov knew that many people were racking their brains to meet him. There were sellers of sweaters, pots, bowls—all sorts of opportunistic traders, none of them actual manufacturers. His sole purpose for this trip was to meet Chai Jin. He hadn't wanted to see anyone, but these traders had used their extensive connections to find him. Out of necessity, he had arranged two separate tables, intending to make a brief appearance to handle them. To avoid attracting media attention, he had specifically arranged the dinner at a restaurant near Guanyin Mountain. In these times, everyone was yearning for star-rated hotels in the city, so suburban restaurants were far less prosperous than they would be decades later.

The two-story building was run by a member of an ethnic minority, catering mainly to pilgrims visiting the Guanyin Temple on the mountain. Nivanov had booked the entire place. He was accompanied by his disguised Soviet guards, who had cordoned off the surrounding area.

That morning, the restaurant owner stared at the countless cars parked outside the small building and the various well-dressed people, scratching his head in confusion. He looked up at the elderly man, who appeared to be in his sixties or seventies, standing on the second floor, and muttered, "Who is this old foreigner? Quite the spectacle."

His wife urged him from the side, "What are you standing there for? There are tables to set, don't be lazy!" The owner hurried off to work.

The old man on the balcony was none other than Nivanov, currently at the eye of the political storm in the former Soviet Union. He was tall and upright, with thick eyebrows and slightly graying hair. He was a soldier forged in the blood and fire of the Second World War. Even in times of peace, his presence carried the crushing weight of a battlefield commander. He stood quietly, gazing at the Guanyin Temple atop the mountain, a sense of a hero in his twilight years radiating from him. "Once we have handled our business, let’s go up the mountain to offer incense."

A young Russian man holding a briefcase stood beside him and nodded. "Sir, who is worshipped on the mountain?"

"The Bodhisattva Guanyin of Buddhism," Nivanov murmured. "The Chinese say this Bodhisattva is full of compassion. Soldiers like us, who have killed too many, should go and repent. Agata, you are lucky; you live in an age where you don't have to kill."

The young man had been with Nivanov for some years and understood the loneliness of this high-ranking former Soviet official. Who would have guessed that the back of this man, standing so straight, was scarred by bullet holes, with two Nazi bullets still lodged in his body? He had expected to eventually take his place in the Kremlin, but he had never imagined that after a revolution, he would find himself standing on the edge of the fire.

He remained silent. After a long while, Nivanov glanced indifferently at the people below. "Has my student arrived?"

"Yes, sir. He is here, and everything is being arranged."

"Good. Let the people below come in and take their seats. When Mr. Chai and Mr. Yu arrive, take them directly to the other room. I will deal with the others first and then join them."

"Understood."

…

More and more cars filled the space outside the small building. A narrow path about a kilometer long stretched out toward the foot of the mountain, built along the hillside with open farmland on the other side. For years, the area had been peaceful, but today the kilometer-long path was packed with cars, a long and spectacular motorcade. At least two or three hundred people were gathered at the gate of the small courtyard, consisting of prominent figures from various sectors in Shenzhen and traders from the north.

Chai Jin, fearing that once his car went in, it would be difficult to get out, parked at the foot of the mountain. Monk was with him. As soon as they got out of the car, Monk folded his hands and bowed toward Guanyin Mountain.

Chai Jin looked at him suddenly. "Missing Putuo Temple?"

Monk nodded.

Chai Jin said, "If the Bodhisattva Guanyin knew you were kicked off the mountain for speculating on subscription certificates, he definitely wouldn't forgive you. You'd better stop praying, lest you put him in a bad mood." Monk looked aggrieved but said nothing.

A few minutes later, Yu Pengfei’s BMW pulled up to the side of the road. He pushed open the driver's side door and lifted his sunglasses, looking depressed. "What is going on? Why did all these people follow us here? How annoying! Does it have anything to do with them that Nivanov is coming for a meal?"

It turned out that Yu Pengfei had chosen the location. He had hoped to avoid public attention, but he hadn't expected so many people to show up.

Chai Jin smiled. "Let's go in quickly."

Yu Pengfei was genuinely irritated by those following them. He grabbed his brick-sized mobile phone from the backseat, tucked his leather bag under his arm, and said, "Let's go, let's go."

The group started up the mountain path. A heavy rain had fallen the night before, leaving the uneven path filled with puddles. Fortunately, the morning air in the mountains was cool and refreshing, making one feel at ease. They hadn't walked far when a series of urgent honks and curses came from behind: "Can you move out of the way? Is this road yours? Walking in the middle of the street—do you think I don't have a million yuan to risk hitting you?"