When the search results came up, I sat staring at the screen for a long time.



It wasn't that I couldn't find him. It was that what I found was too clean. Gu Group Executive President, Director, actual operator of the education division. Baidu Baike had only five lines, not even a photo. He had been mentioned in financial news, but every time it was "a Gu Group spokesperson stated"-never "Gu Lingfeng stated." This man was like a spider lurking in the dark-you could only see the occasional tremble of a silk thread on the web.



Scrolling to the bottom, the only piece of information related to his personal life was an anonymous post on a forum from three years ago. Only one sentence: Gu family's third son? Don't even think about it. Not even a female mosquito can fly within three feet of him.



I put the phone face down next to my pillow. An "executive president" who was "renting his suit" that afternoon-a man who barely existed on a search engine. Tomorrow he was taking me to meet his grandfather.



Then I thought of something: he had been sitting in that café for so long, two empty cups on the table, and he was holding a third one when I walked in. A man, 4 PM, three cups of coffee, sitting in the café across from the kindergarten for at least two hours.



He wasn't waiting for me. Or rather, he wasn't waiting only for me.



I rolled over and stared at the ceiling. Couldn't sleep.



The next morning, he came to pick me up in a different car. Still the Passat.



I got in and fastened my seatbelt: "Where does your grandfather live?"



"Western Hills."



"Which part of Western Hills?"



He didn't answer. The car got on the West Fifth Ring Road and turned onto a fork I didn't recognize. The farther up the mountain they drove, the denser the trees. Cameras began to appear on both sides of the wall, one every two hundred meters, the probe facing the road, a red light flashing on and off.



Finally they stopped in front of an iron gate. The gate opened, the car drove in, circled around a stone fountain, and stopped in front of a three-story grayish-white villa.



Two rows of people stood at the entrance. Not servants-security in suits. He rolled down the window. The one in front nodded at Gu Lingfeng: "Mr. Gu, the old master is waiting for you in the flower hall."



I looked sideways at this strange man. Rented suit? Rides an electric scooter?



"What do you actually do?"



"Investments." He pushed the car door open. "My ancestors did too. Generations of it."



He led me toward the flower hall. The corridor was long. On both walls hung many calligraphy scrolls and paintings. One signature I recognized-Qi Baishi, auctioned for 80 million at Sotheby's last autumn. Just hanging on the corridor wall, not even under glass. Farther in, a splashed-ink landscape by Zhang Daqian, a horse by Xu Beihong. Not prints. Every brushstroke's ink color carried the light of distant years.



At the entrance to the flower hall, Gu Lingfeng turned back and took my hand.



"Don't be afraid. Whatever he asks, just tell the truth." He leaned down and whispered, "He likes hearing about the kindergarten stuff."



I took a deep breath. The door opened.



In the flower hall sat an old man with graying hair. Dark blue Zhongshan jacket, holding a yellow rosewood cane in his hand. In front of him sat a complete set of Gongfu tea utensils. The Yixing clay pot had been seasoned to an oily shine.



"Grandpa."



Gu Lingfeng called out, then pulled me down to sit on the sofa nearby. The old man looked up at me. There was a brightness in that gaze that didn't match his age. I was scanned from head to toe. He wasn't sizing me up. He was doing an accounting.



"Brought back another one?"



"This time it's serious."



"You said that last time too. That model-the next day she flew to Paris for a shoot."



"That one wasn't someone I found. That was arranged by Secretary Wang on your orders."



"And the time before that?"



"The host was your mahjong partner's niece. She talked to me for ten minutes, and the whole time she was fishing for last year's Gu Group financial report data."



The old man let out a hum and turned to look at me.



"What do you do?"



"Kindergarten teacher."



He set down his tea cup: "What do you teach?"



"Mixed-age classes, ages three to six. Our kindergarten uses mixed-age teaching. There aren't many in China that do it well. Even fewer certified teachers."



"How much do you make a month?"



"Eight thousand after tax."



The old man stared at me without speaking. His gaze could see right through a person. Then he laughed. His eyes crinkled at the corners.



"She makes eight thousand a month. The last one opened with a question about Gu Group's shareholding ratio. Xiao Gu, you've made progress."



Gu Lingfeng leaned back on the sofa and crossed his legs: "What good is progress? You don't believe me anyway."



"This one, I believe. For now." The old man poured me a cup of tea. White steam rose from the pot. Golden tea liquid gave off a faint floral scent. "Teacher Su, do you know how to brew tea?"



"A little. I'm more familiar with Pu'er and Tieguanyin."



"This is Silver Needle white tea. Smell it."



I lifted it and sniffed: "Aged. At least five years. White tea-one year is tea, three years is medicine, seven years is treasure. Yours is right at the transition from medicine to treasure."



The old man set the teapot down and turned to look at Gu Lingfeng: "Where did you find her?"



"Picked her up off the street."



"You picked well. Better than all the previous ones put together."



He poured me another cup. This time his gaze was much gentler.



When I was little, studying tea ceremony with my mom, all I could think about was finishing class so I could go watch cartoons. My mom said, don't rush. You'll thank me for this skill someday. She was right.



When we were leaving, the old man stopped me.



"Teacher Su, my grandson has many faults. Sharp tongue. Inhuman. But he has one good point-he's never misjudged{