"Hello, Jiang Hai, what are you up to?" Jiang Hai smiled at the familiar voice on the other end of the line. It belonged to Xu Wei, one of his closest friends from years ago—closer, in fact, than Qi Li and the others.
"I'm in South Korea, handling some business. What's up?" Jiang Hai asked. It had been over six months since he last saw Xu Wei. He had returned home during Chinese New Year, visited them briefly, and then stayed in the United States. It had been a while.
"Xiang Hua's wife is about to give birth, did you know?" Xu Wei asked.
"Oh, I heard. Is it really soon?" Jiang Hai replied. When he last visited China, Xiang Hua's wife had already confirmed her pregnancy. Thinking back, the due date must be approaching.
"Xiang Hua's too embarrassed to ask if you're coming back, so I'm calling instead," Xu Wei said, laughing. Indeed, this wasn't a wedding gift, and the etiquette of visiting for childbirth was more sensitive. If Xiang Hua called, it might feel like requesting a gift, which he wasn't comfortable with.
Jiang Hai wouldn't overdo it, anyway. He wasn't one to throw money around just for appearances. Whether it was giving 100,000 yuan for a wedding or hosting a banquet and receiving 500 yuan in return, he didn't care. He didn't need such superficial exchanges.
Friends' gifts were always equal. Whether rich or poor, everyone contributed the same. Each family needed to make a living; no one could rely on others. Jiang Hai had always been like this—never asking friends for money, even in tough times. That was human dignity to him: survive on your own terms and never impose.
Some might say, "If you're so principled, how can you remain good friends?" Jiang Hai would argue that precisely because they were good friends, clarity and boundaries were necessary.
For example, outings or entertainment didn't require accounting for wealth. But borrowing money was different. A friend lending money would inevitably burden their family. Parents or spouses might object, so why ask? Only in emergencies—like a family member needing urgent surgery—would Jiang Hai consider asking. Otherwise, he relied on himself.
"So, when are you coming back?" Jiang Hai asked after a moment's thought.
"About half a month?" Xu Wei replied uncertainly.
"That should work. I'll probably return to Ice City after my business in South Korea is done," Jiang Hai said with a smile. After a few more pleasantries, they hung up.
"Who was that?" Li Xihuai asked, smiling.
"Nothing. Whose turn is it?" Jiang Hai asked.
"Yours! I've already hit the green," Li Xihuai replied with a grin.
Last night, after the "meal" at the Korean-Canadian's house, Jiang Hai returned to the hotel. Cheryl Lee had informed him that Li Xihuai, on their behalf, invited him for a night out the next day, offering activities like golf, fishing, or horseback riding.
For the wealthy, recreation was simple: golf, fishing, horseback riding. Jiang Hai owned many horses, including a Shire, but sea trips made him seasick. Golf was unfamiliar, but he was willing to try.
Early this morning, Jiang Hai, Cheryl Lee, and Azarina set out in a car Li Xihuai had arranged to visit a golf course near Seoul. After some practice swings, Jiang Hai began a proper session.
Golf was harder than it looked. Controlling force, understanding different clubs—it was a lot to learn. With Li Xihuai's guidance, Jiang Hai gradually got the hang of it and bought a top-tier set of clubs to enjoy playing on his own.
While practicing, Xu Wei called. Jiang Hai answered and continued playing.
Originally, he planned to stay in South Korea three to five days before heading to the capital, partly to see Qi Li, who he hadn't visited in a while. Now that he was close, it would be uncomfortable not to visit. He also intended to check on Xiang Hua during the visit.
Everything else was in order. The farm's cattle had been sold, fish shipments were on track—no worries. His only concerns were twofold: the Indian treasure and the person connected to the dragon emblem. Once he had information on either, he would return to the United States.
Li Xihuai knew that further negotiation was unlikely but still wanted to cultivate a relationship before Jiang Hai left. If they established a connection, he'd have influence if needed. Jiang Hai's reputation and insight were impressive.
Meanwhile, South Korea's entertainment industry was shaken. The source? Girls' Generation. Photos of Lin Yun'er and Kim Taeyeon crying in front of the Shilla Hotel, then getting into a Rolls-Royce, went viral.
Although Jiang Hai's face wasn't clear, the images were shocking. Girls' Generation remained a national girl group, and seeing two of its most famous members in the same car with one man was sensational.
South Korea's main social networks—Saewo.com, Twitter, Facebook—buzzed with the news. Mainstream entertainment outlets also ran headlines.
Amidst the storm, the management company explained that the girls had been at the Shilla Hotel for a show appearance. Perhaps due to a disagreement, one had cried. A friend had driven them, so any gossip shouldn't have been so blatant.
The explanation calmed many fans. To the public, it seemed like hype. Few thought the girls had been coerced; they were successful and influential enough to handle such situations. Those who knew the truth remained silent.
Among those aware but silent was Lee Seung-gi. Two days ago, he saw the girls at the hotel and felt suspicious. He tried calling Lin Yun'er repeatedly but couldn't reach her. He went to her office and waited at her home, but she never appeared. Furious and frustrated, he had to maintain his professional obligations.
Today, he attended a gathering organized by the fourth-generation Li family of the Third Star. The event combined celebrity appearances, donations, and performances, designed to showcase a positive image. Reporters weren't present, but coverage in newspapers was guaranteed—a situation he couldn't miss.