◎ The Vanishing Masterpiece ◎

Gu Qiao simultaneously fielded the flood of incoming calls while continuously making outgoing ones, even placing newspaper advertisements offering rewards to anyone who reported piracy.

Lin Haichuan emerged from the hotel and spotted Gu Qiao dressed in a deliberately drab disguise — a black padded jacket with a large scarf wrapped around her head to conceal her face. He called out to her: “You’re not actually going out to catch pirates dressed like that, are you?”

Lin Haichuan’s love of performing extended well beyond the screen — he never missed an opportunity to play a role in real life: “Wait for me a moment. I’ll come with you.”

Going “undercover” in real life and going undercover in a drama were two entirely different things. Someone accustomed to being the center of attention on screen, where even a single glance was meant to be noticed by the audience, would find it deeply against their nature to conceal themselves in ordinary life.

Gu Qiao didn’t directly refuse him. Instead, she smiled and said: “You’re such a famous celebrity — no matter how you disguise yourself, people will still recognize you.”

Lin Haichuan was flattered by Gu Qiao’s words, though he feigned disappointment over being too well-known for his own good.

“Where are you headed? If it’s on my way, I can give you a lift for part of the route.” Before leaving for Guangzhou, Luo Peiyin had left his car keys on the bedside table. The Cadillac had since become Gu Qiao’s to drive.

“I wouldn’t dare ride with you — you’ve only been here a few days. You probably don’t even know the roads yet.”

Gu Qiao let out a small scoff. In her mind, she already carried a complete map of Shanghai.

Lin Haichuan found himself slightly nervous once inside the Cadillac: “Don’t drive so fast.” Whenever Lin Haichuan arrived in a new city, his greatest interest was always local real estate. He had spotted an advertisement for a new development in the newspaper and planned to visit the sales office. Having grown up crammed into a tiny apartment with his parents, spacious housing had become something of an obsession for him — his only regret being that he never had enough spare money to buy multiple units. As for Gu Qiao’s refusal to invest her earnings in property, he was firmly convinced it was her small-town peasant mentality at work.

Lin Haichuan felt compelled to lecture her earnestly: “Gu Qiao, you grew up in the countryside, so you don’t understand how important housing is to city dwellers. Do you know what the current per capita living space in cities actually is? When people have money, the very first thing they’ll do is upgrade their housing. Property prices will only keep rising — if you don’t stock up on several units now, you’ll regret it when it’s too late. And I say this with your best interests in mind: you still haven’t shed that agrarian way of thinking. Even after making your fortune, at best you’ve evolved from a peasant farmer into a feudal landlord, always feeling like if you stop working your hands, your mouth goes hungry too. Buying property and collecting rent is also earning money, you know…”

Gu Qiao had no interest in correcting Lin Haichuan — landlords were also a rentier class, and they had historically bought plenty of property too.

Lin Haichuan took her silence as agreement: “You don’t need to worry too much about the piracy situation. The money you lose to pirates, you can recover just as quickly by buying a few more properties.”

In Lin Haichuan’s mind, Gu Qiao’s refusal to buy property came down to peasant mentality; while her boyfriend living in a hotel instead of buying property he chalked up to hedonism.

Lin Haichuan offered his objective assessment: “The money spent on this car alone could easily cover a modest apartment.”

“The car is rented.”

“Oh.” So that was it — even more hedonistic than he’d imagined.

Upon reaching the sales office, Lin Haichuan said to Gu Qiao: “Since we’re already here, come take a look inside.” He grinned at her: “Your outfit today is actually perfect — people will assume at most that you’re my assistant, and no one will get the wrong idea about us. If you were dressed like your usual self, I wouldn’t even dare let you come in with me. Fame brings gossip — a man and a woman browsing a property sales office together, who knows what kind of rumors would start flying.”

Gu Qiao made a dismissive sound through her nose, but thinking that since she was already here, a few minutes of browsing wouldn’t hurt. She didn’t live in Shanghai, but there was no harm in taking a look. Lin Haichuan was busy straightening his appearance and didn’t catch her dismissive grunt.

As Gu Qiao listened to the saleswoman’s presentation, she found herself genuinely drawn to the 180-square-meter apartment. But with the piracy situation still unresolved, she had no spare funds to even consider buying property. Midway through the saleswoman’s pitch, Gu Qiao glanced down at her watch and prepared to leave.

“Cousin?”

Gu Qiao froze. She turned and saw Zhao Yue — it was indeed her he was addressing.

“Cousin, I almost didn’t recognize you just now.” In his memory, Gu Qiao had never worn clothing in colors like this.

Gu Qiao hadn’t expected that she’d ended up looking at a property developed by Luo Peiyin’s mother. She quickly pressed her flash of surprise behind a smile.

Zhao Yue’s gaze shifted to the man standing beside Gu Qiao. Since Luo Peiyin had returned to Shanghai, everyone had been busy — they’d only managed to meet once. Having previously failed in his attempt to interfere in a friend’s love life, Zhao Yue had adopted a strict policy of asking nothing unless Luo Peiyin volunteered the information.

It was fairly obvious that Luo Peiyin definitely didn’t know Gu Qiao would be here looking at property. And speaking of which, the man standing before him actually bore a slight resemblance to Luo Peiyin. Zhao Yue restrained his natural curiosity about other people’s romantic affairs, though he couldn’t help but marvel inwardly at how consistent people’s tastes could be.

Lin Haichuan studied Gu Qiao’s supposed “cousin” — this “Director Zhao” as the saleswoman had called him — with open curiosity. He had assumed that the way this man stared at him meant he’d been recognized. To his surprise, however, the man simply looked away without a second glance.

“Found any floor plans you like? I can guarantee you the best possible discount. Of course,” Zhao Yue added with a change of tone, “if you go through your cousin, the deal you’d get would be even better.”

Hearing Zhao Yue say “your cousin,” Gu Qiao paused for a moment, suddenly transported back six years. It seemed Luo Peiyin had learned from past mistakes and hadn’t announced their relationship to friends and family as early as he once had. Under normal circumstances that would make perfect sense, but still…

“I was just passing by and thought I’d take a quick look. I have things to take care of today — let’s catch up another time.” Gu Qiao reached into her bag and produced a business card, which she handed to Zhao Yue with practiced ease.

Zhao Yue accepted the card and read it word by word. Being in a different industry from Gu Qiao, he hadn’t paid attention to her recent news. His eyes traveled from the card to her face, then finally settled on Lin Haichuan: “And you are?”

Without waiting for Gu Qiao to speak, Lin Haichuan introduced himself directly: “Lin Haichuan.” He offered nothing beyond his name, as though no further introduction could possibly be necessary.

Yet the other man’s expression didn’t shift in the slightest upon hearing his name — as though Lin Haichuan were merely an appendage of Gu Qiao’s, his name and his very presence carrying no particular significance. Lin Haichuan thought to himself in indignation: this person was truly ignorant of the world. Last time he’d visited a property sales office, the general manager had recognized him on the spot and immediately offered a ten percent discount.

Having lost all interest in viewing properties, Lin Haichuan moved to leave alongside Gu Qiao.

The saleswoman glanced at her boss, who had come to inspect the property, and waged a brief internal battle before steeling herself and approaching Lin Haichuan: “Could you give me your autograph?”

“Of course.” Lin Haichuan displayed every ounce of his warmth for this fan, signing with a flourish and adding a broad smile as a bonus.

Zhao Yue moved to walk Gu Qiao out, but she smiled and said: “No need, please stay.”

Zhao Yue watched the pair make their way out of the sales lobby and disappear from view. Once they were gone, he turned to the saleswoman beside him: “Is this Lin Haichuan particularly famous?”

The saleswoman stared at him in apparent disbelief: “You don’t know who he is?”

Outside the sales office, Gu Qiao turned to Lin Haichuan: “Weren’t you here to look at property? Why are you already leaving?”

“I’m not buying right now anyway, so there’s no point looking.” Lin Haichuan couldn’t hold back his curiosity: “Your cousin is in real estate? How come you’ve never mentioned him?” Watching this man named Zhao trying to cozy up to Gu Qiao, he suspected her cousin had considerable connections.

Gu Qiao cast him a sidelong glance. Lin Haichuan didn’t examine that glance too closely and continued: “With a relative like that, you have even more reason to buy property — strike while the iron is hot.”

Gu Qiao had no intention of striking anything: “I have things to do. Take a taxi.”

Watching the Cadillac drive off without a backwards glance, Lin Haichuan stood rooted to the spot and muttered a curse about shameless opportunists.

—

That evening, Xiao Tian dined alone with her idol, the entire city’s night skyline spread out beyond the window. She had fantasized countless times about what she would do if such an opportunity ever arose — how excited she would be, how tongue-tied, perhaps unable to string two words together.

But reality was different. The piracy crisis had arrived ahead of schedule, and her workload had surged accordingly. Her mind was consumed entirely by work and thoughts of her boss.

“Where has your boss gone off to?”

“She just caught someone selling pirated copies and is currently assisting with the investigation to trace the supply source. The nerve of these pirates — instead of advertising any particular software, they hung a sign outside that just read: ‘Latest and hottest domestic game now in stock — twenty yuan per set’…”

“There are so many people selling pirated copies — you can’t possibly catch them all. Never mind the whole country; you can’t even stamp it out in a single city. What can’t be changed must be accepted. Your boss is usually such a sharp person — how can she not see this clearly?” He had already shown Gu Qiao the way forward — buy property — yet she was stubbornly plowing ahead with her own plan.

Xiao Tian remained silent. Caught between her boss and her idol, Xiao Tian found herself siding with the one who signed her paychecks.

“Who is your boss’s cousin?” The man surnamed Zhao had called Gu Qiao “cousin,” yet his tone clearly suggested he wasn’t actually her cousin. The relationship was genuinely confusing. Though Gu Qiao’s cousin might be able to help her get a ten percent discount — or perhaps even lower. Wasn’t seizing this opportunity to buy property more sensible than chasing pirates?

“Our store manager’s cousin? I don’t know. Why do you ask?”

“No particular reason. Just curious.”

Xiao Tian’s mind was more than half occupied with the piracy problem, so she didn’t give her idol’s “just curious” much further thought.

Such is the way of things in this world — one trouble is banished only by a greater trouble arriving in its place.

Xiao Tian had thought piracy was the worst thing imaginable — nothing could be harder to deal with. But the following morning, when she took the newspaper Gu Qiao handed her, she immediately felt that piracy was really nothing in comparison.

The day’s papers had generously devoted considerable space to *Rogue Legend*, and across multiple publications, the combined coverage was substantial. The moment Xiao Tian spotted the words “computer virus,” she broke into a cold sweat despite the winter chill. The headline read: *Writer Suspects Computer Infected with Virus After Purchasing Software “Rogue Legend.”*

Xiao Tian read on past the headline. According to the first-person account of the writer in question, a Mr. Zhang, his son had purchased one copy of the *Rogue Legend* software from an authorized distributor. The software was subsequently used on the family’s home computer, causing it to become infected with a virus. The 300,000-character novel Mr. Zhang had spent two years writing was entirely lost as a result. His son denied that the software had infected the computer and tested it on a classmate’s machine — which immediately crashed. Mr. Zhang went to the store where the purchase had been made to demand redress, only to be angrily accused of attempting a scam by the shop owner. The shock and rage triggered a sudden attack, and he was now hospitalized. The newspaper had even published a reproduction of the purchase receipt his son had kept, as proof that the account was accurate.

After reading the article, Xiao Tian fumed: “Our software passed quality inspection — it’s impossible for it to carry a virus. What right does this writer have to claim our software caused his computer infection? And the reporter didn’t even bother to verify things with us before publishing — they used the word ‘suspected’ to dodge responsibility. But does anyone care about ‘suspected’? Readers see that headline and immediately associate us with viruses.”

“But the article says this software caused problems on another computer as well.” Gu Qiao picked up the phone and began dialing the authorized distributor’s number, then stopped one digit from the end and dialed a different number instead.

The call was answered by Shen Zheng.

Gu Qiao drew a slow, deep breath: “You’ve seen the papers, I take it.”

“…”

“Publish the quality inspection certificate in the papers as a public statement, and send me technical staff immediately — I need them here today. I want a full diagnostic performed on the software.”

Hanging up, Gu Qiao turned to Xiao Tian: “I’m going to check on the store. You call the newspaper office and get Mr. Zhang’s contact information. Then take some fruit to the hospital and visit him — find out exactly what happened, from beginning to end…”

“Is Mr. Zhang really in the hospital because of this? Could he be faking? And besides, how do we even know he actually wrote those 300,000 characters?”

Gu Qiao’s expression turned serious: “Regardless of what actually happened, don’t go in with the assumption that he’s trying to scam us — approaching this with that attitude will get you nowhere. Be warm and friendly, but choose every word carefully. Since he’s on guard against us, he may well be recording the conversation. The most important thing is to establish whether his disk is a genuine copy. Reassure him that our technical team will arrive promptly to examine the disk. If it’s our responsibility, we will absolutely accept it — but if it isn’t, we’ll need to ask him to help us issue a public statement to that effect.”

Gu Qiao pulled most of the bills from her wallet and handed them to Xiao Tian: “Your operating budget for today.”

“This is more than I’ll need. I’ll cover it myself first and expense whatever I spend.”

Gu Qiao smiled: “Take it. Don’t be so considerate of your boss.” She gave Xiao Tian a pat on the shoulder: “Stay steady. Don’t panic. This is a hurdle we can clear.”

Once Xiao Tian had gone, the smile faded from Gu Qiao’s face. She braced herself against the corner of the desk, unsure why her legs had gone slightly weak beneath her. She found herself thinking of 1992 — the time when, right in the middle of her most triumphant period of earning, her money orders had been frozen.

—

At the hospital, Xiao Tian heard sighs emanating from the room even before she reached the door.

Mr. Zhang, seemingly always prepared to receive journalists during his hospital stay, had kept his son’s purchased game disk and the purchase receipt close at hand even while hospitalized.

Mr. Zhang’s son, young Zhang, was currently on winter break and staying at the hospital to look after his father. He had initially suspected his father of faking the illness, but now he was increasingly convinced that the old man had genuinely been struck down by rage and grief. At this rate, the lost 300,000 characters were growing ever more perfect in his father’s imagination — to the point where, at current trajectory, the old man might eventually conclude that it was buying that game software which had cost him a Nobel Prize.

—

Aside from the writer Mr. Zhang himself — the only person who had ever read those 300,000 characters — no one else could say with certainty that the vanished manuscript had no chance of becoming a masterpiece. No one could say for certain that the book couldn’t have brought him hundreds of thousands in royalties, even though the combined earnings from all of Mr. Zhang’s previously published works fell far short of that figure.

Young Zhang had come to utterly despise the software. In every future argument with his father, he would find himself at a permanent disadvantage. The manuscript, once it was published, might have led to any number of outcomes — but now that those 300,000 characters had vanished, in his father’s mind there was only one possible outcome: the book would certainly have been a bestseller, bringing him both fame and fortune.

And the reason he hadn’t achieved fame and fortune was because his son had gone and bought a video game, causing those 300,000 characters to disappear forever.

Contemplating his own less-than-optimistic future, young Zhang couldn’t help but heave a sigh.

What kind of life lay ahead for him?

When Xiao Tian knocked and entered with her fruit, she immediately sensed the oppressive atmosphere — and when she introduced herself and stated her purpose, the room grew even heavier. The mood made her feel as though Mr. Zhang was suffering from a terminal illness.

Following Gu Qiao’s instructions, Xiao Tian chose every word with care and courtesy, even as Mr. Zhang refused to give her so much as a pleasant expression.

Under Mr. Zhang’s withering glare, Xiao Tian examined everything from the packaging box and instruction manual to the disk itself, then back again.

“The receipt is right here — I bought it from your authorized store.”

After her lengthy examination, Xiao Tian delivered a careful but definitive conclusion: “This is a pirated copy.”

“Pirated?” Mr. Zhang’s sudden outburst made Xiao Tian flinch: “You’re telling me this is pirated?”

The flinch did nothing to shake her conclusion: “The disk is a burned copy, and the text on the instruction manual is blurry. The software you purchased is a pirated product.”

“Pirated?” Mr. Zhang sat bolt upright in his hospital bed, incensed: “Your advertisement clearly stated this was an authorized retailer. Are you telling me your authorized store was selling pirated copies? Whatever happened to ‘the customer is king’? This is how you deceive your king?! I bought this from a store explicitly advertising your official authorization — none of you are getting away with this! I’m not just going to take you to court. I’m going to write a full exposé, and the publications covering you won’t just be these few newspapers today.”

—