Though Xu Zhipeng was just over thirty, he had been driving leaders for ten years, making him an old hand at navigating such matters; thus, Shen Feng entrusted him with many tasks without hesitation.

In Jia Cheng’s estimation, that giant soft-shelled turtle was worth at most tens of thousands of yuan. Since Shen Feng fancied it, he was determined to acquire it so Shen Feng could feast to his heart’s content.

A seafood dinner at a high-end hotel could cost tens of thousands already, let alone a wild, mature soft-shelled turtle that was over a decade old—such a creature was a rare find, something Shen Feng would likely remember eating even when he was old. The money spent to leave such a long-lasting, favorable impression on his superior was truly worthwhile.

But Jia Cheng was unaware that his nephew had taken it upon himself, hoping to score a cheap deal, only to be mocked by the turtle’s owner and slapped across the face, then told to scram immediately.

The subtext of that command was clear: I never want to see your faces again, urging them to leave the resort promptly before they embarrassed themselves further.

“Come, come, Secretary Shen, have a sniff of this tea I just managed to acquire.”

Jia Cheng opened a small hexagonal paper box with the reverence one shows a priceless treasure, offering it to Shen Feng.

This small box could hold, at most, two liang of tea. It was an ordinary gray container, devoid of any pattern or text, seemingly handcrafted.

As soon as the box was opened, a fresh, rich aroma of tea wafted out—a scent subtly elegant and pure that instantly invigorated the senses.

Shen Feng took the small box, brought it close to his nose, and inhaled gently a couple of times. Joy instantly spread across his face. He asked, “Is this Huoqian Longjing?”

“Secretary Shen truly knows his wares; brilliant, absolutely brilliant,” Jia Cheng praised him effusively.

In ancient China, tribute teas sent to the capital were mostly spring teas, primarily categorized as Sheqian, Huoqian, and Yuqian.

Sheqian tea was picked around the spring equinox when the tea trees had just sprouted; production was extremely low, and in old times, only the Emperor, favored consorts, or the Empress Dowager were permitted to enjoy it. Yuqian tea meant it was picked before Guyu (Grain Rain); by then, temperatures were higher, and the buds and leaves were abundant, making it incomparable to Sheqian or Huoqian.

Huoqian tea was actually “Pre-Qingming tea,” meaning it was harvested before the Qingming Festival, traditionally picked on Hanshi Festival, the day before Qingming. During the Qing Dynasty, Emperor Qianlong witnessed the plucking of Longjing tea in Hangzhou and held Huoqian Longjing in the highest regard.

In recent years, genuine Pre-Qingming Longjing has become a regular at auctions, often fetching prices exceeding 100,000 yuan per jin, precisely because the low temperatures before Qingming slow growth, yielding few standard buds—hence the saying, “Pre-Qingming tea is as precious as gold.”

While Shen Feng calling it Huoqian tea was technically correct, it carried a hint of showing off his knowledge. Only older gentlemen or industry insiders used that term; ordinary tea drinkers usually just called it “Pre-Qingming.”

“Director Jia, this box of Huoqian Longjing, is it this year’s new batch? Where did you manage to source it?” Shen Feng held the small box lovingly, scrutinizing the leaves inside.

For officials, the term “source” (gǎo) was quite fitting, as it implied the tea wasn’t bought with money. Since Jia Cheng’s family didn't produce tea, nor did he have relatives wealthy enough to gift such a valuable item, where else could he have “sourced” it? Naturally, he paid a significant sum for it.

Jia Cheng deftly avoided the question, merely chuckling, “Heh heh, if Secretary Shen likes it, please accept this box as a token of respect. I have a few more boxes at home; I’ll have Yuliang send them over later.”

“You, you,” Shen Feng chuckled, pointing a finger at him. “You must have known I’d like this, preparing it just for me. I shall accept it then, without ceremony.”

Jia Cheng accompanied his laughter with a matching smile. As for what he truly thought, only he knew. Despite being just a small pinch of leaves, weighing only eighty grams net, this box cost him over twenty thousand yuan when purchased.

Jia Cheng was indeed wealthy, but that money was earned through his own efforts, and he usually hated wasteful extravagance. However, to grease the wheels for this demanding, ever-hungry official, he had no choice but to endure the pang of losing the money, bleeding funds time and again.

“The well at this resort is an old mountain spring, later converted to a Yang well; the water quality is excellent,” Jia Cheng smiled. “I’ll have a waiter fetch a fresh bucket. We can boil some water and let Secretary Shen taste the tea with it.”

“Good, good,” Shen Feng nodded repeatedly with satisfaction.

Just then, Xu Zhipeng and Jia Yuliang entered one after the other from outside. Seeing their crestfallen faces, both Shen Feng and Jia Cheng paused momentarily.

“Yuliang, what happened?” Jia Cheng asked hastily.

As Jia Yuliang was about to speak, Xu Zhipeng cut in, “Director Jia, allow me to explain.”

Xu Zhipeng was perceptive, and although he hadn't known Jia Yuliang long, he had already gauged his nephew's temperament. He felt it best if he recounted the incident himself; if Jia Yuliang spoke, he would likely embellish the story wildly, misleading both Shen Feng and Jia Cheng.

“Speak, what happened?” Shen Feng said calmly.

So, Xu Zhipeng recounted the entire event precisely as it happened, striving to recreate the situation faithfully—neither smearing Wang Zhuo nor overtly favoring Jia Yuliang. In his view, he had committed no error, and how to proceed now was up to the leadership to decide; it was not his place to worry about it.

After hearing Xu Zhipeng’s account, Shen Feng frowned in deep thought. Anyone driving a globally limited-edition Mercedes RV for leisure was certainly a figure of wealth and status. If that vehicle truly was worth over ten million, the owner’s identity must be significant, perhaps not someone who would defer to his position as a powerful Division Chief.

One doesn’t understand the rigid structure of officialdom until one serves in the civil service. Despite Shen Feng’s current success and promising career, he knew the bureaucracy was riddled with landmines; one misstep could lead to an abyss, wiping one out completely. Therefore, upon hearing the uncompromising order to leave, while anger simmered in his heart, he felt profound apprehension.

Jia Cheng looked at his nephew, Jia Yuliang—pitying him for being slapped, yet furious at his incompetence. The scope of that ‘scram’ command was ambiguous; now it even implicated Secretary Shen Feng. Hadn't he brought trouble upon himself?

Shen Feng certainly did not want to be run off. If the Secretary of the Party Committee for the Development Zone was scared away by some young man whose background they couldn't even ascertain, word would spread, and people would scoff.

“That person’s Mandarin was very standard; he must be from the North. Because he didn't look like a person of stature, I initially assumed he was the bodyguard or driver for the owner of the RV. Only when I asked the villa staff did I learn there were only two people with him—besides him, there was only one beautiful woman.”

Finishing, Xu Zhipeng paused, then added, “I also inquired about the background of the people fishing with him, but got no results.”

“No results?” Shen Feng glanced at him, about to press for details, when a few measured knocks sounded at the door.

“Zhipeng, go see,” Shen Feng waved his hand.

Xu Zhipeng complied, opened the door, and saw the resort’s general manager standing there with two men of medium height, shoulders rigidly straight. Having worked in government for ten years, Xu Zhipeng had seen countless people; he recognized the identity of these two plainclothes youths instantly: soldiers.

“Is Director Jia here?” the aging General Manager asked.

Since Jia Cheng was the host and Shen Feng the guest, the manager addressed Jia Cheng.

“Director Jia is inside. May I ask who these two gentlemen are?” Xu Zhipeng inquired while observing the reaction of the two soldiers.

The manager was about to introduce them when one of the two stepped forward, pulled out a badge from his pocket, and held it open before him.

“Ah…” Xu Zhipeng’s heart skipped a beat. This man was authorized to carry a concealed weapon, holding a position that, though perhaps not high in rank, was highly sensitive and outside the jurisdiction of local authorities.

“You were the one asking for information about an elderly gentleman just now, correct?” the man asked in a level tone. “Come into the room; we have a few questions for you.”

Xu Zhipeng was momentarily stunned. Ten years in bureaucracy had exposed him to much, but this was the first time he encountered such a situation, leaving him unsure how to react.

He froze, but the other man showed no such hesitation. The one who presented the badge swiftly tucked it back into his chest pocket and started walking forward. If Xu Zhipeng didn’t step back or move aside, he would certainly be run into.

The other man nodded toward the resort manager and said, “Manager Li, please wait outside.”

Xu Zhipeng quickly retreated, narrowly avoiding collision, as the first man strode past him into the interior.

The hallway was only four meters long. In an instant, the man entered the living room, startling the four people waiting for Xu Zhipeng’s update—who was this stranger barging in?

He flashed his badge again and declared in perfectly enunciated Mandarin, “Please state your identities, your purpose for being at this resort, and the reason for inquiring about the elderly gentleman’s identity.”

Shen Feng and Jia Cheng were absolutely staggered, feeling as though they had been struck by lightning. What deity had they offended? It was just over a giant turtle, did it warrant deploying the Chief’s personal guard commander?

Even Jia Yuliang and Shen Feng’s secretary were dumbfounded. Forget the badge they had never seen before; the slight bulge discernible under the man’s hand resting near his right waist was terrifyingly indicative—that could only be a handgun.

Silence descended upon the room. Then, Xu Zhipeng and the other young man followed inside. Seeing no response, the guard commander repeated his three questions, emphasizing each word.

Half an hour later, the two guards returned to Qin Jingzhong’s sitting room and detailed the information they had extracted. Hearing the report brought forth a wave of laughter from those present.

Wang Zhuo took a sip of his sour plum soup, his gaze sweeping past the resort’s terraces and courtyards, spotting Shen Feng and his group walking away, looking dejected.

A cold smile played on his lips. Since Qin Jingzhong had publicly humiliated them, the matter would be dropped for now. But if these individuals dared cross his path again, they wouldn't be able to slink away so easily.