Volume One, Chapter Thirty-Nine: Trade and Morality

Tan Xiaoming had always believed that Yan Nuo, confident in his own strength, was untouchable and that no one could harm his beloved daughter. Now, in the wake of this sudden event, it was clear the young woman before him possessed remarkable self-control and was not one to make mistakes lightly. Yu Wen’er’s ability to take charge immediately, to step up at a moment’s notice, made him wonder if all that past boasting had only been a prelude.

As she prepared tea, Yu Wen’er spoke coldly, “The incident happened too suddenly. I won’t beat around the bush with you elders. Good news rarely travels far, but bad news spreads fast. Everyone knows my father was attacked last night. In truth, he had anticipated such an event, but no matter how vigilant you are, you can’t foresee an assailant who strikes with such cunning and cruelty.”

None of them responded to her words. In this line of work, murder and being murdered were everyday affairs; to feign sympathy would be insincere. Yet her tone was calm, as if narrating something that had nothing to do with herself. The four men could not detect any sadness, frustration, or anger in her voice. They were surprised at how composed she was in the face of such carnage.

Yu Wen’er paused, dedicating her attention to the tea.

These men, seasoned in Sarlo, were discerning tea drinkers and could tell her tea-making skills were far from refined. Their eyes lingered on her hands as she worked, and Yu Wen’er offered an apologetic smile. “I was sent abroad for many years and never learned the skills local girls are expected to master.”

The group nodded in understanding. She continued, “You’ll see when you taste it; this is the finest tea.” They watched as the tea leaves, golden-hued and edged with fine fuzz, were steeped in the fairness pitcher. The liquor shone with a rich, red brilliance, its aroma filling the room.

Yu Wen’er poured the tea into five small cups and gestured for them to help themselves. A professional tea master would have handed each guest their cup, but whether it was due to her lack of experience or a deliberate display of restraint, the guests had no choice but to reach out and take their cups themselves.

This was freshly-picked Dianhong tea, robust and astringent yet perfectly balanced.

The people of Sarlo grew up drinking Pu’er, their palates well-attuned to the nuances of tea. They smacked their lips, savoring the flavor with their tongues. Even Jinai Amu, the Yi clan drug lord, who knew little about tea, showed clear delight—he knew he was drinking something extraordinary.

Of the five, only Tan Xiaoming was truly versed in tea-tasting. After swallowing his cupful, he asked, “Is this the first flush from the wild tea trees of Nannuo Mountain?”

Yu Wen’er nodded slightly. “Uncle Tan, you are indeed knowledgeable. This is from that very tree—”

“Could it be the Bada Grand Tea Tree?” Tan Xiaoming’s eyes lit up, his face flushing with excitement.

Yu Wen’er smiled and nodded, pouring more water into the fairness pitcher.

Nannuo Mountain, located in the Menghai tea district of Xishuangbanna, is the foremost of the six great tea mountains outside the Lancang River. Since the Yongzheng era of the Qing Dynasty, the first flush from these mountains was selected as tribute tea for the imperial court.

In the 1950s, tea experts discovered, in Dahei Mountain of Bada Township, a lush wild tea tree over 1,700 years old. The Bada Grand Tea Tree is a living fossil in the history of tea. Fortunately, hidden deep in trackless mountains, it survived the ravages of the Cultural Revolution.

Five years ago, the General Office of the Central Committee heard of this legendary “Holy Tree” through the Ministry of Agriculture. After much effort, they found it again. It is said that now two squads of armed police take turns guarding it, and after the autumn harvest, the tea is sent to Beijing as a special supply for the top leaders.

Because of the extremely limited yield, even the finest ancient trees are usually harvested in autumn; farmers are reluctant to pluck the precious spring buds, let alone from this unique treasure.

That the Yan Nuo family of Mang City would use the first flush from such a priceless tree to entertain guests was equivalent to a royal honor. Seeing the awe on their faces, Yu Wen’er invited them to drink more, but her hand had already stilled above the teapot. Sitting straight-backed, she shifted the conversation back to the matter at hand.

“Everyone has their own fate. My father liked it when foreign friends called him ‘Drug lord,’ but he never liked being called a ‘drug dealer.’ As the daughter of a drug lord, that is my destiny, an inescapable one.” She seemed nervous for a moment, swallowing before continuing. “There is a Western saying: ‘The pot may change hands, but it never really leaves the table.’ In other words, in a game of cards, the stakes may change hands, but never leave the table. Now it is my turn to sit at the table, and I am the dealer. With my father’s misfortune, I have no choice but to step forward. I now fully represent him, handling all family and business matters. Inviting you here is, in my view, a family affair—every family has its own rules. I need clarity on one issue: my father had made thorough preparations to transition into legitimate business, and I know roughly what was discussed at yesterday’s meeting. While my father was a traditional businessman who always considered your long-term interests, I also know that not all of you fully understood—or agreed with—his suggestions; perhaps some even wanted to oppose them but lacked sufficient grounds to do so. Therefore,” Yu Wen’er poured more tea and, still smiling, said, “none of you are saints, and I have reason to suspect that some among you might have been involved in my father’s demise.”

A man stepped from behind the curtain like a ghost in daylight, appearing behind Yu Wen’er.

Though all five of these drug lords were seasoned killers, men with blood on their hands, the man’s gaze was openly murderous. His white shirt stretched over taut muscles, and he emanated a silent threat: those who submit to me prosper, those who resist perish. It was clear he could kill at any moment, and the others, guests in someone else’s lair, could not help but feel a chill.

Apart from Tan Xiaoming, the other four lacked fluency in Chinese, and given the tension, he felt compelled to speak on everyone’s behalf. Lighting a cigarette from the stub of the previous one, he said, “Miss Yu—”

According to Han Chinese custom, this form of address felt awkward; Yan Nuo’s surname was Yan, so why was his daughter’s surname Yu?

He masked his discomfort and, in as gentle a tone as possible, sought to allay her suspicions and hostility. “Since you’ve spoken so openly about your suspicions, it shows you still retain some trust in us. On behalf of my brothers, I thank you. To be honest, you do not display the impulsiveness or recklessness of youth, which proves you have remarkable self-control and the leadership qualities people expect. As distributors who have worked with Boss Yan for many years, our very success has depended entirely on his trust and support. Our fortunes are tied together—if one prospers, all prosper; if one falls, all suffer. Of course, feelings alone do not guarantee loyalty; we are not men of virtue. But if Boss Yan is gone, who stands to lose most? Undoubtedly, we do. Would the Burmese suddenly appoint a new agent for heroin? No! Would they supply us directly? No! Besides Boss Yan, who else could maintain order and rules in this business? No one! Who else could manage relationships with the military and police along the transport routes to guarantee smooth passage? No one! Boss Yan’s rule has always been that buyers and sellers must never know each other, and that the military and police on the roads are his private army. Without the Yan family overseeing the big picture, we are nothing. We are all shrewd businessmen here—betraying Boss Yan would bring us nothing but harm. So even though I don’t have direct business dealings with the other four—”

He glanced at the others, who nodded in agreement, and continued, “But our fates are tied to where we sit; we are all in the same boat. I can speak for all of us: we had nothing to do with this.”

He met Yu Wen’er’s gaze. “And, as long as you take up your father’s mantle and lead us, I am willing to offer every assistance. Even if it means chasing the murderer to the ends of the earth, I will see justice done and make an example of him.”