Chapter 127: Scandal

Once you wrap your head around a problem, everything becomes easy. But if you insist on fixating on a single issue without making concessions, it will be fraught with difficulty and the goal will only drift further away. This applies to life, and it applies to business.

"Mrs. Yang, it’s a pleasure doing business with you."

"With a gentleman as sincere as Mr. Zhou, our cooperation is only natural." The still-charming Mrs. Yang offered a faint smile.

To her, the Tongle Theater was both a sentimental attachment and a burden. She rarely took the stage herself anymore. Yet, she worried about those who had once relied on her for their livelihoods. Sending them to other troupes was possible, but they certainly wouldn't receive good treatment, or they would be forced to find another way to make a living. It was her own stubborn decision to semi-retire from the stage that had led to the theater’s decline.

Guilt was the reason she had set such strict conditions for the sale. People had indeed wanted to buy it, but they were all deterred by her terms. In truth, those terms weren't the real obstacle; it was simply human greed—buyers only wanted to drive the price down. Zhou Sen hadn't tried to haggle, mostly because the Tongle Theater was truly in trouble, and its value had hit rock bottom. If it weren't sold now, its value might continue to plummet, until even the principal could not be recouped. At four hundred thousand, the price was more than fair.

"Actually, Boss Tang of the New Theater wanted to acquire the Tongle as well, but his offer was far too ruthless." Now that the agreement was signed and half the deposit paid—with the remainder to be settled after the full handover—Mrs. Yang felt comfortable being honest with Zhou Sen.

"Oh? Boss Tang had his eye on the Tongle too?"

"He wants to expand his operations. After signing Xiao Xiangning’s Ruiqing Troupe, he has an abundance of performers and naturally needs a stage to distribute them," Mrs. Yang explained.

"I see. Well, it seems he’s missed his chance." Zhou Sen chuckled. "Thank you for telling me, Mrs. Yang. My purchase of the Tongle is not primarily for Peking opera; that’s just a side act. I’m focusing on magic and acrobatics, so I won’t be competing with them. I’ve signed an acrobatic troupe from the south. However, I must ask you to keep this confidential, including the news of the theater’s sale."

"Of course, Mr. Zhou, you have my word." Mrs. Yang nodded slightly.

"The theater’s recent performances should continue as scheduled. I won’t take a cent of the proceeds; you may dispose of them as you see fit."

Mrs. Yang nodded. If the Tongle kept operating without any major changes, breaking even was possible, even if it didn't turn a profit. But if there were extra expenses—like advertising in the papers—it might end up in the red. Then there was the protection money to be paid every month. When it all added up, the Tongle was actually losing money every month; otherwise, Mrs. Yang would never have considered selling it.

"A-Xiang, it’s done. Let’s find a place to eat and celebrate," Zhou Sen said as they left the Yang residence.

"Eat? But Sister Lan is waiting for us to go back and cook for her."

"It’s fine. We’ll eat, then buy a portion and pack it to take back for her," Zhou Sen replied.

"Ah..."

"You’re familiar with North Road Street, what’s good around here?" Zhou Sen asked.

"I know a great barbecue place, but with your injury, if Sister Lan finds out, she’s definitely going to scold me," A-Xiang said, her eyes bright.

"What are you afraid of? We’ll go eat, and we just won’t tell her when we get back."

"Brother Sen, didn't you say you wanted to bring Sister Lan something to eat?"

"Silly girl, I said I’d bring food, not that it had to be barbecue! Hurry up, the food these past few days has been so bland, my mouth has lost all its taste!" Zhou Sen said impatiently.

...

At the New Theater, in the backstage dressing room reserved for Jiang Rou.

"Xiao Rou, listen to your godfather. In this business, once you become a famous name, there’s no escaping this sort of thing. If it isn't Boss Tang, it’ll be Boss Li or Boss Liu. You can’t hide from it," Sun Qingkui was trying to persuade her again.

"Godfather, even though we live off this theater food, we are not inferior to anyone. We perform on stage to please the audience, and the audience buys tickets to feed us. It’s a fair exchange. The old prejudices about us being 'low-class' don't exist anymore. Tang Peiyuan thinks he can force me to submit with these tactics? He’s dreaming!"

"Xiao Rou, why don't you understand? You’re going to get married sooner or later anyway; just treat it like being bitten by a dog, what does it matter?" Sun Qingkui urged.

"Once dignity is trampled, there will be a second time, a third time, countless times. Godfather, please leave. I need to get ready; I’m going on stage soon!" Jiang Rou said decisively.

"You child, everything I do is for your own good. If you really get in good with Boss Tang, we’ll have a backer in Harbin. Then you’ll have whatever you want!"

"Don't say another word. If I had that kind of ambition, why would I have waited until today? The dignitaries back in Beiping and Tianjin—were any of them not more powerful than this Boss Tang?" Jiang Rou snapped.

"You’ll regret this! We only signed a one-month temporary contract with the New Theater, and there are less than ten days left. Ten days from now, if they don't let us perform, where do we go? Are we going to starve?" Sun Qingkui shouted angrily.

"If that’s the price for a residency agreement, then the New Theater isn't worth staying in. We can go to the village stages; we’ll always have a bite to eat, we won't starve," Jiang Rou replied.

"Go ask the others in the troupe if they’d be willing!"

"Then I’ll quit."

The muscles at the corner of Sun Qingkui’s eyes twitched. This was a situation he absolutely could not allow. Jiang Rou was his cash cow. Without her, how would he survive the second half of his life? A flash of malice crossed his eyes.

...

A press conference was held at the New World Hotel, initiated by Mr. Arman, the Deputy Consul General of the Soviet Union in Harbin. Many reporters had been invited.

In the vast hall, camera flashes popped incessantly, and reporters crowded the room. Arman sat on a platform covered in dark green velvet, recounting his experience from the night before. Stalking, surveillance, wiretapping of diplomatic personnel, crude interference in the lives and activities of diplomats, wanton framing, and the trampling of internationally recognized codes of conduct.

He had even caught them red-handed. Although Arman pointed his finger at the Manchukuo authorities, everyone knew that the Manchukuo side lacked the nerve for such an operation; the only ones who would dare were the Japanese intelligence agencies. Of course, they could push the blame onto certain Manchukuo institutions to take the fall, but that would only fool the average citizen who didn't know the truth—and even then, it might not work.

This was a scandal. The Japanese Harbin Special Service Agency had been outmaneuvered, and they couldn't do anything to Arman unless they wanted to start a war. It was deliberate; Arman had dug a pit, and the Tokko had tripped right into it. The impact had already been made.

Arman had also notified his home country, and the Soviet diplomatic department had filed a protest with the Japanese Ministry of Foreign Affairs. The commotion was significant, and once the international community caught wind of it and reacted strongly, that was a matter for another day.

...

After finishing their barbecue, Zhou Sen and A-Xiang went to the Lao Dingfeng bakery to buy some of the pastries Bai Yulan liked best before returning to the Ningxiang Pavilion.

Actually, there was no need to worry about Bai Yulan going hungry; she was simply accustomed to having her own kitchen and preferred the meals A-Xiang cooked. The Ningxiang Pavilion had workers who needed to be fed, but the food wasn't as refined as A-Xiang’s.

Anna reported in every day. When Zhou Sen left early in the morning, she would go to the darkroom to busy herself with her work, and she was still there when Zhou Sen returned. It seemed she wouldn't leave until she finished what she was doing.

Zhou Sen handed the signed agreements and documents to Bai Yulan for safekeeping before retreating to his room to rest. He wanted to get well as soon as possible; lying in bed all day wasn't a sustainable way to live.

When he woke up, A-Xiang told him a man named Front was asking to see him. Zhou Sen thought about it—he had to see him, or the man might get suspicious. He had A-Xiang bring him in.

Front knew Zhou Sen was unwell, but he hadn't known he was actually injured. Upon entering and seeing Zhou Sen lying in bed, a flicker of surprise crossed his face.

"Vasim, how did you suddenly fall so ill?" Front asked. "I’ve been quite busy these past few days and haven't had time to visit."

"Just a touch of a cold, nothing serious. I’ll be fine after a few days of rest." Zhou Sen laughed it off. If he was going to keep up the lie, he might as well stick to it. He hadn't told Anna, either. Only those closest to him—Bai Yulan and Qin Lang—knew. Even Su Wenqing hadn't been explicitly told, though he could guess, he didn't know the extent of the injury. Of course, if the Japanese wanted to investigate, it wouldn't be hard; Qin Lang had taken him to the hospital for X-rays.

"Anyway, I came here today because I have something to tell you," Front said, watching the expression on Zhou Sen’s face. "I found a secret compartment in the rafters of the pigeon coop in your attic, and inside, I found a copper key."

As he spoke, Front produced the bronze key he had copied. Zhou Sen only needed one look to know this wasn't the original key he had hidden; it must have been a copy made from a mold. Still, he had to act surprised. He leaned forward slightly, coughing into his hand with excitement. "Is that so? Does that mean we missed it when we were up in the attic that time?"

"Exactly. Later, I kept thinking something felt off, so I went back on my own. Sure enough, I found this key," Front said. "Old Mr. Anthony hid this key in such a secret place; it might have something to do with the roster we’re looking for. If we can find the lock this key opens, everything will be revealed."

"The style of this lock must be one of those old-fashioned bronze ones. I don't recall seeing such a lock in my house. Mr. Front, have you checked?"

Front’s expression turned slightly awkward. "I did search your house thoroughly, but I couldn't find a lock that matches this key."

"Then I’m afraid I don't know either."

"Vasim, this key belonged to Old Mr. Anthony. You are his adopted son. If anyone can find the lock that matches it, it must be you!" Front placed the key into the palm of Zhou Sen’s hand.

"Mr. Front, what are you doing? What use would I have for this key?" Zhou Sen said, trying to decline.

"Vasim, finding the lock and the roster is the most important mission for both of us. You have the responsibility and the duty," Front said solemnly. "Think, is there any other place Old Mr. Anthony might have hidden things?"

"Mr. Front, give me some time to think about it..."