novelraw Chapter 747: Convergence
Chapter 747: Convergence
In the warm, dim room, the air seemed to have frozen.
Secretary Jin sat quietly on the edge of the bed, her back perfectly straight, hands folded over her knees.
Her lips were pressed tight, she did not speak.
“Director Jin...”
Shangguan Qiuyas called softly, her voice tinged with concern.
Having followed her boss for so many years, in her view hesitation or zoning out were words that should never appear in Director Jin’s dictionary.
She was Wall Street’s wonder woman, the decisive helmsman, forever impeccably made up, logically unassailable, the embodiment of perfection.
Even when faced with billion-dollar M&
A bargaining, even under pressure from Washington’s craftiest politicians, she had never shown such vulnerability or drifted expression.
Secretary Jin did not respond. There was a struggling light flashing in her clear, spirited eyes.
Since that strange dream back in early 2016, she had crossed barriers of time and dimension and formed a soul link with him that science could not explain.For someone raised in elite education who believed in strict materialism, it was almost a miracle.
It made her certain they were special, each other’s only kindred.
Of course, she had once been curious and had used means to investigate.
But from the moment the Tangjin Family Office was formally established in November 2019, she had deliberately sealed away all curiosity and prying, devoting herself completely to standing before him.
She knew the earth-shattering changes he underwent in Yancheng that year;
she knew of the various women who appeared by his side.
She knew everything.
Yet she kept to the rules.
Strictly, according to her promise, she stood at the highest vantage watching over him, silently covering every trace and tolerating all his secrets.
For example, if she and he were to be seen together at a public cocktail party, that would severely break the rules.
But she was human.
Having known him for nearly eight years, he had always remained in the shadows, never appearing with her in the public eye.
Even Smile Holdings’ shareholders’ meeting was, in truth, a private place—attendees were insiders.
Her doubts, the frequent dreams, the back he turned as he left...
“Who are you, really, to me?”
“Partner? Lover? Or...a perfect tool?”
Secretary Jin’s expression shifted unpredictably;
the storm in her eyes intensified.
The dam built by reason and emotion began to tremble.
Now she wanted to break the rules, even if only this once.
“Director Jin, are you all right?” Shangguan Qiuyas stepped forward despite herself.
Jin Meixiao abruptly threw off the coverlet, bare feet touching the soft carpet, and stood.
The dim light traced her extraordinarily beautiful face, and there was a breath-stealing decisiveness about her.
She looked at Shangguan Qiuyas, her voice terrifyingly calm. “Call President Tang.”
Shangguan Qiuyas—“...”
“Ask him his opinion about the cocktail.”
Shangguan Qiuyas’ eyes widened, then she immediately nodded. “Yes! I’ll contact President Tang right now!”
After speaking, she picked up her phone and turned.
“Stop.” Secretary Jin’s voice left no room for argument. “Do it here, put it on speaker.”
Seeing that rare earnest expression on Director Jin’s face, Shangguan Qiuyas did not hesitate. She unlocked her phone and prepared to dial.
Buzz—
The phone in her palm suddenly trembled violently.
Shangguan Qiuyas looked up immediately, delighted. “It’s President Tang calling!”
“Answer!”
Secretary Jin’s eyes were fixed intently on the vibrating phone.
Shangguan Qiuyas answered and hit speaker, trying to keep her voice steady. “Hello, President Tang!”
“Shangguan.” Tang Song’s magnetic voice came from the receiver, a tremor of emotion he couldn’t quite hide. “Does Director Jin have time this afternoon?”
“Yes! Director Jin’s afternoon schedule can be adjusted!”
“That’s good.” Tang Song paused, his voice soft and low. “Tell her I want to meet her at the cocktail at The Frick Collection.”
Shangguan Qiuyas’ heart jolted;
she glanced instinctively ahead.
Director Jin still stood barefoot on the carpet, head bowed.
Her brown hair hid half her face;
her expression was unreadable.
But Shangguan Qiuyas clearly saw Director Jin’s hand trembling slightly.
As a long-time personal assistant, she knew exactly what to do.
“Understood, President Tang. Director Jin has been closely following developments between you and Ms. Sloan and would like to meet you. She will attend the cocktail, but due to her special status, we need to prepare the schedule.”
“Good.” Tang Song breathed in softly through the receiver, as if restraining some emotion. “I’ll wait for her at The Frick Collection.”
Beep—
The call ended.
The tense air in the room came back to life instantly.
Shangguan Qiuyas’ face flushed. “Director Jin, I—”
Before she finished, Secretary Jin lifted her head.
Her previously distant eyes now burst with a light that made it hard to look directly at her.
“Have the beauty team come up. I want my skin at peak condition. Not just my face, full body treatment.”
She moved toward the wardrobe, speaking rapidly and with clear order:
“Tell Philip at Miss Kate Bank that I will attend the cocktail. Have him clear the core exhibition area and reserve a private conversation space.”
“Have Adrian, Mira, Simon, and the others attend so they can proactively engage with President Tang.”
“And—” Secretary Jin stopped, “have Sarah leak a story through The Wall Street Journal or Bloomberg’s internal channels—”
“Say that Tang Jin is reassessing its North American risk exposure and plans to launch a global asset restructuring with a new strategic partner.”
“Understood! I’ll arrange it now!” Shangguan Qiuyas’ gaze tightened as she grasped Director Jin’s intent, drawing in a sharp breath.
She had been thinking too simply.
Once Director Jin appeared at the social cocktail, the situation would already be out of control.
Sarah’s previous setup to stage a “chance meeting” between President Tang and Ms. Sloan would be made meaningless, even laughable.
Director Jin’s identity was far too sensitive.
She represented Smile Holdings, Jingwu Capital, the entire Tangjin System, and even implicated the Kate Family.
If she said a few words to President Tang at the cocktail, it would invite countless interpretations and speculation.
That would be disastrous for President Tang’s privacy.
Calling those core members over would effectively be a Tangjin collective meeting.
President Tang could remain just one participant, and the public would focus on macroeconomics and asset restructuring.
Though the PR cost and resources expended for such impulsiveness would be huge, this was Jin Meixiao’s style.
Thankfully, the organizer for this event was Miss Kate Bank, which was within their sphere of influence.
A luxurious, spacious walk-in wardrobe.
Secretary Jin peeled off her clothes one piece at a time, exposing her body to the air.
Her skin was porcelain white, giving off a cool, lustrous glow under the lights.
Her graceful neck led down to a delicate collarbone, full, upright curves, and a waist so slim it could be encircled by a hand.
There was no excess flesh anywhere;
every line showed healthy elasticity and tension—both youthful tautness and mature allure.
“Song, are you breaking the rules for me?”
The woman in the mirror smiled brilliantly.
The Plaza Hotel, 19th floor wardrobe.
Tang Song set down his phone.
The flutter originating deep in his soul had not dissipated when the call ended;
if anything, it had grown hotter.
He looked at his reflection in the mirror, fingers gently rubbing the black obsidian lapel pin.
He recalled the description when he acquired the Dream Attire—“they carry extreme charm and a certain special ability.”
Is that the special ability of the Mist Gentleman?
It could directly blur the system’s rules.
This system task, Smiling Shareholders’ Meeting, had very strict initial constraints.
Interaction time began with the shareholders’ meeting;
he had to strictly perform as a shareholder representative.
Meaning even when the meeting formally started, he could only be a polite subordinate or partner, without any boundary-crossing actions.
But now, simply by wearing this outfit and activating the hidden attribute, the rules were changed.
He could conduct interactions with Secretary Jin that exceeded normal social distance in a reasonable way without breaking character.
The space for maneuver was enormous.
He could turn a tedious shareholders’ meeting into a genuine date.
A date with Secretary Jin.
Thinking that, Tang Song’s breathing quickened.
He checked his watch. There were still over two hours before the cocktail officially began.
And because this had been sudden, Secretary Jin would surely need time to prepare and would likely arrive late.
Tang Song took a deep breath.
The Mist Gentleman outfit’s effect calmed his thoughts.
He left the wardrobe and went to the broad domed study, sitting on the leather sofa facing the huge picture window that looked out over Central Park.
He casually pulled a first edition The Great Gatsby from the shelf, flipped a few pages, then put it down.
Leaning back into the sofa, his gaze grew deep and fervent.
Then he thought of the other woman at the cocktail.
Elizabeth Sloane.
A name very familiar to him, though they had only spent real time together once.
That was in 2017, when he opened a difficult K Street Washington political lobbying dungeon.
Ms. Sloane had been a core NPC in that instance.
Because she was not a drawn card, he did not recruit her.
Instead, as a mysterious benefactor, he helped her out of trouble and established the Sloane-Huntington Strategic Group.
After the dungeon concluded, Secretary Jin handled subsequent contact.
At the end of that dungeon, they had made a promise:
If one day she truly rose on K Street to become a top influencer, he would publicly pour her a drink and praise her achievements.
Now, more than five years later, Sloane’s fame in Washington had been established.
This meeting was his way of fulfilling that promise.
...
Midtown Manhattan, the Carnegie Club.
A cigar club reserved for the top echelon of members.
In the private parlor, the air mixed with the scent of aged tobacco, leather, and whiskey.
Elizabeth Sloane sat on a deep-red leather sofa, not holding a cigar but twirling a pen between her fingers.
She wore a sharply tailored black suit;
her red lips were as sharp as blades.
Opposite her sat Mori Schmidt, a member of the Tangjin Family Office Advisory Board.
A typical German descendant, forty years old, responsible for the family office’s compliance and risk control in North America.
“Sloane, your aggressiveness worries me.” Schmidt frowned and set down his coffee. “Exposing intentions too early, before the situation is clear, doesn’t serve our interests.”
“Worried?” Sloane laughed lightly. Her speech was rapid, brimming with a pressuring confidence. “My dear Mori, your safety is slow suicide. Lobbying is never about following rules, it’s about creating surprises—winning chips before opponents even realize the game has begun.”
“I think—”
“Stop. I don’t want to debate German caution right now.” Sloane cut him off bluntly, lifting her wrist. “The cocktail starts in less than ninety minutes, and I’m already bored.”
Schmidt shook his head helplessly, dropping the topic and lowering his voice to warn, “Sloane, you must be especially low-key today, especially when interacting with Mr. Tang. You know how sensitive his identity is.”
“Of course.” Sloane’s eyes flashed and she stopped twirling her pen. “I know what’s at stake.”
Though she answered crisply, she felt bitter inside.
She had accepted Sarah’s suggestion and gone to great lengths to stage a staged “chance meeting” with him—too humiliating.
What she wanted was a grand coronation.
To have him personally pour champagne for her under everyone’s eyes.
Not only to cement her position within the vast Tangjin System, but to show the Kate Family behind Annie Kate.
An open endorsement by the mysterious Song would mean she would be more than a paid “high-end fixer” or “gloved intermediary.”
She would become an irreplaceable gatekeeper on the east-west capital bridge, able one day to marshal billions to influence legislation.
A low-key encounter would cheapen and trivialize her moment.
Just then.
Vibrate—vibrate—
The phone on the table buzzed.
Sloane glanced at the screen;
her eyes tightened.
She answered instantly, her tone calm and concise. “Speak.”
...
“What?!”
Sloane sprang to her feet;
her previously languid posture snapped taut.
“Are you sure?”
“Good. I understand.”
She hung up.
Sloane inhaled and then, slowly, smoothed the hem of her suit. Her eyes brightened.
“What happened?” Schmidt asked, puzzled.
Sloane didn’t answer. She walked to the parlor mirror, pulled a bolder shade of lipstick from her clutch, and applied it carefully while glancing back at Schmidt through the glass. She said casually, “Mira agreed. She’ll officially attend tonight’s cocktail.”
“That's—” Schmidt leapt up, startled.
Before he could take it in, his own phone vibrated.
He checked it quickly;
his expression grew stranger by the second.
“What is it?” Sloane finished applying her lipstick and turned.
Schmidt looked up, voice serious. “I just received word: not only Mira. Five core executive committee members and advisors from the family office in New York, including Adrian and Simon, will attend the cocktail.”
Sloane paused with the lipstick cap in mid-air.
She turned, excitement written all over her face.
“Really?”
“Yes, and Mira permitted them to proactively engage Mr. Tang.” Schmidt adjusted his glasses. “It seems there’s a change we weren’t aware of.”
Sloane was silent for a long moment, then low laughter bubbled up and grew louder.
She understood Mira’s intent and now knew what to do.
The stage was set;
the spotlight was on.
Jackson Park Apartments, Long Island City.
Lu Ziming stood at the floor-to-ceiling window, straightening the suit and tie he had dry-cleaned for today, stuffing a thick stack of business cards into his inner pocket.
Through the glass he could see Manhattan’s skyline across the river, glittering with money and power in the afternoon sun.
One river, two worlds.
He inhaled;
his palms were slightly sweaty.
Pure nervousness about this cocktail.
In China, business is done over the dinner table—clinking glasses, calling each other brothers.
Here it was pure reputation-driven socializing.
You must hold champagne and prove your worth to haughty Wall Street elites in three sentences, or you’d be sidelined.
And Tiancheng Capital had no standing here.
Buzz—
A WeChat voice message rang abruptly.
[Tang Song]
Lu Ziming glanced at the screen and answered, surprised. “Hello? Old Song?”
“Ziming, is now a good time to talk?” Tang Song’s voice came through.
“Sure. But...why are you calling now? It must be around two a.m. in Yancheng. Cultivating?”
“I’m not in Yancheng.” Tang Song sounded amused. “I’m in New York.”
“What?!”
Lu Ziming froze mid-button, dumbfounded. “You’re in New York? When did you get here? Why didn’t you say something?”
Then a moment of realization hit him and he widened his eyes, blurting out a national-style exclamation: “Holy shit! You couldn’t be the colleague Yuyan mentioned, could you?!”
“Colleague?” Tang Song was momentarily stunned, then chuckled. “Well...you could say that.”
Hearing that laugh, Lu Ziming felt a pang of envy.
“Nice, Old Song...you really keep things under wraps! So Shen, our campus belle, is chasing you? Coming all the way to the U.S.? I’m so jealous! Wait till we meet—I'll pour you ten drinks! I’ll post this in the group for Zhixi and the others! That’s our whole dorm’s youth!”
Tang Song cleared his throat and wisely switched topics. “Anyway, when will you get to The Frick Collection? Want to meet up?”
“No need. Our firm rented a car. I need to get there early with colleagues to handle some work and play the part with our leaders. You two don’t rush;
be there after three and I should be able to join you.”
“Okay then.”
They hung up.
Lu Ziming shook his head and sighed.
Shen Yuyan in college had been dazzling—an actual campus belle, truly out of reach.
Back then he’d been in the ranks of simpering fans, one of the better ones.
In the end they were just friends.
After graduation and grad school, he had matured and let it go quietly.
But now learning that his former goddess was pursuing his roommate—well, the feeling was complicated.
Knock knock—
“Ziming, the car’s here. Let’s go.” a colleague called from outside.
“Coming!”
Lu Ziming gathered himself, grabbed his briefcase, and opened the door.
Ten minutes later.
The van crossed Queensboro Bridge toward Manhattan.
Through the window, Manhattan’s skyline drew closer like a mirage.
Lu Ziming snapped a photo and sent it to Shen Yuyan with the caption: “The poor finance drone is off. We’re going to do the humble-pleading networking bit. See you and Tang Song there.”
[Shen Yuyan: “You knew? (#cover mouth laugh)”]
Lu Ziming: “Of course. He called me. One thing—don’t be too lovey-dovey in front of me;
I might not handle the shock and break down.”
[Shen Yuyan: “Not necessarily. I’ll do what Tang Song asks. If he insists... I can’t help it (#shy)”]
Lu Ziming’s eye twitched at that message;
he replied with a meme of an old man staring at his phone.
He truly had never seen this version of Shen Yuyan before.
She was completely love-struck.
At this hour Manhattan’s roads weren’t busy.
Soon the van turned into the Upper East Side and stopped before The Frick Collection on Fifth Avenue.
Compared to the towering skyscrapers around it, the low limestone mansion was distinct and serene.
The five of them stepped out and straightened their suits.
Project lead Zhang Zhe inhaled deeply, serious, and reminded them, “Everyone, stay sharp. Let’s go in and familiarize ourselves with the cocktail’s flow and rules. Be cautious—don’t cause trouble.”
“Understood, Zhang.” Everyone nodded, visibly nervous.
After showing their electronic invitations and passing identity checks, the group entered The Frick Collection.
The city’s clamor was shut out.
The long corridor displayed Renaissance paintings;
the carpet underfoot was thick and soft.
Lu Ziming could feel Zhang Zhe on edge beside him.
Zhang Zhe was not only the overseas project leader but also a VP at Tiancheng Capital, a respected voice in the venture scene back home.
Here in this gilded-age mansion on Wall Street, facing Miss Kate Bank’s high-end cocktail, he was visibly uneasy.
Led by staff, they finally entered the main venue—the garden courtyard.
The space opened up.
A huge glass dome kept out winter’s chill, letting in soft natural light.
In the center of the courtyard a fountain gently burbled.
Lush tropical plants ringed the area, harmonizing with the classical oil paintings on the walls.
Although it wasn’t time yet, guests were already scattered through the courtyard.
Small clusters of people stood in corners.
Almost all white faces, perfectly dressed, elegantly mannered.
The five Asian members of Lu Ziming’s party instantly drew a few fleeting glances, then the viewers looked away as if they hadn’t seen them.
“Zhang, did we come too early?” a colleague whispered.
“Early is good—fewer people to deal with.” Zhang Zhe forced a smile and quietly assigned tasks. “Get a lay of the place. Try to engage guests and exchange cards.”
“All right.” “Okay.” “Got it.”
They dispersed in practiced cooperation.
Everyone privately knew this was a performance—project on life support.
But even for appearances, they had to act convincingly so the board could later say “we did our best.”
Lu Ziming held a glass of soda over ice, wandering the courtyard casually.
He noticed the side halls and galleries connected to the central courtyard were roped off with deep-red velvet stanchions.
Security stood at each entrance;
clearly those areas were for VIP invitation holders.
This supposedly open cocktail still had strict class divisions.
Lu Ziming adjusted his tie and forced a humble, ingratiating smile to blend with the outer crowd.
It didn’t go well.
He mostly received polite but distant nods and quick withdrawals when people saw the unfamiliar “Tiancheng Capital” on his card.
As three o’clock approached, the crowd increased.
Lu Ziming had expected to meet small institutions trying their luck.
But listening to surrounding conversations and noticing familiar faces, his expression changed.
Something was wrong.
Very wrong.
After a while, Tiancheng Capital’s group reconvened at a round table in a corner.
Their faces were full of awkwardness and shock.
VP Zhang Zhe’s forehead was beaded with sweat;
he couldn’t even wipe it away.
“Did you see that?” a colleague whispered.
“Yes. I saw Dennis Coleman from Goldman Sachs just now. And over there—looks like a senior partner from Blackstone Greater China. I’ve seen him in the news...”
“I heard two people in the corridor—one was a New York federal senator.”
They exchanged glances;
tension rose.
Because this was a semi-open cocktail, the host hadn’t provided a detailed guest list.
They had assumed it was merely upscale.
Who expected the guest list to be at this level?
Across the room: capital titans and political heavyweights.
The five of them standing in the corner felt like huskies lost among wolves—small, pitiable, helpless.
Lu Ziming’s head buzzed.
He fumbled for the invitation in his pocket.
A level-one institutional invitation, granting core-area access and even the right to bring additional guest clients.
What did that mean?
It meant that on Miss Kate Bank’s invitation list, their second-tier firm from Huaxia was placed on the same scale as Morgan Stanley and Goldman Sachs?!
How did Bain Consulting pull that off?
This was absurd.
Yet this leap in status brought not honor but immense pressure.
This was Wall Street’s true top circle.
An air of exclusion pervaded.
The white elites talked polo, art auctions, and the latest Senate maneuvers.
To them, these yellow-faced unfamiliar Huaxia people were like transparent air.
Polite smiles masked cold and arrogant exclusion.
Just as Lu Ziming felt suffocated—
Buzz—his phone vibrated.
[Shen Yuyan: “Ziming, we’ve left. The hotel is on Fifth Avenue, almost there.”]
Lu Ziming sprang up. “Zhang, my friends have arrived. I’ll go to the entrance to meet them.”
“Go, go.” Zhang Zhe waved, eager for anything to break the stalemate.
Lu Ziming smoothed his suit and hurried down the thick-carpeted art hallway toward the entrance.
It was too oppressive to stay;
he needed some breathing room with friends who could share conversation.
He had planned to introduce Shen Yuyan to the P&
G people to show off his network, but judging by the scene now, he dared not.
As he entered the art corridor, a group approached.
Leading them was a middle-aged woman in a sharply tailored black suit, blood-red lips, a penetrating aura, and a decisive stride.
Lu Ziming’s heart clenched;
he stepped aside instinctively.
Elizabeth Sloane!
Founder of the Sloane-Huntington Strategic Group, the K Street megaphone who made others tremble.
He’d heard her name while enduring the CFIUS review and read the legends about her.
He never expected her to be here.
Bain had pulled off real work.
A top political operator could, with a single call, revive their suffocating project trapped under a CFIUS review.
Suddenly, Ms. Sloane’s gaze shifted.
It landed precisely on him.
Her lips curved into a meaningful smile.
Lu Ziming felt his scalp prickle;
every hair stood on end as if a predator had locked onto him.
He instinctively turned his body slightly and lowered his head, not daring to meet her eyes.
Ms. Sloane said nothing;
she led her party past with an aggressive scent of perfume trailing behind.
She...she smiled at me just now?
Lu Ziming’s eye twitched;
he felt a surreal confusion.
What on earth was going on with tonight’s cocktail?