Gu Xuehan personally going to Xinsheng Biotech to communicate with the many dismissed employees was purely the result of an accident. Normally, for this kind of class-action case, the initial preliminary investigation and evidence-gathering would be delegated to Qi Xi or Gu Yan. Unfortunately, her capable team member had just gotten married and requested marital leave, leaving Gu Xuehan short-staffed for nearly the next half month, forced to handle a great many matters personally.

Xinsheng Biotech was a biopharmaceutical company under a branch of the Tan family conglomerate. After years of heavy investment, starting this year three of its targeted drugs had received approval and could go into production and hit the market. Though it hadn’t yet achieved full profitability, it had secured $100 million in Series E financing, and once this round closed, its market-estimated valuation would reach $1 billion.

By all rights, with Xinsheng’s momentum this strong, backed by a Tan family with money to burn, it should have had comprehensive legal compliance and counsel in place—commercial contract disputes should have been carefully avoided, let alone this kind of low-level labor dispute. Especially after conducting interviews, Gu Xuehan discovered these dismissals were riddled with irregularities.

Earlier this month, Xinsheng had dismissed a batch of veteran employees. The company claimed to have evidence that this group of veteran employees had been swiping each other’s badges to fraudulently claim overtime pay for years, and, citing the employee handbook’s written stipulation that such conduct constituted serious misconduct, carried out lawful unilateral termination.

And that’s exactly what Xinsheng did—firing more than a dozen core veteran employees at once, claiming that because they were guilty of serious misconduct, this was a unilateral dismissal by Xinsheng that carried no severance obligation.

These core veteran employees all had fairly high salaries, so the severance amounts at stake were correspondingly high, giving rise to the labor dispute.

Meanwhile, alongside dismissing these core veteran employees, Xinsheng had also entirely cut the new drug production lines these employees had been developing, leaving the operators and other associated staff on those lines out of work as well.

Because of this, the dismissed workers banded together into a rights-protection group and reached out to Gu Xuehan.

It was only once Gu Xuehan came to communicate with them directly that she discovered the story from the workers’ side painted a completely different picture—

“Counselor, we clocked in and worked normally—we never engaged in any badge-swiping to fraudulently claim overtime pay. The accusation of proxy card-swiping is a total frame-up. Because biopharma R&D involves a great deal of confidential information, a few years back the company, citing the need to prevent information leaks, required us to leave our badges at our desks after work, then pick them up ourselves from the front desk the next morning before entering the R&D lab.”

“That’s right, at first we thought it was reasonable, even convenient, since some colleagues were forgetful and often forgot their badges in the morning rush. We never imagined that collecting our badges was just a scheme to frame us, claiming we’d had someone swipe in for us to fraudulently claim overtime! The line item on our paystubs was actually a transportation subsidy—we’d asked finance about it before, and they said it was just recorded as overtime pay for bookkeeping convenience, since the amount was the same anyway. That seemed reasonable enough, so we didn’t think much of it…”

Several of the core veteran employees were senior figures in the biopharma field, and Gu Xuehan could somewhat understand why Xinsheng might want to be rid of them—cultivating biopharma talent like this wasn’t easy to begin with.

In answer to her question, the veteran employees explained indignantly: “It’s because we refused to pay kickbacks to Tan Weixiang. He required us to procure our biological reagents and materials from a designated affiliated company—the goods were poor quality but priced absurdly high, and that wasn’t even the worst of it. He also demanded we kick back a percentage from the procurement price directly to him.”

“A lot of colleagues eventually had no choice but to give in—they all had families to support, and besides, he shares the Tan surname. What could we do? What good would reporting him up the chain do? He’s practically royalty around here, covering the sky with one hand.”

Though Tan Weixiang belonged to the Tan family’s ruling line, he was a distant relative. In earlier years, he’d maintained a decent relationship with the family patriarch, and when the patriarch fell ill, he’d been appointed to manage Xinsheng in his stead.

Gu Xuehan was already aware of this, so hearing it now, she understood a little better why most employees had felt compelled to comply.

“Now there’s just a handful of us stubborn holdouts left, because we absolutely refused to agree to the designated procurement scheme and the kickbacks, so Tan Weixiang fabricated evidence of serious misconduct against us and had us fired.”

“That’s right—and along with our dismissal, they scrapped the new drug trials and production line too, claiming we’d been heading in the ‘wrong direction.’ Given enough time and funding, we’re fully capable of successfully developing the new drug we were working on!”

Just as Gu Xuehan was about to speak, a young man’s voice rang out in the group chat, casual and easygoing—

“So I heard the company just brought in a new executive, ranked above Tan Weixiang, who’ll be replacing him soon? Why hasn’t anyone tried reporting Tan Weixiang to him?”

Gu Xuehan followed the voice and found it belonged to a clean-cut, good-looking young man. Though dressed like a student, he seemed a bit older than that, and being quite tall, he stood out from the crowd like a crane among chickens.

The core employee who’d been complaining to Gu Xuehan about Tan Weixiang turned to him and shook his head helplessly. “Kid, you probably just got swept up and laid off along with the production line, right? You never had any contact with management, so you wouldn’t know—there’s nothing to be done. First off, this new executive is also a Tan. Do you even know who this parachuted-in boss is? He’s the youngest son of the family patriarch. But this so-called Young Master Tan only graduated a few years ago, and no one’s ever heard of him having any real management experience. He probably doesn’t even understand biopharma—likely just some spoiled rich kid. Honestly, to this day none of us really even know what he’s like.”

“Exactly, and besides, however you slice it, Tan Weixiang is practically his uncle. You think he’d offend a powerful relative like that for the sake of a dozen employees and you young folks?”

“And who even knows whether this Young Master Tan actually came here to manage things, or is just here to pad his résumé, find something to occupy himself, and coast along collecting dividends?”

…

This young man, with his slightly upturned eyes, looking nonchalant but at certain angles surprisingly earnest, seemed unconvinced: “But what if he really is different—what if he genuinely has a sense of justice, and despises that kind of kickback scheme Tan Weixiang runs?”

The core veteran employee shook his head. “You young people are so naive. Even if this Young Master Tan really is righteous at heart, with his level of experience, could he really outmaneuver an old fox like Tan Weixiang, who’s been at this for decades longer than him?”

He turned to Gu Xuehan. “Honestly, waiting around for this Young Master Tan is slower than just coming straight to Counselor Gu—her cases basically never lose!”

Perhaps buoyed by the compliment, the young man also turned to look at Gu Xuehan, his gaze rather unguarded, staring openly at her face—not particularly polite, but Gu Xuehan figured he was probably only a few years older than Gu Yan, and being an operator on a production line, his education and family background likely weren’t especially privileged either, so a certain roughness around the edges was to be expected. She wasn’t about to argue with a kid like that over it.

But she hadn’t expected him to say something quite this startling: “But she’s pretty young herself—why trust her over this Young Master Tan?”

Being called young usually pleased most women, but for Gu Xuehan it was the exact opposite—she despised people using her age as ammunition, questioning her professional competence because of it.

She nearly lost her temper, but ultimately reined it in and turned to the young man: “Please don’t lump me together with this Young Master Tan. If he genuinely had the ability and resolve to change the situation with Xinsheng being controlled by Tan Weixiang, at the very least he ought to show up in person to investigate this delicate layoff case himself.”

“And what’s your name?”

The young man paused for a moment, then answered, a flicker of arrogance at the corner of his expression: “I’m Wenxi.”

Before coming here, Gu Xuehan had already reviewed all the basic information for everyone involved in this case. She told him, “None of the employees involved is named Wenxi.”

At this, the crowd grew wary—could this be someone Tan Weixiang had planted to spy on their strategy?

But faced with everyone’s suspicion, Wenxi seemed entirely relaxed. He shrugged. “I really am involved—I’m here on my mother’s behalf. You can check her information; her name’s Zhu Xiangling, she’s the janitor on the production line that just got let go.”

At that, the crowd relaxed. “Oh, you’re Sister Zhu’s son? How’s Sister Zhu’s illness?”

Piecing it together, Gu Xuehan learned that this janitor was well-liked and warm-hearted, and many employees had grown close to her. But Zhu Xiangling’s husband had died young, and she herself had been diagnosed with stomach cancer six months ago, undergoing on-and-off treatment ever since. Now laid off as well, and with her family’s situation less than good, the fact that her son had come to represent her here today, rather than her coming herself, was probably because her condition simply didn’t allow it.

But…

But as Gu Xuehan looked Wenxi over, he really was dressed rather plainly—a well-washed but cheap white shirt, jeans a touch too short, as if left over from before he’d stopped growing, shoes that looked equally worn. Yet something about it still struck her as not quite adding up.

Maybe it was simply that Wenxi was too good-looking, giving the impression he’d never really been meant to wear these clothes in the first place. Given a poor family background, an early-deceased father, and a gravely ill mother, Gu Xuehan still couldn’t shake the sense that Wenxi carried himself like someone raised in considerable privilege.

But the truth was the exact opposite—Wenxi’s family really was struggling.

Because after Gu Xuehan finished individually interviewing and collecting information from every employee, a process that took three hours, Wenxi—who had long since finished his own interview—was still waiting outside the door.

He stood there quietly, his expression obedient, so much so that Gu Xuehan began to think the flash of arrogance she’d sensed earlier must have been her imagination.

As she walked past him, he caught her sleeve.

Gu Xuehan nearly frowned on instinct and pulled away—she disliked this kind of close contact, especially from strangers—but before she could reprimand him for overstepping, Wenxi’s voice came first—

“Sister.”

He looked up at her, obedient and rather pitiful. “Could—could you lend me some money?”

Once he’d said it, he immediately looked flustered and uneasy, his voice dropping, as if deeply ashamed. “I’m sorry, but my mother and I haven’t had a proper meal in days.”

Gu Xuehan wasn’t the type prone to overflowing sympathy, but Wenxi looked genuinely pitiable. Though older than Gu Yan, from their earlier interview she’d learned he was actually three years younger than herself. Because of his family’s circumstances he’d dropped out of college, had never landed a proper job since, and now had to care for a sick mother while scraping by on odd jobs—and here he was, tugging at her sleeve, looking near tears, calling her “sister.”

Since Gu Xuehan had a younger brother of her own, she felt a somewhat transferred sympathy toward him.

She sighed, resigned, and pulled out her phone. “Add me on WeChat and I’ll transfer it to you. Go home and take good care of your mother. Consider it a loan.”

“You can trust me—I’ll get justice for your mother.” Gu Xuehan looked at him. “Hold whatever expectations you like about this parachuted-in Young Master Tan, but you can rely on me.”

Understanding she meant she’d help win justice for his mother, Wenxi’s expression softened further, bashful and well-behaved. “Sister, thank you. You’re really kind. You’re the first person who’s willingly lent me money like this. Thank you for trusting me. Thank you, sister—you make me feel like there’s still more warmth and kindness in this world than not…”

Gu Xuehan hated sentimentality more than almost anything else. Seeing Wenxi about to launch into what looked like a lengthy, tearful speech of thanks, she cut him off at once, saying coolly: “I trust you’ll pay me back. As for your mother’s case, I’m confident we’ll win, so once we secure compensation, whether it’s this loan or my legal fees, I’ll deduct them from that. Don’t get carried away being touched by any of this—get real. There’s no such thing as genuine sentiment in this world.”

Wenxi said nothing. Gu Xuehan, expression blank, continued: “You’re an adult too. With your mother sick and your father gone, you should be shouldering responsibility for your own life, not standing here every day delivering some tearful speech worthy of a televised tribute. I’ll say this as someone who thinks of you a bit like a little brother—men shouldn’t be this sentimental. It’ll cost you, and it makes you unlovable.”

With that, she scanned his WeChat code, and once he’d accepted the request, transferred him five thousand yuan directly, then walked past him toward the parking lot, got in her car, and drove off.

She left so briskly that she had no way of knowing that after she was gone, Wenxi, having received the five thousand yuan, wore an expression that was rather complicated.

He made a call, and before long, a Rolls-Royce Phantom pulled up in the distance. Wenxi walked over calmly and climbed in.

The driver’s manner was utterly deferential: “Young Master Tan, where to?”

Once inside, Tan Wenxi’s expression turned cold, every trace of the earlier innocent, obedient, pitiful act gone, replaced by something arrogant, untamed, and ruthless. “Xinsheng. Find Tan Weixiang.”