Song Yuzhang: Chapter 132 - Chairman
Chapter 132: Chairman
Those who raised objections made up, unsurprisingly, more than one-third.
To openly oppose without absolute confidence—no one would stand up to challenge a man who might soon become the next chairman of the Chamber of Commerce.
This wasn’t dissent. It was a declaration of war.
The old chairman pinched the bridge of his nose, took off his glasses, and sighed quietly. “Since that’s the case,” he said, “according to the rules, today’s election for the next chairman is void. We’ll postpone it for further discussion.”
“Meeting adjourned.”
As soon as the old chairman left, the murmurs in the hall swelled into restless commotion.
Waves of chatter rolled through the air. Song Yuzhang turned his head slightly and said to Nie Yinbing, “Let’s go.”
Nie Yinbing gave a small nod, and the two of them walked out of the hall together. The rest of the dissenting voters followed behind in an orderly stream.
It was midday when they stepped outside. The winter sun poured down softly and warmly, like a pair of gentle hands caressing their heads. Song Yuzhang turned back—behind him, hundreds of people followed his lead; when he stopped, they stopped as well.
Beyond the crowd was a vast, empty gate. What kind of beasts might rush out from behind it, Song Yuzhang was eager to find out.
He and Nie Yinbing shared a car back to the Nie residence.
As soon as they arrived, Nie Qingyun came out to greet them. “How did it go?”
“The election’s been postponed,” Song Yuzhang replied.
“Just postponed?” Nie Qingyun asked. “Did you talk things over?”
“Not yet.”
Nie Qingyun took a deep breath. “That’s fine. Let him come to us.”
Nie Yinbing stayed silent, but from the way his brows furrowed, it was clear he vaguely understood what Nie Qingyun and Song Yuzhang were planning.
Song Yuzhang went to visit Nie Bonian. Though he had been discharged from the hospital, his complexion still looked unhealthy. The barber had trimmed his hair short to make him appear more energetic, but to Song Yuzhang, that neat haircut only emphasized how frail he had become.
It was midday, and Nie Bonian soon grew sleepy. After exchanging only a few words, his eyelids began to droop. Song Yuzhang helped him to bed and tucked him in.
In the study, Nie Yinbing—rarely one to voice his opinion—finally spoke. “This is too risky.”
After spending so much time with Nie Yinbing, Song Yuzhang had come to understand that Nie Yinbing’s only flaw was his lack of eloquence; his mind was far from shallow.
“No risk, no gain,” Song Yuzhang said.
“Aren’t you afraid of retaliation?”
Song Yuzhang took a cigarette from his pocket, flicked his lighter—click—and inhaled. “I’m only afraid he won’t retaliate,” he said calmly.
Halfway home from the hall, Meng Tingjing told his driver to change course to the docks.
The office there was freezing cold, incapable of holding warmth. He sat in the chill, doing nothing but thinking—coldly, detachedly, rationally.
It wasn’t the first time Song Yuzhang had opposed him, nor the first person ever to do so. But truthfully, Meng Tingjing had never regarded Song Yuzhang as a real opponent.
Now, for the first time, he began to reexamine Song Yuzhang—from an entirely new and unfamiliar perspective.
Shen Chengduo.
The name suddenly surfaced in his mind.
A man of little standing, someone Meng Tingjing had always despised—vulgar, lowly, disgraceful.
Yet Song Yuzhang had taken him in.
Meng Tingjing hadn’t cared where that man went afterward.
Then came Liao Tiandong.
Greedy, cunning, and cowardly—a sycophant who would serve anyone who paid enough. His betrayal was hardly surprising.
The railways, the bonds... all those dealings. For some reason, whenever they passed through Song Yuzhang’s hands, Meng Tingjing found them oddly unsettling. It felt like watching a small cat toy with him—he wanted to see what other tricks it might have up its sleeve. Suddenly, clarity struck him like lightning.
He realized he had always placed Song Yuzhang in a certain position—beneath him.
All his life, Meng Tingjing had been accustomed to looking down on people. He believed no one was truly his equal. That arrogance was etched into his very bones.
So when he looked down on Song Yuzhang, he hadn’t even realized he was doing it.
No one could have pointed it out to him—it was something he had to understand himself.
To see oneself clearly is to strip one’s soul bare, to peel away the skin and look at the rawest truth beneath. Whether beautiful or ugly, one must face it alone.
Like a man who has reached enlightenment, Meng Tingjing sat in that cold, empty office and suddenly understood everything.
After this moment of awakening, he reflected inwardly and realized: no wonder he and Song Yuzhang always argued without resolution—it wasn’t that either of them was wrong, but that they had never been on the same level of thought.
Song Yuzhang resented being forced to bow his head, while he himself stubbornly demanded a little affection in return. Talking past each other, how could there ever be a result?
Meng Tingjing smiled faintly. He thought he had finally seen through it all. Very well, then—he would start by correcting his attitude, by earnestly and sincerely seeing Song Yuzhang as his equal.
And so, on the very next day after the Chamber’s meeting, Meng Tingjing launched a sweeping retaliation against all the businesses led by the Song and Nie families who had voted against him.
Business was war—money the bullets, connections the artillery. And Meng Tingjing had plenty of both. Calm and ruthless, he unleashed his counterattack without mercy.
The first target was Shen Chengduo.
This initial betrayer, whom Meng Tingjing remembered all too well, was struck hardest.
At first, Shen Chengduo couldn’t understand what had happened—why disaster had suddenly befallen him. When he learned it was Meng Tingjing’s doing, he gave up all attempts to resist.
In Haizhou, Meng Tingjing’s power was absolute. No one could match him. Better to endure humiliation than provoke his wrath. He wouldn’t kill, after all.
That was how Shen Chengduo comforted himself, though he still seethed with hatred. He could never forget that slap. He told himself that someday, if fortune ever favored him, he would return that slap with interest. But “someday” was nothing but an illusion—so distant it felt impossible. And with that hopeless realization, Shen Chengduo’s heart sank into quiet despair.
Meng Tingjing was simply too powerful—too formidable to defeat. No matter how much Shen Chengduo analyzed him, he could hardly find a single weakness.
At the same time, Song’s Bank was having a rough time as well. Teams of inspectors came one after another to audit their accounts. There was nothing to hide in the books, but the endless investigations left everyone exhausted.
The other private banks were suffering the same fate—just dealing with the auditors every day drained much of their energy. On top of that, they had to send people to Song Yuzhang for help.
The only reason these people had dared to stand up in the grand hall to “raise objections” alongside Song Yuzhang was because they were counting on the benefits he had promised them.
Song Yuzhang sent men to calm them down and help them handle the audits.
Among them, Liu Chuanzong was the most capable. He could cover three banks in a single day—barely enough to keep things afloat.
As for the Nie family’s side, Song Yuzhang didn’t know all the details of what kind of retaliation they’d suffered.
Nie Qingyun only said three words: “We can endure.”
Where there is war, there are casualties. If you’re not ready for losses, you shouldn’t declare battle.
After enduring Meng Tingjing’s first wave of retaliation, Song Yuzhang struck back.
First, there was a report to the authorities about tax evasion in one of Meng’s textile mills. An inspection team arrived soon after, digging from taxes all the way to mechanical safety violations, forcing the factory to shut down.
Then, dockworkers suddenly organized a collective demand for higher wages—and went on strike.
The strike made the newspapers. The reporters wrote with biting language, somehow even dredging up old scandals, claiming that when Meng Tingjing had taken over the Meng family business, he’d conducted a “purge” that drove out countless old dockworkers, leaving them destitute. The article called him a “bloodsucking capitalist.”
Meng Tingjing’s response was to send men to burn down the newspaper office.
The next day, a warehouse at the docks caught fire.
As it began to seem that the confrontation would escalate from a war of words to actual violence, the old chairman finally lost patience. He sent for both Meng Tingjing and Song Yuzhang to come to his home as guests.
Their cars arrived almost at the same time.
From inside his car, Song Yuzhang saw Meng Tingjing stepping out of the one in front. He got out as well.
With a loud bang, his car door shut. Meng Tingjing turned to look at him. Their eyes met. Meng Tingjing smiled. “President Song.”
Song Yuzhang also smiled. “Boss Meng.”
After battling each other in Haizhou for a month, they now faced one another calm and polite, with courteous smiles that concealed everything—past grievances, victories, and losses—all gone, leaving only two masks of civility.
Having served as chairman of the Chamber for over a decade, the old chairman’s greatest skill was smoothing things over. This would likely be the last major dispute he could mediate before stepping down—and perhaps the most important one. If he succeeded, Haizhou’s business world could enjoy another decade of peace. If he failed, the city could descend into chaos.
Truth be told, the old chairman was disappointed in Meng Tingjing.
The Chamber of Commerce had been founded during wartime; the first chairman was killed by a bomb only months into his term. When the old chairman succeeded him, his priority was stabilizing livelihoods through cooperation. He believed business might be war, but harmony was still the most valuable principle. He often chose to yield profit in order to preserve peace, and as a result, he’d remained chairman for over ten years—without challenge.
For a chairman to retaliate against dissenters—that was beneath the dignity of the office.
“Xiao Meng,” the old chairman addressed him kindly, then turned to Song Yuzhang. “Xiao Song. Allow this old man to meddle once more—to play peacemaker. What do you say? Will you grant me that face and listen to a few words?”
“Chairman Qian, you’re being too modest,” said Song Yuzhang, bowing slightly. “You’re a man of great virtue and standing. Whatever you say, we juniors will listen.”
The old chairman nodded, satisfied, then looked at Meng Tingjing. “Chairman Qian,” Meng said with a mild smile, “I’ve always respected you. Your wise words are invaluable—I’m all ears.”
Their attitudes were perfect, but the old chairman wasn’t comforted. He suspected they were only humoring him, that once they left, they’d go right back to fighting.
They say two tigers cannot share one mountain. The old chairman understood that well. By strength alone, Meng Tingjing clearly held the upper hand. But his ruthless, domineering methods worried the old man. When he chose his successor, he wanted someone who would protect Haizhou’s merchants—not a “my-way-or-the-highway” tyrant. If such a man became chairman, it would not be Haizhou’s fortune—it would be its downfall.
So the old chairman spoke softly but at length—an hour of gentle persuasion about “mutual benefit,” “unity,” “peace and understanding,” and “talking things out.”
Both men nodded repeatedly, agreeing at every turn. Whether they truly agreed or not, the old chairman couldn’t tell. At last, he stood up. “I’ll leave you two to talk privately.”
He left the room and closed the door behind him, hoping they would reconcile before coming out again.
The reception room faced south, bright and open. Sunlight streamed through the carved lattice windows, bathing both men in golden light that gleamed like countless suspended blades.
A long, tense silence filled the room. They had never sat together so quietly before.
They seemed born to clash—whenever they met, sparks flew. Even their good moments ended in quarrel.
Song Yuzhang sat still for a while, then cast a glance at Meng Tingjing, quickly looked away, and after a moment, glanced again. After several rounds of this, Meng Tingjing turned to him. “If you have something to say, say it. Don’t sneak peeks like that,” he said coolly—but there was a faint touch of teasing in his tone.
Song Yuzhang smiled. “I understand what Chairman Qian meant—peace above all. I don’t want to fight either. My request is simple: don’t make this a one-man show. Just appoint two vice chairmen.”
“Two vice chairmen?” Meng Tingjing smiled softly. “You and Nie Yinbing, one each? Then I can just sit back and watch you two quarrel?”
“Boss Meng, you misunderstand. We only wish to protect ourselves.”
“Oh? And if I refuse?”
Song Yuzhang smiled faintly, lowering his eyes. “Then it would disappoint Chairman Qian’s good intentions.”
Meng Tingjing’s lips curved. “Disappointing his good intentions—that’s just what you want, isn’t it?”
Song Yuzhang looked up at him.
Meng Tingjing’s gaze slanted toward him. “You think I don’t see through you?”
Song Yuzhang smiled lightly. “How could that be? I know you’re a brilliant man.”
“Is that praise or sarcasm?”
“Praise, of course.”
“And after all this cooperation, that’s all I get—praise?”
Song Yuzhang wasn’t sure whether Meng Tingjing was mocking him or not. For once, he had nothing to say.
Publicly opposing Meng Tingjing had been a risky move, but he never acted recklessly—he always planned everything thoroughly.
He’d known from the start that he could never truly shake Meng Tingjing’s position in Haizhou.
The outcome of his public dissent would be to provoke Meng Tingjing—nothing more.
And Meng Tingjing had only two options: either lower himself to negotiate, or retaliate violently to force submission.
Whichever path he chose, Song Yuzhang would have a counter.
If Meng Tingjing chose retaliation, it would make him look petty and rash in the old chairman’s eyes. All Song Yuzhang had to do was hold firm—the old chairman would not let them fight endlessly. In the end, they would still have to sit down and negotiate.
The Song family wasn’t strong enough, nor was the Nie family—but if they added the old chairman’s wavering support to the balance?
Meng Tingjing was clever. Song Yuzhang had thought he would see it clearly. Yet Meng Tingjing had still chosen retaliation.
Had he been blinded by anger—or did he have some deeper plan? Song Yuzhang rested his hand on his teacup, uncertain.
Then Meng Tingjing turned his gaze away and said evenly, “I’m not taking the chairman’s seat.”
Song Yuzhang’s eyes flicked up in surprise. Meng Tingjing was smiling at him—his eyes glinting with something bright and dangerous. His tone was soft. “You want it? Then it’s yours. I’ll be your vice chairman. Don’t worry—” He smiled wider. “—I promise not to cause you any trouble.”
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