Wang Zhuo drove, while Guan Yingying took the maglev train from the airport, and the two met up at Longyang Road.

Guan Yingying dragged a medium-sized suitcase that looked quite heavy. She wore oversized, coffee-colored aviator sunglasses, standing tall and graceful on the street corner, possessing a distinct air of celebrity in her bearing.

When Wang Zhuo spotted her, a sleek, silver-gray Porsche sports car was just pulling away in front of her. The handsome driver, having failed to pick her up, was already scanning for his next target.

"Just those glasses alone must double the number of heads you turn,"

Wang Zhuo teased as she settled into the car.

"Is this car yours?" Guan Yingying noticed the license plate registered in Q7's home province.

Wang Zhuo smiled and nodded, taking in her appearance now that she had removed the glasses. It had been over a month, and while her features hadn't changed, her aura had lost a hint of youthful naivete, gaining a touch of competence and maturity. It seemed he wasn't the only one growing; she must have gained a lot recently too.

Guan Yingying was also sizing up Wang Zhuo. She had very few male friends, and Wang Zhuo was the one she connected with best. Lately, Wang Zhuo had been making quite a splash; she even had friends in Europe who specifically emailed her asking about him. Seeing him now, she felt Wang Zhuo had become less erratic and more composed, imbued with a subtle, newfound gravitas.

He was certainly no longer that kid in plain athletic wear, outwardly indifferent but secretly sensitive to how others viewed him. He had genuinely transformed into a capable, decisive young man who handled things with methodical order.

"You really killed someone?" Guan Yingying suddenly dropped a bombshell question. Before meeting him, she had firmly resolved not to bring it up, but seeing Wang Zhuo, she suddenly felt an urgent need to ask.

Wang Zhuo grinned sheepishly, deflecting: "Why bring that up the moment we meet?"

Indeed, why ask that? Guan Yingying pondered for a moment before replying, "I just wanted to know... what did it feel like at that moment?"

"The feeling..." Wang Zhuo recalled Gan Lin's reaction at the time and described it: "It was strange—almost inexplicable, unbelievable, yet also like, 'Ah, so that's how it is.' And I realized how fragile human life is, and how simple it can be to take a life."

Guan Yingying tasted his words carefully, nodding thoughtfully.

The two drove back into the city and found an elegantly situated coffee shop where they sat down, eating and catching up on everything that had happened since they last parted.

Guan Shichen was involved in the export trade of porcelain and silk to several developed countries in Europe. Although this sector boasted high added value, domestic related enterprises hadn't yet matured, lagging far behind distinguished international brands like Chanel, Hermès, and Louis Vuitton.

It was hardly surprising. Even domestically, wealthy people took pride in using big luxury brands—who didn't know LV or Chanel? But ask them what brand of plates they used at home, and they'd probably think you were crazy.

Anyone familiar with foreign trade knew the reality: China exported cheap labor and precious resources, often importing things whose cost base was low but were burdened with exorbitant brand premiums or design fees. Finished steel was sold to developed nations, they'd roll it slightly, and sell it back to you at a premium. Rare earths were cheaply exported, transformed into precision components, and then bought back at thousands or tens of thousands of times the price.

The nation was indeed rising, but the steps toward catching up were still immense.

After this reflection, Wang Zhuo asked, "How is Uncle Guan's business doing?"

"Much better this year," Guan Yingying replied. "The national silk export volume has recovered to pre-financial crisis levels, with some growth today. My biggest achievement in Europe this time was signing a contract worth three million US dollars."

Three million US dollars? Nearly twenty million RMB? Wang Zhuo calculated quickly. A deal like that, successfully secured, meant Guan Shichen stood to make several million in profit. It seemed foreign trade was quite lucrative after all. Did this mean wooing Guan Yingying to help expand his jade business wouldn't be so easy?

Seeing his lack of reaction, Guan Yingying playfully chided him, "Aren't you going to congratulate me?"

"Oh, right! Congratulations, congratulations," Wang Zhuo raised his drink glass in a gesture of celebration.

"Hmph." Guan Yingying wrinkled her nose in dissatisfaction. "You think a three-million-dollar deal just falls into your lap? That's almost half a year's worth of business for my dad's company. I ran around day and night to secure this order; I even got calluses on my feet."

"Really? Let me see." Wang Zhuo pretended to lean down to check her feet.

"Would I lie about that?" Guan Yingying glanced around; seeing no one nearby, she slipped off her sandal and placed her foot on the adjacent seat for him to inspect.

Indeed, Wang Zhuo noticed a slight new callus on the sole of her foot, and on the top, near where a sandal strap would sit, a small patch of skin was slightly polished smooth.

This foot was delicately small, disproportionate to the hostess's height; Wang Zhuo guessed it was around a size 36. Its skin was fine, with a healthy, radiant tone, revealing a few faint blue veins beneath the surface.

It was slender yet perfectly curved—the ideal shape for wearing high heels. Wang Zhuo couldn't help but imagine what it would feel like to hold this foot in his hands.

This kid, still staring! Guan Yingying swiftly pulled her foot back. It was the first time she had seen a distinct spark of desire in Wang Zhuo's eyes, and her heart skipped a beat.

Wang Zhuo withdrew his gaze, suddenly recalling a question. "Uncle Guan's company, what is its annual turnover?"

Guan Yingying snapped back from her reverie and smiled, answering, "Why ask? It was nearly seven million last year—in US dollars."

That was over forty million RMB? Wang Zhuo gasped. "You must make a lot of money, then?"

"Definitely not as much as you imagine," Guan Yingying shook her head. "You only know once you're in it. If you don't play the political games in foreign trade, and you don't have connections in the relevant government departments looking out for you, it's like walking on thin ice. My father was busy all last year just to earn his 'hardship fee.' A shipment was inexplicably detained by French customs for three months. Luckily, the recipient's PR managed to smooth things over, or we would have lost everything this time."

Wang Zhuo nodded with feigned understanding, but inwardly he thought, Excellent.

So, Guan Shichen wasn't some untouchable titan after all. Wang Zhuo analyzed that the 'hardship fee' Guan Yingying mentioned was probably around ten percent of the total revenue—about four million. For a foreign export company, that was truly just compensation for the grind, easily wiped out by one hiccup.

By this estimation, the Guan family's assets were likely in the tens of millions, perhaps between twenty and thirty million. Wang Zhuo remembered the Imperial Green jade he sold to Guo Jiandeng; it seemed he had instantly earned the entirety of Guan Shichen's accumulated wealth from many years of work.

"With such high risks, you should do something else," Wang Zhuo lied casually. "I think this Western restaurant looks quite nice; there’s no risk in running that kind of business."

"I think so too, but my dad feels it would be too much of a waste to abandon the path he's paved over so many years," Guan Yingying managed a weak smile. "Actually, after getting involved, I realized the foreign trade industry is incredibly murky. His channels aren't as impressive as he thinks, and they're very fragile. If there's a personnel change in any relevant department one day, he has to start greasing wheels all over again."

Wang Zhuo chuckled. He knew things couldn't be as simple as Guan Yingying made them sound. For Guan Shichen's foreign trade company to survive the international financial crisis without collapsing, it must rely on skill, not luck. Until Guan Yingying's wings were fully hardened, trying to persuade Guan Shichen to abandon this familiar field was clearly impossible.

But so what? Wang Zhuo didn't believe a conventional, small foreign trade company could ever match the returns from his Fiery Eyes of Truth. If they went big, even giving Guan Yingying a ten percent share would likely exceed the total profit of Guan Shichen's entire company.

"We're stuffed," Guan Yingying put down her knife and fork, wiping a bit of soup from the corner of her mouth, and smiled at Wang Zhuo. "What are your plans for the afternoon?"

"Want to come see how the stones are doing at my place?"

"Sounds good, but before that, I want to get a foot massage."

"A foot massage?" Wang Zhuo was surprised. He had only heard of it or seen it in movies; he had never actually experienced it.

"Heh, I could tell you’ve never had one. Come on, sister will show you the ropes."

Coincidentally, there was a Huazi Foot Bath chain store right across the road. Wang Zhuo followed Guan Yingying inside, they asked for a private room and sat down. Soon, two young technicians entered, asking what services the guests required.

Wang Zhuo stared blankly at the 'menu,' so Guan Yingying ordered the sea mud treatment for him, while she chose something with salt, and also ordered a pot of *** tea.

Shortly after, the technicians entered with wooden basins. After a quick inquiry, Guan Yingying ceded the more experienced technician to Wang Zhuo.

It was a novel experience for Wang Zhuo. Sinking his feet into the hot water was incredibly soothing. The technician's soft hands moved over all the pressure points on his feet, nimble as a swimming fish.

"How does it feel?" Guan Yingying asked.

"Nice. Very nice," Wang Zhuo nodded sincerely.

The young technician also realized Wang Zhuo was a novice, and the two technicians exchanged a knowing smile. They were about the same age as Wang Zhuo, maybe nineteen or so.

"Sir, please lift this foot."

"Oh? Oh," Wang Zhuo obediently raised his right leg.

The technician held Wang Zhuo's foot and began to push, knead, rub, and press. Her small hands occasionally paused on a spot, telling Wang Zhuo, "This is the Liver meridian point; it helps the liver," or, "This is the Kidney point; massaging it treats kidney deficiency..."

Wang Zhuo thought to himself, My liver is fine, and I'm not deficient in anything, so please stop trying to bluff me. But as the technician's hands repeatedly swept over the sole of his foot, it felt as if a current of warmth was genuinely being stirred, awakening a certain part of him that had been dormant for several days.

"Sir, how does that feel?"

The technician was dedicated, keeping her head down while massaging, chatting casually with Wang Zhuo.

I feel like iron. Wang Zhuo anxiously looked around for a magazine or a towel to quickly cover himself. With three women and one man in the room, being discovered would be mortifying!

Guan Yingying took a sip of tea and was just about to say something to Wang Zhuo when she suddenly noticed the tight strain on his trousers. She couldn't hold it in, and with a loud Pffft, she sprayed tea onto the floor.