As for the other place he didn't want to go, it was the company where he had worked after graduating from university.
To be honest, working in a company was a lot like going to school. There were only two kinds of people: those who coasted and those who wanted to climb up the ladder. The ambitious ones needed to wear many faces. Back in school, they were the class monitors and student council members; in the workplace, they acted the same, flattering teachers then, supervisors now, all hoping to earn a tiny promotion. They worked all day and socialized all night—exhausting. I suppose these are the people who end up missing their school days.
Then there were the coasters—people like Jiang Hai. They relied on the company. If a document was assigned, they'd finish it in exactly seven days, not six, always submitting at the last minute and spending the following days idling. They lived for the moment they could clock out. It wasn't tiring, and all they needed was decent relationships with coworkers. Since they had no desire to climb, they didn't threaten anyone's interests. Still, it wasn't the life Jiang Hai wanted.
There were always leaders strolling around, and even if you didn't butter them up, you still had to speak politely. Anyone could order you around—do this, do that. It was aggravating.
It wasn't physically tiring, but it was mentally suffocating. That was Jiang Hai's life three years ago. There was always someone controlling you: how much you should sleep, how long you should work, what tasks you needed to complete… it never ended.
Originally, Jiang Hai thought this was normal. But now, after escaping that circle—after gaining wealth, after having no one order him around, no one forcing him to wake up at a certain time, no one demanding overtime, no one glaring at him in the office—asking him to return to that life? Heh…
He might go to watch the show, but he definitely wouldn't participate. So after visiting Qi's company yesterday, he had no intention of going again today. Since he had no interest in taking over Qi's, there was no point in showing up.
But staying home was boring. He wanted to explore Beijing, but honestly, he'd already been to all the major attractions. And with heating systems being tested in northern regions, Beijing's notorious smog had returned. Jiang Hai didn't feel like being a human fog absorber. While he hesitated, noon quietly approached.
A Peking duck program on TV caught his eye. It made him think of the last time he visited Beijing and ate at Quanjude in Dashilan—it had been delicious. He suddenly felt the urge to go again.
Qi Li's home had more than one car. Downstairs in the garage were two additional vehicles: a red Porsche 911, which she normally drove, and a BMW 750, a model that cost over two million yuan but was already five years old. Qi Li had used it for business trips in the past but stopped once she bought a Rolls-Royce.
After thinking for a moment, Jiang Hai dismissed the Porsche—it was a woman's car and fast but useless in the city. So he took the BMW keys, went downstairs, and followed the navigation toward Dashilan.
Anyone in Beijing would know Dashilan. It's a commercial street in front of Qianmen, commonly called "Dashilan'er," though that wasn't its original name. It used to be called Langfang Sitiao. It originated in the Yuan Dynasty, was established in the Ming Dynasty, and flourished in the Qing Dynasty. But in 1900, the old empress summoned the Boxers to Beijing, intending to use them to expel foreigners. That became the excuse for the Eight-Nation Alliance invasion. Then she boldly declared war on eleven countries at once, dragging China into disaster.
After the Boxers entered Beijing, they burned down this street. The rebuilt version turned out quite well.
The name "Dashilan" dates back to the first year of Emperor Xiaozong's Hongzhi reign in the Ming Dynasty. There was a curfew in the capital at the time, and to prevent thieves from hiding in alleys, wooden fences were set up at the entrances. They were open during the day and closed at night for easier management.
Of course, none of this historical trivia mattered to Jiang Hai. After wandering around and finally finding a parking spot, he entered the street.
There were many small shops and restaurants, but most catered to tourists. Locals rarely came. The Quanjude Jiang Hai visited wasn't the best branch, but it suited his taste. After entering, he found a seat and ordered a roast duck. The price was several times higher than before.
Soon, the chef arrived to slice the duck before him. Roast duck like this had crispy skin with a layer of fragrant oil beneath—it had to be eaten fresh or it would become greasy. After slicing, Jiang Hai asked them to turn the duck carcass into soup.
He then began eating, wrapping the duck in pancakes with cucumber and sweet bean sauce. Jiang Hai didn't eat scallions, ginger, or onions—he could taste them even when mixed in dishes, but he would pick them out. So he didn't add any of those. He finished the meal quickly—nothing was left except a bowl of soup.
After paying, Jiang Hai planned to stroll around. But before he even walked out of Quanjude, two men in black suddenly stepped in front of him, blocking him from both sides.
Jiang Hai frowned. Looking around, he noticed quite a few onlookers watching with amused expressions. No matter where you are, Chinese people love watching a spectacle. Some were already recording on their phones.
Seeing so many people, Jiang Hai felt relieved. He wasn't afraid of being blocked; he was only wary of someone attacking without warning.
Since there were plenty of witnesses, Jiang Hai didn't bother being polite. He looked at the two blocking his way and walked straight forward.
"Excuse me, excuse me…"