Chapter 3

“So that Wangchenggang site you mentioned spans roughly from the Neolithic to the early Shang and Zhou eras, right? Are we dealing with the same time frame here at Wanhui?” Yao Jiang asked.

“Hard to say until we finish drilling and surveying,” Li answered, not wanting to overreach.

“Understood. At least I know the situation now. Professor Li—any chance you’re free one of these days?” By that, he was following up on the earlier dinner invitation.

“Better to wait until the drilling wraps up,” Li said earnestly. “That way, I’ll have a more concrete update for you.”

Yao Jiang didn’t press further, but he raised his gaze slightly. “Earlier, you mentioned your teacher?”

“Oh, my teacher doesn’t do archaeology, and the one who actually worked in this field isn’t my teacher anymore. Please, Mr. Yao, I’m begging you—don’t use your superpowers to go tattling to them.” Li was half joking, half serious.

Them. Plural. The cryptic phrasing might have sounded like a literary flourish, but there was more to it.

Yao Jiang had only asked offhand, but now he was tempted to message Abel about it—this Professor Li, so stubborn yet forthright, sure seemed like he was hiding no dirty secrets. Still, out of simple curiosity, he might as well verify.

Abel came back with some information on the third day—just when Yao Jiang had nearly forgotten his casual inquiry. Unexpectedly, Li had a fine reputation in most respects, yet in academic circles, many held him at arm’s length. He did indeed have two separate mentors. One was his master’s and PhD supervisor, the archaeology luminary Professor Guo Shu; the other was a lesser-known figure named Li Yongji, who’d changed fields years before. Li’s research was well-regarded, and he’d produced an impressive body of work at a young age. Guo Shu guided him in the field and praised him as a prodigious talent. Yet just before Li earned his doctorate, the two had a falling-out. At graduation, Guo merely made a token appearance, and the pair never spoke again. Then Li returned with the childless Li Yongji to Heliang, buying a home and settling there—a stark contrast to his earlier life.

The rumor most whispered about was that Guo Shu’s beloved daughter fancied his prized student, and Guo himself supported the match—but apparently Li wanted no part of it, so he broke with his mentor to preserve his freedom.

Hearing that, Yao Jiang did something rare: he broke into a genuine smile. So that was it—some folks were simply envious. In the twenty-first century, who can dictate whom you marry? No wonder they sniped about him behind his back. It was hardly worth a fuss.

He dismissed the matter without a second thought, deciding not to involve either of Li’s mentors. Li’s private history wasn’t part of Yao Jiang’s job, after all.

He spent the next month dealing with the aftermath at Wanhui: sorting out finances with Mr. Qin, coordinating fresh plans with Director Zhang, and hammering out a preliminary partnership with Puyuan Logistics under the Commerce Bureau’s mediation. Once matters in Heliang were more or less handled, he took Abel and Xiao Qi on a business trip to Beijing.

Abel was the assistant who’d followed him back from Canada, while Xiao Qi, before coming to Heliang, had been at M&C’s Asia-Pacific HQ in Beijing. Both now served as Yao Jiang’s deputies. Yet inevitably, rivalries flared—Abel, a brown-haired, blue-eyed expat, spoke fluent Chinese and had seamlessly adopted the habit of calling him “Mr. Yao,” while Xiao Qi, a local Beijinger through and through, always addressed him as “Jon.” Yao Jiang, who only got picky about real money matters, didn’t care who called him what; so long as they did their jobs, it was fine.

They took turns driving his car from Heliang to Beijing—over 400 kilometers each, nine hours total. Abel didn’t know the national highways well; Xiao Qi, anxious by nature, meant to sleep but ended up staying awake, offering directions. Finally, he turned around to say something to their boss, only to see Yao Jiang in the back seat, eyes closed, arms folded, looking peaceful and care-free as though he hadn’t a worry in the world.

They’d barely reached the outskirts of Beijing when Yao Jiang got a call. After a few words, he hung up with the same placid expression, then said to the two in front, “Go ahead and rest. Once we’ve recovered a bit, we’ll head right back to Heliang. It’s not our affair anymore.” Then he pulled out a small blanket, lay down across the seat, and became motionless.

Xiao Qi and Abel exchanged looks, each feeling an uneasy chill.

Sure enough, they couldn’t leave the next day. Mr. Wu phoned early that morning and said, “You’ve come all this way—help me out with a little favor, will you?”

He was pursuing a certain director’s daughter in Beijing. It so happened the daughter’s best friend was desperate to find a boyfriend. Out of solidarity, she’d vowed not to date anyone until her friend did, so Mr. Wu figured if he could just pair up that friend, his own pursuit would succeed. Hearing Yao Jiang was in town, he wanted to introduce him to this young woman.

“What, I’m supposed to leave Abel and Xiao Qi stranded for this?” Yao Jiang was about to say no.

But those two frantically signaled him not to throw them under the bus in front of the big boss’s ears.

“Jon,” Wu said, “Ren’s already on his way here, and I can’t keep ruffling his feathers forever. You might as well stay a bit. See the city, have some fun. Otherwise, you’re just working around the clock, and your sister might blame me.”

Yao Jiang hesitated, then sighed. “Who is this girl, anyway? What if it doesn’t go anywhere?”

“Then it doesn’t,” Wu answered. “But you’re a catch—tall, handsome, refined. I’m hoping it does! She’s an only child of some eminent scholar. I’ve seen pictures, and she’s definitely your type.” Then he sent him the WeChat of a certain “Danni.”

Yao Jiang frowned, feeling sure he’d heard a similar label in some half-forgotten corner of his mind. Then again, his mental Rolodex was full of directors, managers, department heads, and it was tough to keep them all straight.

They met outside the zoo in Xizhimen. She introduced herself as Guo Jinni, and Yao Jiang’s memory sparked. Speaking of the surname Guo, daughter of a prominent scholar...

“Do you know Professor Li—Li Zhongxing?” he asked her right after they swapped names.

It wasn’t exactly polite to bring up someone’s father right at the start of a date, and if the rumor held any truth, it might be awkward. But if an issue didn’t involve his interests, Yao Jiang rarely bothered with niceties.

As it turned out, the rumor was pretty far off. Guo Jinni showed no discomfort. Instead, she gave him a long, appraising look. “Oh, I do know him… Wait—Mr. Yao, you’re not telling me you prefer men, are you?”

She pointed at the zoo gates and said with mock regret, “In that case, there’s no need for us to go inside.”

Yao Jiang blinked in surprise. “No, I’m not.”

“Ah, so Zhongxing didn’t warn you about me?” She exhaled with relief and broke into an animated smile. “If he brought me up, you must be a close friend of his. Has he ever apologized to you from the bottom of his heart? Why won’t he come out of the closet? Look how I’ve been branded just to shield him—now I can’t even find a boyfriend! I’m the one paying the price for loyalty! Though, honestly, my dad’s mostly to blame…”

As she chattered on, Yao Jiang headed toward the ticket booth. Guo Jinni followed. She was tall, with poised manners, watching calmly while he bought two tickets and grabbed two bottles of water, handing one to her before they stepped through the turnstile.

“Professor Li and I only know each other through work,” Yao Jiang said simply, once she finally paused. “I did a bit of background checking, that’s all.”

She nearly choked on a mouthful of water.