Chapter 33: The Charity Gala

They found a Western steakhouse and had a lavish meal—over six thousand for a table overflowing with dishes—finally silencing the girls' chatter as they focused on eating and drinking their fill.

“By the way, there’s a charity gala in a few days. Will you have time to attend?” Tang Hong, who ate very little, invited Zhuang Chen, “It’s mainly about celebrities walking the red carpet, hosted by a few big brands to boost their exposure, and ends with a small charity auction.”

“I doubt any top-tier stars will show, but plenty of B-listers and C-listers should turn up. There’s nothing but benefits in this kind of event. Would you care to have some fun?”

Zhuang Chen set down his knife and fork, took a sip of red wine, not entirely pleased with tonight’s dinner, and replied, “I don’t mind. You arrange it. Just let me know two days in advance.”

After dropping the two girls back at their apartment, he took Tang Hong home last. Before getting out, she said, “I’ll move in with the girls in a couple of days to keep an eye on things. You…”

“Would you like to come up for a while?” Zhuang Chen looked at Tang Hong, sensing her inner conflict and hesitation, and chuckled softly. “Never mind, there will be plenty of opportunities in the future. Get some rest.”

Tang Hong got out of the car, watching the Bentley drive away, secretly relieved. Suddenly, something occurred to her and her cheeks flushed. “Hmph, what does he mean, ‘plenty of opportunities in the future’?”

“I’m not that kind of woman! If you missed your chance tonight, don’t even think about it in the future!”

She turned and went upstairs, feeling light yet faintly disappointed. That’s how women are: if you really sleep with her, you’re an animal; if you hold back, she thinks you lack discernment, not even up to the standards of a beast.

Ah, it’s not easy being wealthy.

In the days that followed, Zhuang Chen mostly idled away at the club. He’d swim for an hour and a half each morning, then go for a massage to relax. After lunch, he’d sample fine teas or enjoy a glass of red wine. Life was pleasant.

The third masseuse had already made herself clear: one limited-edition handbag was all it took to spend the night with her. Miao Rui gazed at him with longing all day; if Zhuang Chen asked, a night together wouldn’t be difficult.

Ling Na and Ding Mengyao, on the other hand, were quite reserved, especially Ling Na, who was cool and aloof—the classic ice queen. After a few encounters, her impression of Zhuang Chen was favorable. It was rare to meet a kindred spirit at the club, and their conversations grew increasingly smooth.

Ding Mengyao was similar, though more outgoing. A child of wealth herself, money was never an issue. She liked red wine, represented several brands, but earning profits was secondary—she did it for fun.

He also bumped into Song Qiao twice; they exchanged a few words. Anyone who frequented this place was bound to have some background. In circles like these, everything is consensual. You can talk business, and if there’s mutual interest, everyone’s an adult: if there’s work, the secretary does it; if not, the secretary becomes the work—just a matter of order.

Zhuang Chen had grown accustomed to the life of the nouveau riche, constantly exploring new circles, meeting new friends, with no need to curry favor. If the conversation flowed, he stayed; if not, he left. It was a liberating feeling.

Tang Hong called, saying the charity gala would be held at eight that evening; she’d called in a favor for an invitation and asked if Zhuang Chen wanted to go.

With nothing better to do, Zhuang Chen put on formal attire and picked up Tang Hong, who wore a black evening gown with a low-cut back and ten-centimeter heels—scorchingly alluring.

Noticing the admiration in Zhuang Chen’s eyes, Tang Hong was secretly delighted. Little did he know, if she wanted to turn heads, he wouldn’t be able to look away.

Their car pulled up outside the venue, and staff came to arrange their entrance. Since they weren’t celebrities, they were ushered in ahead of time.

“In a moment, we’ll walk the red carpet and sign in. The bigger the celebrity, the later they arrive. The final entrance is always a spectacle.”

The Bentley rolled to a stop. Xia Long opened the door for Zhuang Chen, who offered his arm to Tang Hong, and together they walked the red carpet for the first time in their lives.

Entertainment reporters lined both sides, lenses at the ready, but seeing two unfamiliar faces, they quickly lost interest and went back to chatting.

Tang Hong took Zhuang Chen’s arm; he felt a little nervous. He’d often seen celebrities walk the red carpet on TV, but standing there himself, he found it rather bewildering.

Tang Hong noticed his unease and secretly found it amusing; even tycoons could get shy. The hundred-meter carpet was soon behind them. At the signature wall, Zhuang Chen shook his head, so Tang Hong signed her name alone.

“Shall we sit here?” Inside, the hall was still sparse. They found a spot in a corner. Tang Hong explained, “The center is reserved for the celebrities—the bigger the star, the more prominent the seat. That’s just how it is, all for show.”

Zhuang Chen nodded indifferently. He was just here for fun. In showbiz, fame is everything; no matter how wealthy you are, if the audience doesn’t recognize you, it’s pointless.

He sipped his champagne, frowned, set it down, and asked, “Even if it’s all for show, it’s still a charity gala. What do they auction off?”

“Usually personal items brought by the celebrities. If someone’s feeling generous, great; if not, they often end up buying their own things back.” Tang Hong leaned close and explained softly, “The hosts also make direct donations, like putting an ambulance up for twenty thousand and letting people pledge to fund a few. At the start of the year, I attended one where Guo Degang donated over two million. He’s quite genuine.”

“There are higher-level donations too—funding a Hope Primary School or an orphanage, or at worst, donating books and desks. Most charity galas raise several million. If a celebrity shows their face, who’d dare come empty-handed?”

“A regular leather clutch with a starting bid of three thousand shot up to two hundred thousand, just because it belonged to the dashing Chen Bolin. Some low-key mogul, to support his friend Mr. Zhou, spent nearly two million in one night, taking home four lots…”

“It’s usually limited-edition treasures. I’ve seen Wang Kai offer a huanghuali wood brush pot, and Empress Jiang put up a bag limited to a thousand worldwide. A young ethnic starlet once donated a set of silver belts—there’s all sorts of oddities.”

Watching the parade of celebrities, Tang Hong sighed, “It’s not easy being a star—always in the spotlight, with no privacy at all.”

“Take charity, for instance. No one’s money falls from the sky, yet people expect you to give away millions at the drop of a hat. Wouldn’t your heart ache if it were you?”

Zhuang Chen stayed silent. As an orphan, he knew there were still many kind people in the world. The greatest issue in charity is not the lack of goodwill, but how to make sure the money is spent where it truly matters.

Trust is essential. Many prefer to drive to poor regions themselves and hand out supplies directly to children rather than donate to so-called official organizations, which only increases the cost of charity.

He sighed inwardly. It was a societal problem, not something one or two people could solve. Even the world’s richest philanthropists set up charitable foundations, hiring professionals to grow their wealth and target those most in need, all in pursuit of sustainable development.

The Vade Trust Fund must have done plenty of such work. Now, he was gradually realizing that once money reaches a certain point, it really is just a number.

Spending it all isn’t easy!