The world of film and television begins in the ideal city

As evening fell, the setting sun painted the skyline of Shanghai's western suburbs a soft golden-red. Lin Chen followed Wang Mingyu as they drove into a quiet, low-density villa community.

Unlike Wang Mingyu's villas, which are characterized by high walls, seclusion, and imposing grandeur, this place is understated to the point of being simple. The walls are not high, the wrought iron fence is simple in design, the gate is narrow, and the house number is lightly engraved, almost invisible unless you look closely. The car slowly drives into the courtyard; the road is smooth and without a single bump, and the camphor and holly trees on both sides are trimmed to perfection, exuding a sense of rational order.

The courtyard wasn't large, but it was clean and tidy. In the corner stood several pots of ordinary orchids, growing exceptionally well, their leaves upright and showing no signs of withering. There were no artificial hills or flowing water, no expensive stone sculptures; everything was just right, neither too much nor too little.

He doesn't crave extravagance, values ​​order, understands self-control, and excels at managing his life. He's someone who can keep his life, desires, and power perfectly under control.

The two got out of the car. Wang Mingyu straightened his collar, his expression natural and his tone casual, yet revealing his usual respect in the subtle details: "We've arrived. This is where Zhao Xiankun lives. This is the first high-end community built by Yinghai, and Zhao Xiankun likes it very much."

Lin Chen nodded slightly, without saying anything more.

He could sense that as Wang Mingyu approached Zhao Xiankun's residence, his aura subtly softened. He was no longer the composed, reserved, and subtly sharp-edged demeanor of a group vice president, but rather reverted to the demeanor of a decades-old brother—gentle, down-to-earth, and without any sharp edges.

This is Wang Mingyu's skill, and also his way of surviving.

On the surface, he was always Zhao Xiankun's most loyal, reliable, and caring brother. But his little tricks couldn't fool Zhao Xiankun.

The servants invited the two in through the gate, bowing respectfully and quietly, without any unnecessary pleasantries, demonstrating the strict rules of the household.

Zhao Xiankun is fifty-four years old this year, but he still stands tall and straight, without being overweight or slack. His back is straight, and his steps are steady and slow, exuding a calm and composed aura. His face is well-proportioned with clean lines. There are fine lines at the corners of his eyes, but he does not look old. Instead, it adds a touch of profound wisdom that comes with experience in the world.

What is most impressive about him are his eyes. When he looks at people, his gaze is gentle, yet it seems to be able to see through the surface and reach the most hidden place in people's hearts.

Zhao Xiankun was standing in the backyard behind the gate. When he saw the two enter, he hurriedly stepped forward to welcome them, saying, "Mingyu, you're here." Zhao Xiankun's voice was not loud, but it was clear, steady, and penetrating, like a deep pool of water, calm on the surface but heavy underneath. He stepped forward first and gently patted Wang Mingyu's arm. The gesture was natural and intimate, just like that of an old brother of decades, without the slightest air of a chairman to a subordinate.

"Mingyu, it's been a long time since you've come to my house. This must be General Manager Lin. I've heard that a genius investment has emerged in Shanghai. He became famous overnight by opening a water plant. I've always wanted to meet him. Today, I see that he is indeed young, promising, and handsome."

"Mr. Zhao, you flatter me. I've often heard my uncle talk about you. You started from scratch and built such a large Yinghai Group from nothing. I can't compare to you. I just happened to be lucky. I wouldn't dare call myself 'Mr.' in front of you. Please just call me by my name."

"Oh, we're all family here, so please don't stand on ceremony."

The three exchanged a smile, and Zhao Xiankun then extended his hand in invitation, saying, "Haha, let's talk inside then, please."

Lin Chen and Wang Mingyu followed Zhao Xiankun into the living room. Their first impression was one of spaciousness, openness, and restraint. The entire house was designed in a modern minimalist style, without complicated lines or ostentatious shapes. The main color scheme was gray and white, complemented by light oak and matte stone. The house had excellent natural light, with floor-to-ceiling windows that almost filled the entire wall. As dusk settled outside, the interior light was soft and even. The design used no main light fixture, creating subtle layers of light and shadow that were neither glaring nor oppressive.

The sofa is upholstered in dark gray fabric, with a minimalist design and a calm, durable feel. The coffee table is a single piece of dark, matte stone, spotless and free of any clutter. The floor is covered in light gray tiles, gleaming yet not cold. There are no expensive crystal chandeliers, no gilded trims, no piles of calligraphy or paintings by famous artists, and no other luxury decorations to flaunt status.

Everything was so simple it was almost austere. Yet, ironically, this simplicity, more so than the heavy, modern Chinese style of Wang Mingyu's home, commanded even greater respect.

The most eye-catching feature of the living room is the bookcase that covers an entire wall on the west side.

The bookshelf is made of solid wood, and the books on it are neatly arranged and categorized. It covers a wide range of topics, including construction engineering, business management, macroeconomics, historical classics, biographies, law and finance—yet the arrangement is organized and uncluttered. Most of the books show clear signs of being read, with slightly worn edges, indicating they are far from being just empty shells for show.

On the very middle floor, a special area is set aside to display a thick stack of old photo albums and several gold-embossed certificates. The most eye-catching item is a slightly yellowed old photograph.

In the photo, young Zhao Xiankun, wearing faded work clothes, stands in the middle of a muddy construction site, surrounded by equally youthful Wang Mingyu and others. The group of people are covered in dirt, but their eyes are bright and their smiles are open and honest. Behind them are the unfinished skeletons of buildings, and the sky is a clear blue.

The photo wasn't framed in an elaborate frame; it was simply placed under a glass plate in the very center.

The three sat down in the living room. A servant silently approached, placed three white porcelain covered bowls on the table, and poured water from a kettle.

The tea is Pu'er, ripe Pu'er, with a bright, deep red liquor and a rich, subtle aroma that lingers. There are no fancy utensils or elaborate tea ceremonies; everything is simple and homely, yet it reveals a refined taste in the smallest details.

Zhao Xiankun raised his hand, gesturing for the two to drink tea. His movements were unhurried, his fingertips steady, without the slightest unnecessary tremor.

"Then I'll call you Xiao Chen. Don't call me President Zhao anymore. Your uncle and I have been brothers for decades. Just call me Uncle Zhao," he said in a friendly tone.

"Okay, Uncle Zhao," Lin Chen replied.

"I know your Jingshi Capital; I've heard so much about you! You've been incredibly influential in China for years. Your CEO, Mr. Shen, always makes big moves, and this time you've invested in digital technology, generating substantial revenue. That's truly remarkable!"

Zhao Xiankun gave a soft "hmm," picked up the teacup, took a small sip, and put it down with a soft, steady sound as the bottom of the bowl touched the table.

"Your uncle and I started out together back in the 1900s." He suddenly brought up the past, his tone calm. "We started as a construction team, building Yinghai piece by piece with a bag of cement, a brick, and a scaffold. We endured hardship, suffered, and even faced death."

Wang Mingyu immediately chimed in, his expression sincere, his eyes filled with genuine reminiscence: "If it weren't for Xiankun taking the lead, our group would have disbanded long ago. Those were the toughest times; the project payments weren't coming in, the workers were threatening to cause trouble, and the client was pressing us every day. He was the one who shouldered the pressure, going around asking for help, and getting through each and every problem."

Zhao Xiankun smiled faintly, without modesty or arrogance, and calmly said, "It was all achieved through our joint efforts; it wasn't just my achievement. Back then, everyone was united and focused on building the building and making the company successful."

He paused, then subtly shifted his tone, remaining gentle but already getting to the point.

"Things are different now. The company is bigger, there are more people, and more things to consider."

Wang Mingyu remained unmoved, his smile still earnest: "No matter how things change, Yinghai is still your Yinghai. We old brothers still have our hearts with you."