Courtyard House: Home Alone

John stood up and straightened the hem of his suit jacket. "However, I must point out that the German, Hans, and the Frenchman, Pierre, seem to have other plans for this shipment. It might be safer for Mr. Zhou to deal solely with me."

Chen Gongshu escorted him to the door, bowing slightly: "Old Master Tang's rule has always been that the highest bidder wins, and the goods are sold to three different buyers. If Mr. John is sincere, we'll see tomorrow."

The door closed softly, and Lin Yifan's spiritual power "saw" John standing in the corridor, taking out a pocket watch from his pocket, glancing at it, and then quickly walking towards the stairs.

"Young master, the British are gone," Chen Gongshu's voice came through the communicator, tinged with weariness. "Next up, the Germans or the French?"

"The French." Lin Yifan pushed his coffee cup aside, his gaze falling on the darkening sky outside the window. "The Germans are having a great time in Europe right now, their tempers are probably running hot, let's give them some space."

"clear."

The communicator crackled with the click-clack of Chen Gongshu dialing the dial, like some kind of countdown. Lin Yifan's mental energy spread to the third floor, where he "saw" the Frenchman Pierre's room, where the German Hans was slamming his fist on the table, their mixed French and German arguing audible even through the door.

"Pierre! You promised me you'd get 30% of this batch of medicine—"

"That was the old price!" Pierre's voice was shrill. "Now the Americans have gotten involved, the market has changed!"

Lin Yifan withdrew his mental energy and focused on the sounds inside the coffee shop. The foreign couple had already left, leaving only a man in a gray coat sitting in the corner with a copy of the North China Daily News open in front of him, but he hadn't turned a page for a long time.

"Young master, the French have agreed; they'll be there in five minutes."

"You two can talk. If it's about reselling, I reckon he's the only one left. Because their country has already been occupied by the Germans," Lin Yifan said softly.

Chen Gongshu responded.

Pierre arrived more cautiously than John. He paused for a moment at the door of room 412, tapping three times on the doorframe with his fingers, two quickly and one slowly, as if it were some kind of code.

Chen Gongshu opened the door and let him in, his gaze subtly sweeping over his cuffs—the dark blue woolen fabric faintly retained a sweet fragrance.

"Mr. Zhou?" Pierre's Chinese was heavily accented with a Marseille accent, the last syllable drawn out. "I've met Mr. Tang, but I haven't met his agent."

"The old man isn't feeling well." Chen Gongshu handed him a glass of red wine. "Mr. Pierre, please have a seat."

Pierre didn't sit down immediately, but walked to the window and drew the curtains wide open. The twilight from the Haihe River flooded into the room, dividing his profile into light and shadow.

He turned around, his grey-green eyes gleaming with a hint of probing. "Mr. Zhou, there's an old Chinese saying—'Let's not beat around the bush.' I've prepared all the gold; it's deposited with Mitsui Bank. I wonder when you'll be able to trade it?"

Also, I'd like to know if I could get a larger share; 20,000 vials of penicillin are really... not enough.

Chen Gongshu's smile froze for a moment, then returned to normal: "Mr. Pierre, Mr. Tang values ​​fairness in business. Giving you 20,000 units this time is just the beginning. If our cooperation goes well, increasing the share is not out of the question. But there's one condition."

Chen Gongshu took out another contract from his briefcase. "It must not be resold to the Japanese. If this clause is violated, Mr. Pierre will have no place in the concession from now on."

Pierre's smile froze on his face. He took the contract, his gaze lingering on the words "Japanese" for a long time, his fingertips trembling slightly.

"Is this... what Grandpa Tang meant?"

It means 'ghost'.

Silence fell in the room. The long, mournful whistle of a cargo ship drifted in from outside. Pierre suddenly laughed, folded the contract, and tucked it into his pocket: "Mr. Zhou, I like doing business with straightforward people. I'll be waiting for you tomorrow at noon."

He turned and left, his steps much lighter than when he arrived. Chen Gongshu closed the door, leaned against it, and let out a long sigh.

"Young master, the French smell of cherry blossoms."

"I know." Lin Yifan's mental power "saw" Pierre brushing past someone in the third-floor corridor—the follower in the navy blue long gown. The moment their eyes met, Pierre's fingers tapped lightly on the door frame.

The code consists of two fast and one slow signals; the slow signal at the end is confirmation.

"He's been bribed by the Japanese." Lin Yifan's voice turned cold. "Continue to contact the Germans and proceed according to plan."

"And what about the French side..."

"Let's play along."

Lin Yifan picked up the now-cold coffee and drank it all in one gulp. The bitter liquid slid down his throat, like some kind of wake-up call.

"You proceed with the transaction as usual. When you call him tomorrow, tell him you can give him an extra 20,000 units, making a total of 40,000 units."

After a moment of silence on the other end of the communicator, Chen Gongshu's voice rang out again, carrying a hint of understanding: "Is this my plan to leave the French and the Japanese penniless and empty-handed?"

"Yes. These Japanese devils stole more than 20,000 tons of gold from China. This isn't even enough to cover the interest. We'll settle accounts with them slowly later." Lin Yifan gently placed the coffee cup on the saucer, the clinking of the porcelain as crisp as shattered ice.

His spiritual power extended to the third floor, and he "saw" Pierre standing at the corner of the stairs, taking out a handkerchief from his pocket to wipe the sweat from his forehead. On the edge of that handkerchief was embroidered a very pale cherry blossom—a gift from Mitsui Bank, exclusively for VIP clients.

"Tell Hans, the German, that the transaction will be the day after tomorrow, and give him an extra 10,000 units."

"I understand, young master."

The communicator crackled with the click-clack of Chen Gongshu dialing the dial, like some kind of ancient timer.

"Young master, the Germans have agreed; they'll be there in ten minutes."

Lin Yifan's voice was as soft as a falling leaf, "Proceed according to plan."

Chen Gongshu responded, and then the communicator came through the soft sound of the door opening and closing, as well as the rustling sound of him walking to the window and adjusting the curtains.

Lin Yifan channeled his spiritual energy like a tidal wave towards the third floor. The German, Hans, had already left the Frenchman's room and was standing alone by the window at the end of the corridor, holding an unlit cigar in his hand.

His blond hair gleamed coldly in the twilight, and his knuckles were white from straining—clearly, the argument with Pierre had left him still furious.

"Mr. Hans."

Chen Gongshu's voice came through the communicator, sounding somewhat harsher than when he spoke to the British: "Old Master Tang's representative would like to discuss the penicillin matter with you."

Hans whirled around, his cigar snapping between his fingers: "You Chinese! You always meet with everyone at once, like you're auctioning off livestock!"

"Mr. Hans has misunderstood," Chen Gongshu said calmly. "The old man has always respected the efficiency of his German friends. Tomorrow, the British and French will trade simultaneously, but we've reserved a slot for you the day after tomorrow—an extra 10,000 shares, exclusively for you."