Chapter Eighty-Five: Merely a Reflection of Human Nature

After wandering around the Southern Sky Hotel, he found a grove of trees, with winding stone paths leading into secluded corners, filled with birdsong and fragrant flowers.

In later years, this would seem extravagant—right in the heart of the city, a hotel claiming a patch of land to make a park. The mere thought of it would inspire envy. Yet, at this time, it was nothing extraordinary. After all, the power sector had such authority even in future eras.

He strolled deep into the park, just as two men were playing chess. One of them was an old acquaintance of Chen Huajiang.

It was Niu Quan, the deputy general manager of the Southern Sky Hotel. He wore a broad smile, despite his pieces being slaughtered all over the board; his mood seemed unaffected.

Seated opposite him was an elderly man, his hair and beard streaked with white, clad in a stiff, washed-out Zhongshan suit.

“Playing chess with you is hardly entertaining at all; you’re hopeless,” the old man said, finishing Niu Quan off with a double-cannon checkmate, shaking his head with lingering satisfaction.

“You’re right, Mr. Zhang, I’m not much of a chess player. To have played to this level with you today is already beyond my usual ability,” Niu Quan replied, nodding and smiling as he reset the chess pieces.

“Mr. Chen, what brings you here? Isn’t your shop busy?” Niu Quan greeted Chen Huajiang with a smile as he approached. “Your place has been making me envious these days—always packed, I bet you’ve made quite a bit of money?”

“Small profits, quick turnover. Just earning a bit for hard work,” Chen Huajiang replied modestly, then settled himself cross-legged between the two, casually patting the ground, intending to watch their game.

In fact, he was sizing up the old man in the Zhongshan suit. For someone to command Niu Quan’s respect, even a hint of humility, it could only be Zhang Weimin, general manager of Southern Sky Hotel.

Zhang Weimin had been a remarkable figure in the nineties. When Nanning City pushed through the installation of high-voltage generators against much opposition, it was his handiwork. The introduction of these generators had, indirectly, propelled the city’s economic takeoff.

After all, for a city’s economy to grow, power supply must keep pace; without it, development is nearly impossible. Especially in later years, Guangdong’s annual electricity generation reached six hundred billion kilowatts, sparking a global meme: first place, China; second, the Bald Eagle; third, Guangdong, China.

“That’s not small profits, quick turnover. A single chicken drumstick costs fifty cents—enough for a worker’s lunch,” Zhang Weimin retorted, shaking his head in displeasure. “Add the cost of other food, and it’s hardly small profits.”

“You can’t put it that way. We have to subtract costs—water, electricity, rent, labor. These expenses aren’t insignificant,” Chen Huajiang countered with a smile, subtly undermining Zhang Weimin's argument.

Sure enough, Zhang Weimin’s expression faltered at his words. The shop’s rent—three hundred a month, thirty-six hundred a year—had been set by Zhang himself. He’d thought that with higher rent, no one would dare rent it. Even if the restaurant brought in no revenue, the property would remain in the hotel’s hands. Unexpectedly, someone did rent it—this young man right in front of him.

“Hmph. If the rent’s too high, you don’t have to rent it. No one forced you,” Zhang Weimin snorted, somewhat displeased with Chen Huajiang’s attitude.

His inclination was toward the planned economy, viewing storefronts as public assets. Renting them out felt like dereliction. Yet, the hotel wasn’t ruled by his word alone. The restaurant had been losing money year after year; he couldn’t act unilaterally.

Chen Huajiang just smiled, saying nothing, and focused on watching them play chess.

Soon, Zhang Weimin had Niu Quan on the ropes, losing rook after cannon, finally trapped by a double-cannon. After desperately sacrificing pieces to protect his general, he ended up stripped bare, left with only his commander.

“Haha, Niu Quan, you still have much to learn!” Zhang Weimin exclaimed, exhilarated by his victory. Winning and losing at chess is easy enough, but leaving your opponent with only the general is rare. Most, seeing their defeat, would concede—who would endure such humiliation?

“Old Zhang, how am I supposed to play against you? I was obsessed just now—thought even if I lost, I’d at least break your double-rook. Never thought—ah,” Niu Quan said, half annoyed, half admiring.

This pleased Zhang Weimin even more, and made Chen Huajiang look at Niu Quan with new respect; the man was talented.

Even in later years, most defined talent by one’s ability to get things done; the art of networking, public relations, would only come into favor after 2000, with HR positions rising in importance and the skill of relationship-building gaining recognition.

“Young man, what do you think of our game?” Zhang Weimin suddenly turned to Chen Huajiang, face brimming with pride.

Clearly, Niu Quan’s flattery had delighted him, but wasn’t quite enough. He wanted another compliment from Chen Huajiang.

Chen Huajiang smiled, seeing right through his little scheme. Everyone has their passions; achievements in hobbies often matter more than those in career. He recalled an old friend who, despite running a business worth billions, was so frustrated at failing to catch fish that he almost set his house on fire.

Even in his worst business failures, he’d never been so angry.

“Some are born with a full set of pieces—rooks, knights, cannons, guards, elephants—while others have only knights and cannons, or just a lone general,” Chen Huajiang said, smiling. “Those with the full set win as expected; there’s no need to be smug about it.”

He offered Zhang Weimin no face, teasing him directly. He knew Zhang’s temperament; with someone like Niu Quan, he’d never offend, only flatter.

Some are gentlemen, some are not; one must approach each accordingly.

“Hmph, are you saying he let me win? Is that—” Zhang Weimin immediately caught the implication, snorting and about to retort. But after a moment’s thought, his expression fell. It was obvious. In the earlier game, Niu Quan had struggled valiantly, but both rooks had been “carelessly” lost right at the start. Trading two rooks for a knight—any fool would see the problem.

Niu Quan shot Chen Huajiang a glance, but didn’t blame him. Such staged defeats had happened often enough; Zhang Weimin couldn’t be unaware.

“Young man, you’ve watched long enough—you must know how to play?” Zhang Weimin asked, now a bit irked.

“Of course,” Chen Huajiang replied with a smile and a nod.

“Good. Niu, let me play him.”

“We’re hardly acquainted, have no ties at all. You must have the full set of pieces, huh?” Zhang Weimin quipped as Chen Huajiang sat down, echoing his earlier words.

“Absolutely. Even if we were close, I wouldn’t let you win,” Chen Huajiang declared boldly. “Fishing and chess are my two greatest passions. Doesn’t matter if you’re a hotel manager or even the Emperor himself—no one gets a handicap from me.”

He briskly reset the chessboard.