Chapter 25: Reeking of the Stench of Money

“Boss, Miss Su’s wallet.” Old Gu handed over a delicate little yellow calfskin purse.

“Just keep it with you. Tomorrow you can take it back to her,” Zhou Sen said without reaching for it.

“Boss, you promised to return it yourself. I’ve got no obligation here.” Old Gu stuffed the wallet into Zhou Sen’s overcoat pocket.

“Hey…”

Zhou Sen was taken aback. What was Old Gu thinking? He had never intended to get involved with someone like Su Yun, the daughter of a business magnate.

But Old Gu was already gone.

When Zhou Sen drove home, he found that Irina had made dumplings stuffed with cabbage, lamb, and scallion for dinner. They tasted quite good.

He ate thirty in one go before stopping.

On a winter night, with little else to do, Zhou Sen could only pass the time reading. But soon, he drifted off to sleep. As expected, his predecessor had little artistic talent, and it seemed to have rubbed off on him.

When he woke, it was already six in the morning. He lingered in bed for a while before getting up to shave, brush his teeth, and wash his face…

He needed to buy some new underwear. Even though the ones he wore now were technically his, there was still a slight feeling of discomfort.

Was this some kind of psychological cleanliness?

He hesitated over the men’s cologne belonging to his predecessor, but used a little in the end—he couldn’t make too many changes all at once.

After all this, it was nearly seven by the time he came downstairs. Irina had already prepared breakfast—the usual: milk, bread, fried eggs, and sausages.

Zhou Sen was in a good mood today and finished his entire breakfast. Irina noticed and smiled warmly.

“Young master Vasim, the Lunar New Year is coming soon. When is Master Anthony returning?” Irina asked. “In previous years, he always spent the holiday with you.”

“What day is it today?” Zhou Sen was a little taken aback—he hadn’t really been paying attention.

“It’s February 5th, the 17th day of the twelfth lunar month,” Irina replied, having checked the calendar beforehand.

So, there were about ten days left until New Year’s Eve. Zhou Sen felt a touch of sentimentality; he was about to celebrate his first Spring Festival in this era.

“He should be back soon. Start preparing what needs to be done at home. If you’re short on money, just let me know,” Zhou Sen said.

Though Anthony had left in a hurry, all the income from the family businesses still came to Zhou Sen each month.

He was now Anthony Robin’s sole legal heir.

Anthony’s holdings were mostly in food. He owned a company called Anthony Trading House, two flour mills, a rice mill, and a food processing factory that produced kvass, black bread, and smoked sausages—the staples of their household.

He also held shares in a tobacco company, an oil press, a racetrack, and owned more than twenty shops, some for personal use and others rented out. Altogether, Anthony’s assets in Ice City were considerable.

Zhou Sen was, by all accounts, a bona fide second-generation rich kid, though Anthony had always kept a tight rein on his spending. Aside from Zhou Sen’s police salary, he was only allotted two hundred yuan each month.

Business operations were managed by a White Russian named Ivanovich, the general manager of Anthony Trading House, who oversaw the factories and retail stores.

Ivanovich had worked with Anthony Robin for over fifteen years and had a stake in almost every business Anthony owned.

They were more like partners: Anthony handled overall strategy and relationships with the government and Japanese, while Ivanovich managed daily operations.

It was a perfect partnership.

Yet, in Zhou Sen’s memory, after Anthony left this time, he only showed up briefly at first to check on his “Chinese nephew,” and then disappeared entirely.

Zhou Sen hadn’t thought much of it—if Irina hadn’t mentioned that the Lunar New Year was near, he wouldn’t have realized how long it had been since he’d seen Uncle Ivanovich.

He, too, was in that group photo.

“Irina, I might not be home for dinner tonight. Don’t wait up for me,” Zhou Sen said, wondering if he should find time to visit Uncle Ivanovich. After all, he was the younger generation.

Now that Akiyama had told him Anthony was “dead,” this news couldn’t be hidden forever.

It was a good chance to test the waters.

Ah, his predecessor was such trouble. Zhou Sen missed his old, simple life as a homebody.

Life now was just too mentally exhausting.

He’d rather flex his might, dominate all challengers, and command a thousand followers—but reality forced him to tread carefully, as if walking on thin ice.

...

“Chief Song, here’s your car back.” Zhou Sen placed the keys on Song Pinyuan’s desk at the station. “I filled up the tank.”

Song Pinyuan, feet up and reading the newspaper, put it down and glanced at him. “Why the rush? Don’t you still have to return that wallet to Miss Su?”

Zhou Sen was speechless. That big mouth, Old Gu, telling people everything…

“Don’t blame Old Gu. He was waiting for you at the station yesterday and I saw him holding a lady’s wallet, so I asked,” Song Pinyuan chuckled. “Take the keys. Don’t keep Miss Su waiting at home for too long.”

“I’m not working for Su Wenqing. I’ll just call and have her pick it up herself,” Zhou Sen replied.

Song Pinyuan looked at Zhou Sen in surprise. Had Kim Soyoung hurt him that badly? Su Yun was far better—more beautiful, good-natured, and from an even more distinguished family. If Zhou Sen married into the Su family, he’d be set for life.

But Song was never one to meddle, so he just chuckled.

“That’s your business, not mine.”

...

Wenchang Bridge, the Su family mansion, a traditional Chinese courtyard.

“Master, the police just called. They’ve found the young miss’s wallet and asked her to collect it herself!”

Su Wenqing was surprised by Su Xing’s report as he ate breakfast. He knew nothing of this.

Su Yun hadn’t mentioned it when she returned yesterday.

“Dad, I’m going to the Nangang police station…” Su Yun quickly set down her porridge and stood up.

“Stop right there and sit down. Explain yourself—what’s going on?” Su Wenqing commanded.

“Dad, I lost my wallet and asked the police for help.”

“That’s all?” Su Wenqing was unconvinced.

“It really is that simple. Just a minor thing,” Su Yun pouted in protest.

“Xiao Yun, you just got back from Beiping and don’t know the situation here. I told you not to go out for your own safety. Today it’s your wallet; what if tomorrow you’re robbed?” Su Wenqing said anxiously.

“Dad, it’s broad daylight with people all over the streets and police on patrol. You make the city sound so dangerous!”

“If you weren’t my daughter, maybe nothing would happen. But I have enemies here, and if anything happened to you… No, from now on, you can’t go out alone. At least someone must go with you. If you want your wallet, let Ayong accompany you,” Su Wenqing insisted.

“I don’t want to!” Su Yun sat back down in frustration.

“You and Ahua grew up together. He’s not only your elder brother, but…”

“Dad, I can agree to anything else, but not this. I only see Brother Hua as my brother. I can’t marry him!” Su Yun cut him off.

“Xiao Yun, marriage has always been arranged by parents. You have no say in this!” Su Wenqing said coldly. “If you won’t let Ahua go with you, then you’re not going. It’s just a wallet. Su Xing can send someone to fetch it.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Dad…” Su Yun was close to tears.

Although he doted on Su Yun, Su Wenqing would not budge on this matter. Feng Hua, his adopted son, was six years older than Su Yun and now his right-hand man. Feng Hua would marry into the Su family, and any children would carry on the Su family name.

On the issue of lineage, Su Wenqing would never compromise. Feng Hua was his only and best choice for a son-in-law. He’d decided this even before sending Su Yun to school in Beiping.

But Su Yun refused to accept the match. She’d grown up with Feng Hua, but her feelings were brotherly, not romantic.

“Young miss, Young Master Yong is devoted to you. If you wanted the stars in the sky, he would fetch them for you,” said the old steward, Su Xing.

“Uncle Xing, will you go with me?” Su Yun asked.

“Well…” Su Xing looked to Su Wenqing.

“Go ahead, but Feng Hua must also go and serve as your driver,” Su Wenqing relented. He knew not to push too hard, or it might backfire. He understood his daughter—gentle on the outside like her mother, but stubborn at her core, just like him, unwilling to bow easily.

...

After sending Old Gu out on patrol, Zhou Sen waited at the station for Su Yun to arrive. He would have preferred to leave the wallet with security and let someone else return it.

But he didn’t trust them. There was a good sum of money in the wallet—what if someone was tempted to take some?

He’d end up taking the blame.

After more than an hour, word finally came that Su Yun had arrived, accompanied by two people: a steward and a well-dressed young chauffeur.

“Miss Su, please check if this is your wallet and whether all the cash and other items are present. Then sign here and you can go,” Zhou Sen said formally.

Su Yun checked the wallet and, smiling, said, “Yes, everything is here. Thank you, Officer Zhou.”

“You’re welcome. It’s our duty.” Once Su Yun signed the claim form, Zhou Sen was ready to leave. An hour wasted—he might as well have delivered it himself.

“Officer Zhou, thank you for retrieving our young lady’s wallet. Here’s a small token. Please accept it,” Su Xing said, offering a prepared envelope.

Zhou Sen frowned. He knew these were the unspoken rules—whenever lost property was recovered, there would be a token of gratitude; otherwise, it was hard to get anything back. That’s why victims rarely reported theft—the “thank you” often cost more than what was stolen.

Should he accept it?

In thirty years, Zhou Sen had never been bribed before. It felt odd. His predecessor, however, had encountered this often and always accepted—otherwise, he’d have been ostracized. No one likes an outlier.

He took the envelope and squeezed it—there was quite a bit inside. If it was from an “old sheep,” it could be more than a thousand yuan.

Truly the generosity of a business tycoon.

“All done. Miss Su, if you ever need help again, remember to come to me,” Zhou Sen said, stuffing the envelope into his coat pocket with a satisfied smile.

Su Yun was a bit taken aback. She’d thought Zhou Sen would refuse the money, but he hadn’t hesitated at all.

Had she misjudged him?

A man who loved Tagore’s poetry ought to be noble and high-minded—how could he reek so much of vulgarity?