Chapter 40: Brother, I Was Wrong!

He only got up when the sun was high in the sky. The long-legged beauty was still asleep. He tossed thirty thousand yuan on the bedside and turned to leave.

He felt utterly refreshed, finally understanding the carefree abandon of the wealthy. Everything had a clear price tag; both parties were willing, fair and aboveboard, with no deceit. The realization dawned on him, and his steps brimmed with vigor. When he got in the car, Summer Long saw his boss looking radiant and couldn’t help but say, “It’s perfectly normal, sir. After all, you’re still young. Bottling things up isn’t healthy!”

Zhuang Chen laughed heartily and headed straight for the club, full of energy, ready for a few more rounds with Miao Rui.

Don’t misunderstand—

Swimming!

While getting a massage, he suddenly lost interest in Number Three. Thinking about it, Song Qiao was quite good; the transaction was completed cleanly. If they met while out shopping, they could pretend not to know each other, and neither would disrupt the other’s life.

Feelings were too heavy a burden, especially for him. Since childhood, they were always out of reach. If it wasn’t sincere, it was better to do without and stay unburdened.

He sent Song Qiao a twenty-thousand yuan red envelope to show his satisfaction. She immediately sent all the information to his email, marking the start of a successful formal cooperation.

He glanced through it—dozens of professions, all authentic, a roster of over a thousand people, all shown bare-faced and in minimal attire. Zhuang Chen was dazzled, unable to take it all in.

Excellent, and formidable.

Blatant and intense!

Suddenly, he felt enlightened, the aura of a tycoon growing ever more elusive. The women before him fell into two categories: first, those with physical needs, the vast majority who would do anything for money. Only then came true love—the one-in-a-million soulmate with whom one could spend a lifetime.

Seize the joy when fortune smiles.

A life unlived is a youth misspent!

He had just woken from an afternoon nap when he received a private message from Old Tan, who wanted to meet alone at the Davidoff Cigar Lounge. Upon entering, he found the lounge had three floors: the first was for reception, display, and sales. The store’s treasure was a giant Davidoff cigar, weighing 20 kilograms, 2050mm in length, completed entirely by hand over 300 hours.

He went upstairs to a private room where Old Tan greeted him with a smile. “It’s quiet here—perfect for us industry folks to chat.”

After they sat, Old Tan gestured to a wall cabinet and introduced, “You like good food, Brother Zhuang; I like a good smoke. I come here whenever I have time, just to enjoy pipes and cigars.”

He took out a box of tobacco to show off. “Black Captain, Royal Pure, 42.5g packet, high quality, great flavor, elegant aroma, smooth and sweet, mild strength.”

Taking out a pipe, he caressed it. “Briar wood—only the best briar. It grows very slowly on Mediterranean slopes and cliffs. The wood is taken from the root burl buried deep underground between the roots and the stem.”

He gently crumbled the tobacco into the bowl, letting it naturally fill to the brim, then softly tamped it halfway down. He sprinkled in a second layer, filling it to overflowing, tamped it to two-thirds full. The final layer he pressed in firmly with his thumb, then struck a match to light it, moving the flame in slow circles atop the tobacco. He coordinated the lighting with gentle, rhythmic puffs until the entire surface was evenly lit.

The previously flat surface of the tobacco swelled with heat. He took a deep draw, his face full of satisfaction. “When the tobacco glows red, you can stop. Don’t let the temperature get too high, or it’ll affect the flavor, even damage the bowl.”

He stroked the pipe lovingly. “This pipe’s wood is at least a hundred years old—amber in color. The older the wood, the finer the grain, the higher the price, and of course, the better the smoking quality.”

“Before the Second World War, one could still find burl wood two hundred and fifty years old. Now, the finest rare briar is only a hundred years old—truly hard to come by.”

He then took out a wooden box, opened it, and handed Zhuang Chen a new pipe. “A corncob pipe, just as the name suggests, made from specially grown corn. The cob is air-dried for about two years, then processed and finished with glue.”

“One cob makes two pipes—lightweight, porous, great for heat dissipation, and imparts a unique flavor to the smoke.”

“They’re inexpensive—seven or eight dollars each in America, about fifteen yuan domestically, the perfect choice for beginners, especially good for tasting tobacco.”

Zhuang Chen took it; this was his first time handling a pipe. He recalled that detectives on TV seemed to favor this sort of thing. Old Tan took it back, pinched a small amount of tobacco, and put it into the pipe. “Packing a good bowl requires care, patience, skill, and experience.”

“You have to know the bowl’s size and shape, the tobacco’s cut, moisture, type—seems simple, but this is the highest art of pipe smoking, the true joy of it.”

Zhuang Chen lit it with a match, took a gentle puff, and the aroma filled the air—smooth, fresh, light, and mild.

As the tobacco burned, the flavor shifted subtly, like the top, middle, and base notes of a fine perfume—quite magical.

After a few puffs, Zhuang Chen set the pipe down. He rarely smoked—unhealthy, not as good for wellness as incense. Old Tan chuckled, “I didn’t call you here for anything special. We're both in investments; at least we have more to talk about than those kids, right?”

He eyed Zhuang Chen, testing, “You managed to get a limited edition Ferrari—doing quite well in Europe, I see?”

Zhuang Chen smiled faintly and replied casually, “Just had a fund help out with the investment, nothing serious.”

“Really?” Old Tan’s eyes lit up. He straightened and pressed, “I have contacts over there too. Which company, if you don’t mind me asking?”

A thought flashed through Zhuang Chen’s mind. After a pause, he said, “Have you heard of Vader Trust?”

“What did you say!” Suddenly, Old Tan seemed as if his tail had been stepped on. He exploded, eyes wide in disbelief. “Vader Trust...”

Zhuang Chen was taken aback, confused by the intense reaction. He’d only wanted to sound out Vader’s background—why such a reaction?

“Brother, my mistake!”

Old Tan immediately stood, not knowing where to put his hands, swallowing hard in shock. “MY GOD, you’re actually a client of the Hand of God!”

Hand of God? Now it was Zhuang Chen’s turn to be bewildered, though outwardly he just smiled. Did Old Tan really know something?

Seeing Zhuang Chen’s impassive expression, Old Tan felt even more awed. He’d hoped to probe a bit, but instead—

At Zhuang Chen’s gesture, he sat down again, now with a wry smile. “Well, I heard from Kuanzi you’re worth at least several billion?”

“In dollars, right?”

“The Hand of God is a legend in investment circles. They say you need at least five billion dollars just to get in the door!”

“For a century, they’ve only served the world’s absolute elite—like a dragon whose head is seen but never its tail. People even thought they were just a myth…”

The more Old Tan spoke, the more excited and awed he became. “I was lucky to hear from an industry heavyweight: there’s only one saying in the circle—apart from death, Vader can get anything done!”

Recalling the airs put on by old Davis, Zhuang Chen nodded in agreement. So Vader really was that impressive?

He waved it off lightly. “It’s not as magical as all that. They’re efficient, and after years of working together, it’s quite convenient.”

Old Tan, inwardly reeling, couldn’t help but admire him—so this is what a Hand of God client is like, even the way he shows off is refined and understated, as endless as the rivers...

He had no doubts about Zhuang Chen’s claims—a senior member at the Chang’an Club, casually acquiring a limited edition Ferrari, all hard evidence of his prowess.

He’d only meant to test the waters, see if there was room for cooperation, but it turned out the fox had run into a tiger—this man could make the Forbes list.

Instantly, his attitude shifted, his face breaking into a smile. “Are you back in the country to invest? If you need anything, just say the word!”