Chapter 5: Chain Reaction

Guo Boyan printed the withdrawal notice in duplicate.

One copy for Cai Yaoting, one for his own records. At the convenience store, the clerk glanced at the words on the page — withdrawal, consent, redevelopment — and said nothing, just counted out the change and slid it across the counter. Guo Boyan aligned the two documents, folded them into thirds, and slipped them into a clear plastic sleeve.

He was home by ten in the morning. Guo Zeng Wanru was standing in the kitchen doorway, a food container in her hands.

“All done?”

“Done.”

“Then go over there now.” She put the container in the refrigerator. “Don’t drag it out to the afternoon. He’ll call Fang Dingyuan in by then and it’ll be a whole mess.”

Guo Boyan set the plastic sleeve on the dining table and pulled out a chair. He looked at the watermark along the base of the wall — three years now, trailing down from the ceiling in pale brown, like a vine that had forgotten how to grow leaves. Every time it rained the stain deepened; every time it dried it faded back, but it never disappeared.

“If you won’t go, I’ll go.”

“I’ll go.”

He stood, picked up the sleeve. He was halfway out the door when he stopped — the door across the hall was closed, but there were sounds from inside. TV news. Cai Yaoting was home.

Guo Boyan pressed the doorbell.

Mrs. Cai opened it. She saw the plastic sleeve in his hand, and her expression shifted for exactly one second before she reined it in. “Boyan, looking for Yaoting?”

“Yeah.”

Cai Yaoting came in from the living room. Today he wasn’t in a POLO shirt — he had on an old athletic vest, but the ring of keys was still on his belt as always. He saw Guo Boyan standing in the doorway; his eyes went first to the sleeve.

“What’s going on?”

“This is for you.” Guo Boyan held the sleeve out. “Withdrawal notice.”

Cai Yaoting didn’t take it. He looked at Guo Boyan’s face, like he was waiting for a just kidding.

“I did the math.” Guo Boyan’s voice was quiet, but there was a pause between each word. “Third floor, two units, twenty-eight ping each. Under the developer’s allocation, I get twenty-four. You get thirty. Six ping’s difference — what’s compensating for that? Not the floor. Not the orientation. The only difference is you’re chairman. Tell me that’s fair.”

Cai Yaoting’s mouth opened and closed. He stepped forward half a step, lowering his voice: “Come inside, we can talk—”

“Don’t need to.” Guo Boyan pushed the sleeve forward two centimeters. “It’s all in writing. Just pass it along to Fang Dingyuan.”

Cai Yaoting took it. The moment his fingers closed around the plastic sleeve, the keys at his hip made a sound.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Cai Yaoting’s words came faster now. “Listen — the square footage issue, I already talked to Mr. Fang about it. There’s still room to adjust—”

“That’s between you and him.” Guo Boyan turned and walked back across the hall.

The sound of the door closing rang dull and flat in the corridor. Cai Yaoting stood in his doorway holding the plastic sleeve. Behind him, Mrs. Cai turned the television down.

After Guo Boyan came inside, he leaned against the entryway wall for a few seconds. His mouth pulled up on one side — the expression that looked like a cold smile. Guo Zeng Wanru poked her head out from the kitchen, didn’t ask a thing, and went back to her chopping.

He looked down at his own hands. Steady.

His gaze moved to the wall beside the dining table. The watermark was still there — floor to ceiling, three years’ worth of vine. His thumb moved without thinking to his left shin, brushing the scar there. He’d got it three years ago, moving the washing machine to let the plumber in to trace the leak. Cai Yaoting had called in that plumber. Three visits, not fixed. The bills, though — every cent paid.

Steady. He said the word to himself once more.

---

Fang Dingyuan’s call came forty minutes later.

Not to Cai Yaoting. To Guo Boyan.

“Mr. Guo, this is Fang Dingyuan from Dingfeng.” His pace was slower than usual, each word measured like he was weighing it on a scale. “The chairman told me what happened. I’d like to meet with you. Just to talk.”

“Nothing to talk about.”

“Five minutes. That’s all.” A beat of silence. “If coming up is inconvenient, downstairs works too.”

Guo Boyan had been about to hang up. But Fang Dingyuan added one more line: “I understand the square-footage concern. That’s something we can revisit.”

Revisit.

Guo Boyan bit the inside of his cheek. “Fifteen minutes. Front entrance, ground floor.”

---

When Fang Dingyuan was waiting at the entrance, he had a pen cap in his mouth — his pen was clipped to his shirt pocket, and at some point he’d pulled the cap off. Today he was in an off-white POLO shirt, same as the day he’d gone up to see Chen Sulan.

By the time Guo Boyan came downstairs, Fang Dingyuan had already moved to stand by the mailboxes. The mailboxes were a mix — wood and metal, side by side — and at the top, the handmade one. The carving of ours was barely visible through the flaking paint.

“Mr. Guo.” Fang Dingyuan pulled the pen cap from his mouth and offered his hand. Guo Boyan didn’t take it. The way Fang Dingyuan withdrew his hand was smooth, practiced — like this outcome had been factored in ahead of time.

“You said revisit. Revisit what?”

Fang Dingyuan produced a sheet of paper. A4, single-sided, a few lines of text and a handful of numbers.

“This is the revised offer I requested from the company.” He held it out. “Take a look.”

Guo Boyan looked.

Twenty-four ping, up to twenty-seven. An additional relocation allowance of one hundred and twenty thousand. Rental subsidy during construction up fifteen percent.

He stared at the numbers. Twenty-seven. Cai Yaoting got thirty, he got twenty-seven. The gap had gone from six ping to three. Relocation allowance up a hundred twenty thousand.

“This offer is only for me.” Not a question. His voice carried a thin thread of confirmed calm — he’d known all along there was something going on. Now he was just holding the receipt.

Fang Dingyuan’s expression didn’t change. “Every unit has its own situation. Different offers reflect different circumstances. This one is tailored to your case.”

“Do the others know?”

“This is a private negotiation between you and the company.”

Guo Boyan folded the paper. His thumb worked along the edge, the friction loud in the quiet of the ground-floor lobby.

“You’ve been running this play on each unit. One at a time.”

For half a second, Fang Dingyuan’s smile disappeared. “Mr. Guo, I’m here to solve a problem—”

“You’re buying us. One household at a time.”

Outside, a motorbike went by. Fang Dingyuan put the pen cap back in his mouth, chewed twice, took it out.

“Take some time to consider it,” he said.

Guo Boyan hadn’t answered yet.

From the stairwell came the sound of keys jingling. In this entire building, only one person made that sound.

Cai Yaoting appeared at the ground floor.

He was still in the athletic vest, feet in slippers — he’d come straight down from the third floor. Nothing in his hands. He stopped at the last step, because he’d seen Fang Dingyuan and Guo Boyan standing together.

Then he saw the sheet of paper in Guo Boyan’s hand.

The three of them stood in the lobby for about two seconds. Fang Dingyuan moved first — he stepped back half a pace, and the pen cap dropped out of his mouth, hitting the terrazzo floor. It didn’t bounce; it rolled a short distance and stopped.

“What’s going on here?” Cai Yaoting’s words came out slower than usual, which made each one land twice as hard.

“Chairman Cai—” Fang Dingyuan started.

“What is that?” Cai Yaoting pointed at the paper in Guo Boyan’s hand.

Guo Boyan glanced at Fang Dingyuan. Then he unfolded the paper, flipped it over, and turned it to face Cai Yaoting.

“See for yourself.”

Cai Yaoting crossed the lobby and took it. He didn’t read for long — twenty-seven ping, hundred-twenty-thousand allowance, fifteen-percent rent increase. His eyes made two passes over the numbers.

The keys at his hip made a sound. He reached down and gripped them.

A few seconds of silence. Cai Yaoting stared at the paper. His lips moved without sound. Then he looked up, and when he spoke, his voice had gone very quiet.

“Twenty-seven.”

Just that. Like he needed to confirm what he was seeing was real.

Then he folded the paper once, twice, folding it smaller and smaller, and stuffed it in his own pocket.

“I brought them in,” he said. His voice was still low, but the corridor’s echo carried it. “I told every single resident that this developer could be trusted. I was the one who told them.”

Fang Dingyuan’s mouth opened. “I understand your—” He stopped. He didn’t know what he understood. His right hand clenched at his side and then released.

Cai Yaoting stopped looking at him. He turned toward the stairwell and took two steps, then stopped.

He didn’t turn back. But his voice was loud enough to reach the third floor, the fourth, the fifth—

“How much did you give him? Are you offering everyone a different deal?”

---

The group chat exploded eleven minutes later.

Cai Yaoting wasn’t the one who fired the first shot. Lu Zhensheng was.

Lu Zhensheng: “@Cai Yaoting Chairman didn’t you say the terms were the same for everyone??? I just heard from my balcony”

Lu Zhensheng: “Fang Dingyuan offered Guo Boyan different terms in private? What about mine??”

Lu Zhensheng: “4th floor, 28 ping — am I getting the worst deal out of everyone”

Zhou Mingda: “Lu-ge, hold on. Can we ask the chairman to clarify?”

Cai Yaoting: “I just found out about this myself.”

That single line sat in the chat for a full thirty seconds.

Guo Zeng Wanru: “Just found out? You’re the chairman. You brought in the developer. You never checked the terms?”

Cai Yaoting is typing…

Cai Yaoting is typing…

Cai Yaoting: “Developer negotiations with individual units are subject to confidentiality clauses. My role is to coordinate, not to represent.”

Lu Zhensheng: “So you don’t know how many ping I’m getting either?”

Cai Yaoting: “Individual terms are negotiated directly between the developer and each unit.”

Lu Zhensheng: “Christ.”

Lu Zhensheng: “What exactly have you been handling?”

Guo Zeng Wanru: “Everyone — my husband and I are both here. Who’s willing to share their terms? I’ll go first. 28 ping gets 24. Relocation allowance 80,000.”

Lu Zhensheng: “28 gets 25. Relocation 80,000.”

Lu Zhensheng: “Hold on, you got 24 and I got 25?”

Lu Zhensheng: “And Guo Boyan’s now at 27?”

Guo Zeng Wanru: “What Fang Dingyuan offered today. To buy back my husband’s withdrawal.”

Lin Jing’en (2F): “I got 28 ping to 26…”

Zhou Mingda: “28 to 25. Allowance 90,000.”

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Zhao Peiyun: “Wait — the relocation allowances are different too?”

Lu Zhensheng sent five question marks in a row.

Cai Yaoting went quiet. The typing indicator appeared twice and disappeared.

Guo Zeng Wanru: “@Cai Yaoting What are your terms, Chairman?”

Lu Zhensheng: “Yeah, what did you get?”

Four minutes of silence.

Lin Jing’en: “Cai-ge?”

Cai Yaoting: “30 ping. Relocation allowance 150,000.”

Read by 9

The chat went quiet. But it was the eye-of-the-storm kind of quiet — everyone typing at once, nobody sending first.

Lu Zhensheng broke first: “30 ping 150K??? Are you kidding me you got the best deal of anyone and told us all to trust the developer???”

Lu Zhensheng: “What’s your relationship with Fang Dingyuan exactly?”

Cai Yaoting: “I never negotiated any special terms with the developer in private. The 30 ping was offered by them voluntarily. I didn’t know it was different from everyone else.”

Guo Zeng Wanru: “You didn’t know.”

Guo Zeng Wanru: “Right.”

Zhao Peiyun: “Everyone, let’s calm down and compile each unit’s terms. I’ll make a spreadsheet…”

Lu Zhensheng: “What spreadsheet!! Can we even trust this deal anymore?! Developer’s buying us off one by one! Chairman got the biggest cut!”

Lu Zhensheng: “I’m not signing.”

Zhou Mingda: “Lu-ge, you already signed.”

Lu Zhensheng: “Then I’m withdrawing.”

Lin Jing’en: “Can you do that…?”

Guo Zeng Wanru: “Yes. Written withdrawal before final approval — it’s protected by law.”

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Zhao Peiyun: “Can everyone please not do anything rash. The terms being unequal is something we can negotiate together — we don’t have to blow up the whole thing…”

Nobody replied to her.

---

Chen Sulan wasn’t in the group chat.

She was up on the roof, watering her plants. The June afternoon light came in at an angle across the bougainvillea leaves, each edge glowing with a thin band of brightness. She tilted the watering can over the mint; the smell of earth rose up, mixing with the heat the tin roof had been storing all day.

There was noise below.

Sound carried up through the stairwell — muffled, the words indistinct, but the volume and rhythm were clear enough. Someone demanding an explanation, someone explaining, someone cursing. She recognized Cai Yaoting’s voice, the high one. There was another voice, lower, that she couldn’t make out.

She set down the watering can, walked over to the canvas deck chair, and sat down. The radio was playing an old Taiwanese song, the volume just at the threshold where you could catch the melody. She reached over and turned the dial two notches to the right. The singing covered the sounds below — but not completely. Every now and then a word or two still found its way up through the gaps.

She looked at the plants in front of her. The chili peppers had produced four; two red, two green. The mint was growing too fast — time to prune it. The bougainvillea had bloomed better this year than last.

Qishan used to handle the mint pruning. He said mint was like children: when it grows too fast, you have to cut it back, otherwise it doesn’t know which way to go. She’d laughed at him then for needing to discipline his plants.

The arguing downstairs surged louder. Someone slammed a door.

Chen Sulan turned the radio up another notch.

She sat in the deck chair, the jade bracelet on her left wrist catching the afternoon light, giving off a dull, cloudy gleam. The wind pushed the towel on the drying rack, swaying it. Downstairs went quiet. Then it started again — notification sounds, rising from different floors, one after another, overlapping, like the first gust before rain that shook everything loose.

She didn’t go down.

“Even they can’t agree,” she said to the bougainvillea. Barely above a whisper — the radio covered it easily.

The flowers didn’t answer. The wind kept blowing. The towel swayed again.

She picked up the watering can and went on watering the rest of the plants.