enjoyebooks Chapter 11: The Weakness of Capital
Chapter 11: The Weakness of Capital
On a winter morning in Tianjin, the city was shrouded in thick fog.
The old, sooty smell in the air, mixed with the chilling scent of cracked brick walls, seemed to seep into one's very bones.
Chen Yan didn't stay inside; instead, he moved a broken, rickety rattan chair and brazenly blocked the entrance to the building.
He wasn't carrying a camera; instead, he was holding a thick, rusty copy of the Land Management Law, its pages stained with rust.
The photocopy, which he had folded repeatedly, rustled in the cold wind, as if it might break at any moment.
Chen Jianguo's head popped out of the second-floor window, still clutching the toothbrush cup in his hand, with a ring of white foam around his mouth that he hadn't bothered to wipe.
"Xiao Yan, it's cold outside, go back inside and wait!"
He lowered his voice, "Let's not confront them head-on, let's wait for the police!"
"Dad, the police don't handle contract disputes."
Chen Yan didn't even lift his head, his fingers lightly tracing the rough pages of the book as he silently calculated the time.
If Lu Haiming's men are efficient, they should have arrived by now, from Yanjing to Tianjin.
as predicted.
Not long after, the Santana 2000 returned, followed by a dusty, worn-out van.
As soon as the car door opened, Xiao Zhao, the same guy from yesterday, climbed out of the passenger seat.
His eyes were dark and swollen, as if he had just woken up from a hangover, or as if he had been given a severe scolding by his boss.
Three burly men jumped out of the bread cart, all wearing black cotton-padded coats, standing there like three iron towers.
With someone backing him up, Xiao Zhao took bigger steps, his leather shoes scraping against the cement floor as he stood in front of Chen Yan.
"Chen, you're up early."
Xiao Zhao glanced at the tattered book in Chen Yan's hand and snorted disdainfully.
"Last-minute cramming? If this stuff could be eaten as food, wouldn't everyone be a big boss?"
He raised his chin, his tone carrying an arrogant, condescending tone, "Regarding the contract, our CEO Lu has spoken. Since you're not going to listen, then we'll proceed according to the rules. This place, you have to sign it today, whether you like it or not!"
Chen Yan finally made a move, but not by standing up.
He slowly pulled a crumpled copy of a briefing from his pocket. It was a non-public analysis of a project in southern Beijing last year, which he had found in the old papers pile in the Beijing Film Academy library.
"Brother Zhao, right? Your boss, Lu Haiming, should be in Yanjing right now running around for the approvals for Phase III of Haiming Garden, right?"
Chen Yan's tone was so flat it was as if he were asking if the breakfast stall was open yet.
Xiao Zhao's heart skipped a beat, but he stubbornly maintained his composure.
"Do you have any information about President Lu's affairs?"
"I not only inquired, I also know," Chen Yan opened the Land Administration Law and pointed to one of the articles with his fingertip, "that his three-phase project had its land use changed from residential to commercial last June. But the pre-sale contracts he sold to the relocated residents still stated a 70-year property right. Tell me, doesn't that constitute an illegal change of land use, and isn't the amount involved enormous?"
The two burly men behind Xiao Zhao couldn't understand the nature or purpose of the words, but they understood the word "illegal," and a chill ran down their spines for no apparent reason.
"What the hell are you talking nonsense about!"
Xiao Zhao's voice suddenly rose, but it was clearly lacking in confidence. "Where's the evidence? Where are you, a poor student, going to get evidence?"
Chen Yan didn't say anything, but simply held up the copy in his hand and waved it gently in front of Xiao Zhao's eyes.
On the paper, the red seal bearing the words "Haiming Consulting" is blurred yet clear.
This was the irrefutable evidence that Chen Yan had painstakingly unearthed during a lawsuit that lasted for several years in his previous life.
The plot numbers and data on this photocopy are now the nightmare that Lu Haiming most wants to destroy.
"Evidence. In addition, a friend of mine who works as a journalist for Cahiers du Cinéma in Paris has a more detailed English version."
Chen Yan took the paper back, folded it slowly and carefully, and put it back in his pocket.
"Isn't Lu Haiming trying to get into cultural real estate development and sponsor a dinner at the Cannes Film Festival to embellish his own image?"
"Tell me, if at this critical juncture, the French media suddenly broke the news that a rising Chinese real estate tycoon made his fortune through fraud and deception, would he still be able to save face internationally?"
Cold sweat trickled down Xiao Zhao's temples, and the cold wind made him shiver.
What he fears most in people who do dirty work isn't the tough, unyielding type, but this kind of person in front of him—not only ruthless, but also knowledgeable about the law, and knows exactly what his boss is afraid of.
"What do you want?"
Xiao Zhao's voice completely softened, and he withdrew his hand halfway up.
Three things.
Chen Yan finally stood up, and the rattan chair beneath him creaked under the weight.
"First, the demolition compensation will be double the highest price in the surrounding business district."
"Secondly, Haiming Consulting wrote my father a handwritten apology letter, saying that the appraiser was not professional and made a mistake in the calculation."
"Third, the money must be in the account this week."
"Double it? You're robbing me!"
Xiao Zhao shouted out instinctively.
"Then let him wait until next year's Cannes special edition."
After Chen Yan finished speaking, he turned around and walked into the dark stairwell, one step, two steps, without the slightest hesitation.
"etc!"
Xiao Zhao panicked and rushed after Chen Yan, reaching out to grab his arm.
Chen Yan stopped and turned around.
He said nothing, did nothing, and just quietly watched Xiao Zhao.
It's a kind of peace of mind that comes after countless sleepless nights on set and witnessing countless life-or-death situations.
Xiao Zhao's outstretched hand remained suspended in mid-air, and he didn't dare to extend it any further.
"Go back and tell Lu Haiming that my name is Chen Yan, and I'm from the Cinematography Department of the Beijing Film Academy. He'll remember this name."
As soon as he finished speaking, Chen Yan disappeared behind the building entrance without looking back.
Outside the door, Xiao Zhao stood alone in the thick fog, like a wooden stake.
A man in a black cotton-padded jacket approached and asked in a deep, muffled voice.
"Brother Zhao, shall we continue smashing?"
"Screw this! Go back to the company!"
……
Inside the room, Chen Jianguo practically pressed his ear against the door and listened to the entire conversation.
When Chen Yan came in, he grabbed his son's shoulder, his lips trembling.
"Just like that, you left?"
"I'm gone."
Chen Yan walked to the table, picked up the glass of ice-cold water, and drank it all in one gulp.
The cold liquid slid down my throat, finally suppressing the burning sensation from the earlier confrontation.
"Xiao Yan, tell Dad the truth, can that piece of paper really send him to jail?"
"It won't be jail time."
Chen Yan shook his head. "But he's taking too big a step and has too much ambition. What I fear most is this kind of reputation. Dad, let's not harm anyone. Let's get back what we deserve and get Uncle Su treated."
He pushed the savings book containing 20,000 yuan in front of Chen Jianguo.
"Take this and buy some good food for Uncle Su. As for the rest of the money, once Lu Haiming returns it, I'll take Su Wan directly to Yanjing."
Chen Jianguo looked at the bankbook, then at his son's thinner face, and sighed deeply.
"My silly son, when did he become so clever?"
Chen Yan twitched the corner of his mouth, unable to explain.
This isn't intelligence; it's a memory gained at the cost of one's life.
Around 3 p.m., Chen Yan sat by the window with his old Nokia phone in his hand.
The screen lit up with a short text message from Su Wan.
[Xiaoyan, my mom made noodles with soybean paste. When are you coming back?]
As Chen Yan looked at the words, a wisp of warmth finally seeped into a frozen corner of his heart.
He replied.
[I'll be back first thing tomorrow morning. Su Wan, does your stomach still hurt?]
Five minutes later, the phone vibrated again.
The pain has subsided, but I miss you.
Meanwhile, in Yanjing (Beijing).
In the top-floor office of Haiming Film & Media, heavy curtains blocked out all light, with only a single green desk lamp emitting a dim glow.
Lu Haiming, wearing a silk bathrobe, was holding the telephone receiver, his whole body sunk into the huge boss's chair.
"Chen Yan?"
He slowly repeated the name, as if grinding it with his teeth.
On the other end of the phone, Xiao Zhao's voice was still trembling as he reported everything that had happened in Tianjin in detail.
Lu Haiming didn't get angry; he just remained silent for a full half minute after Xiao Zhao finished speaking.
He hung up the phone, picked up a piece of suede from the table, and began to wipe a pair of gold-rimmed glasses over and over again.
He was certain that the inside story of the land conversion was flawless, so how could it have fallen into the hands of a student who hadn't even graduated yet?
"Go check."
He said to the air, "Find out the details of his entire family history, from the eighteenth generation to the last."
The next morning, before dawn, Chen Yan went downstairs with his bag.
Chen Jianguo took him to the alley entrance, took out a wad of loose change tied with a rubber band from his pocket, and forced it into his bag.
"Take this, use it to buy water on the way, don't skimp on yourself when you get to Yanjing."
"Dad, if Haiming's men come again, don't give them the apology letter, and don't sign it."
Chen Yan did not refuse; the money carried the warmth of his father's hand.
"I know, Dad's not stupid, he's got plenty of confidence this time!"
Chen Jianguo patted his chest and smiled憨厚ly.
The long-distance bus heading to Yanjing had a strange smell in the carriage, a mixture of instant noodles and sweaty feet.
Chen Yan found a seat by the window and sat down. The car swayed and was about to start when his phone suddenly started vibrating wildly in his pocket.
An unfamiliar Beijing number.
He answered the call.
"Hello, is this Chen Yan?"
The voice on the other end of the phone was slightly aged, with a serious, businesslike tone: "I am Professor Yan Huaizhong from the department office."
"Mr. Pierre just gave us feedback on the short film you submitted for the competition."
"The judges at Cannes want to speak with you right now. Where are you?"