Steven Chen didn't look like Gene expected.
Most rich heirs Gene had encountered—and he'd met plenty back in Orange County—had that particular softness, like life had never demanded they develop sharp edges. They wore casual luxury, drove cars their parents bought, and talked about "disruption" while working jobs their family connections secured.
Steven Chen looked like he'd been forged in a different fire entirely.
Maybe thirty, lean as a marathon runner, with sharp cheekbones that made him look perpetually hungry. His suit was perfect but somehow functional—like armor you could actually move in. His eyes tracked everything. Every person passing the cafe window. Every tiny shift in Gene's body language.
"Gene Eu," Steven said, hand extended across the small table. His Mandarin was flawless, Beijing-accent crisp. "My father speaks highly of you, which happens so rarely that I needed to see for myself."
"Your father's being generous." Gene shook his hand—firm grip, quick release. "I'm just trying not to embarrass the people who've introduced me around."
"Mm." Steven's expression stayed neutral, but something flickered behind his eyes. Amusement? Assessment? "Irvine. Family in import-export, now semiconductors and rare earth elements. Three months in Taipei. Already connected with Lin Yue's circle, which is… actually impressive. Most Americans spend a year flailing before they figure out who matters."
Gene blinked. "You did your homework."
"I research everyone. Boring but necessary." Steven leaned back, somehow transforming the cafe's uncomfortable chair into a throne. "Let me ask you something direct, because I hate wasting time: what do you actually want?"
The bluntness caught Gene off guard for half a second. He decided to match it.
"I want to build something that lasts. Not a startup that crashes in three years. Not a quick exit that makes me rich and forgotten. I want to matter in twenty years."
"Why?"
"Because I don't want to die bored."
Steven laughed—a genuine bark of surprise. "Okay. That's better than the usual 'I'm passionate about creating value' nonsense. Know how many meetings I take where people feed me that line?"
"Four a week?"
"Try twelve." Steven signaled the waiter, ordered an Americano without glancing at the menu. "Here's my take on you: smart, ambitious, willing to spend ridiculous money on the right introductions, and uncomfortable enough with traditional paths that you left California to prove something. Close?"
"Uncomfortably accurate."
"Good. Because here's what I see: someone with resources, decent instincts, and absolutely zero understanding of what the actual game board looks like." Steven's coffee arrived. He didn't touch it. "You think you're trying to break into 'old money circles' like it's a country club with membership dues. That's not how any of this works."
"Then explain it to me."
"It's not about old versus new. It's about networks, information flow, and who can mobilize resources when regulations shift or markets panic. My father's generation built wealth through political connections and manufacturing. Mine? We're in this weird middle ground where traditional guanxi still matters, but so does tech, supply chains, and reading which way the wind's blowing between Beijing and Washington."
Gene leaned forward. "And I fit into that how?"
"You're American-Chinese. That's actually valuable." Steven finally sipped his coffee. "You understand American business culture but you're not a complete outsider here. You've got family money but not so much you're lazy. And—key point—you're hungry enough to actually work instead of coasting."
"So what are you proposing?"
"I'm launching a venture fund. Cross-strait investments, focused on supply chain resilience and rare earth processing. Boring stuff that prints money when geopolitics gets messy." Steven pulled out his phone, tapped something, showed Gene a document. "I need people who can bridge both worlds. You're ENTP, right?"
Gene stared. "How did you—"
"Lin Yue mentioned it. Also you have that very specific ENTP energy. Like you're running twelve mental scenarios simultaneously and enjoying the chaos." Steven smirked. "I'm INTJ. We either work brilliantly together or want to strangle each other. No middle ground."
"Great. Which is this?"
"Too soon to tell. But here's my offer: work with me for six months. Not as an employee—as a partner-track associate. You help me source deals, build relationships with American suppliers, figure out which Taiwanese manufacturers are worth betting on. I'll introduce you to everyone worth knowing in this city and teach you how the game actually works."
Gene's pulse kicked up. This was bigger than he'd imagined. Faster. "What's the catch?"
"Three. One: the hours are brutal. I work seventy-hour weeks minimum and expect the same. Two: I don't sugarcoat feedback. You mess up, I'll tell you. Waste my time, I'll cut you loose. Three: you actually need to be good at this. Connections get you through the door. After that, you have to deliver."
"And if I do?"
"Six months, we talk about junior partner status. You get equity in the fund, your name on deals, a real seat at tables where billion-dollar decisions happen." Steven's eyes were sharp, calculating. "But you have to earn every bit of it. Nobody's giving you anything."
Gene thought about his parents in Irvine. His comfortable apartment. The safe, predictable path—working for the family business, making solid money, living a perfectly acceptable life.
Then he thought about dying at seventy having never really tried.
"When do I start?"
Steven's smile was all teeth. "Tomorrow. 8 AM. Wear something you don't mind ruining—we're visiting a processing facility in Taoyuan. Smells awful. You'll love it."
-----
Gene left the cafe feeling like he'd signed his life away and won the lottery simultaneously.
His phone buzzed. Lin Yue.
*So? How'd it go?*
*I think I just agreed to work with a psychopath.*
*LOL he's not a psychopath. Just very… efficient. You'll learn tons. Or burn out spectacularly. Either way, entertaining for me.*
*Your support is overwhelming.*
*Anytime! FYI—Steven's ex will be at dinner Friday. They're still friends but it's awkward. Don't mention her pottery business.*
*Why would I mention anyone's pottery business?*
*Just trust me. Don't.*
Gene pocketed his phone and started walking home. The Taipei evening was thick with humidity and scooter exhaust, street vendors already setting up for the night market crowds.
Six months. Seventy-hour weeks. Partnership track at a fund focused on exactly the intersection he'd been studying for years.
This was either the smartest move he'd ever made or the most expensive mistake of his life.
Gene grinned.
Either way, definitely not boring.
-----
Friday came faster than Gene expected.
He'd spent the week shadowing Steven—visiting processing facilities, sitting in on investor calls, taking notes while Steven tore apart business models with surgical precision. The man was relentless, brilliant, and occasionally kind of terrifying.
Now Gene stood in yet another expensive restaurant—this one in Xinyi, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Taipei 101—trying not to look out of place.
"Stop fidgeting," Lin Yue murmured, appearing at his elbow in a black silk dress. "You look fine."
"I'm not fidgeting."
"You're doing that thing where you adjust your collar every thirty seconds. Stop."
Before Gene could respond, a woman's voice cut through the restaurant's ambient noise.
"Yue! You didn't tell me you were bringing fresh blood."
Gene turned.
The woman approaching was striking in a way that had nothing to do with conventional prettiness. Early thirties, hair in a messy bun held with what looked like an actual chopstick, wearing a vintage band t-shirt under a designer blazer that somehow made the combination work. Her eyes were sharp and assessing—like Steven's, actually.
"Mei," Lin Yue said warmly, kissing her cheeks. "Gene, this is Mei Zhang. Mei, Gene Eu—Steven's new partner-track associate."
"Ah." Mei's smile was wicked. "So you're the brave soul. How many days before Steven makes you cry?"
"I'm shooting for at least two weeks," Gene said.
Mei laughed—a real, unguarded sound. "I like him already. He's got jokes." She grabbed a glass of wine from a passing waiter. "Steven's not here yet?"
"Running late. Investor call ran long."
"Of course it did." Mei rolled her eyes affectionately. "That man treats punctuality like a suggestion unless money's involved."
They moved to their table—a private corner with a view that probably cost more than Gene's monthly rent. Mei sat across from him, studying him with unnerving directness.
"So, Gene from California. What made you think working with Steven Chen was a good life choice?"
"Temporary insanity?"
"Honest. I respect that." Mei swirled her wine. "Let me guess—you're ambitious, you're smart enough to be dangerous, and you're tired of playing it safe. Close?"
"Disturbingly close. What gave it away?"
"You're here. Nobody ends up in Steven's orbit by accident. We're all running from something or toward something. Usually both." Her smile softened slightly. "Fair warning: he's brilliant but he's also exhausting. Doesn't know when to stop working. Thinks sleep is optional. Will call you at 2 AM if he has an idea."
"Speaking from experience?"
"Three years' worth." Mei's tone was light but Gene caught something underneath—not bitterness exactly, but something complex. "We dated for two years, stayed friends for one, and now I make pottery and try not to laugh when he lectures me about 'wasting my MBA.'"
Ah. The ex-girlfriend. The pottery business Lin Yue warned him about.
"Pottery sounds cool," Gene said carefully.
"It is. Also deeply unprofitable and completely disconnected from the venture capital hellscape, which is exactly why I love it." Mei leaned forward. "Want some unsolicited advice?"
"Always."
"Steven respects competence and honesty. He'll push you harder than anyone else will, but if you can keep up, you'll learn more in six months than most people learn in five years. Just… don't lose yourself in the process. He's really good at making his priorities feel like the only priorities that matter."
Before Gene could respond, Steven materialized at the table, phone still in hand, looking exactly as intense as he had at seven that morning.
"Sorry. Shanghai call went long." He kissed Mei's cheek unselfconsciously, then dropped into his chair. "You corrupting my new associate already?"
"Absolutely. I'm telling him all your terrible habits."
"Good. Saves me the trouble of pretending I don't have any." Steven finally looked at Gene. "You surviving the week?"
"Barely."
"Perfect. That means we're moving at the right pace." Steven ordered without looking at the menu—apparently a habit—then turned back to Mei. "How's the studio?"
"Chaotic. Beautiful. Exactly how I like it." Mei's smile was genuine. "I'm doing a show next month if you want to pretend you care about art for an evening."
"I'll actually come this time."
"You said that last time."
"This time I mean it."
"Sure you do."
Gene watched the exchange with fascination. These two clearly cared about each other but operated on completely different wavelengths. Mei was relaxed, present, enjoying her wine. Steven was already checking his phone again, part of his attention somewhere else.
Lin Yue caught Gene's eye and mouthed: *See?*
The dinner progressed—amazing food, sharp conversation, wine that probably cost more per glass than Gene wanted to think about. Mei told stories about disastrous pottery kiln explosions. Steven dissected market trends. Lin Yue orchestrated the conversation like a conductor, making sure everyone got their moments.
And Gene… Gene watched and learned.
This was what success looked like at this level. Not just money—lots of people had money. But this particular combination of confidence, connections, and the ability to move between worlds without losing yourself.
Well, mostly without losing yourself.
Later, as they were leaving, Mei grabbed Gene's arm.
"Hey. Real talk for a second." Her voice was quieter now, serious. "Steven's one of the best people I know. Brilliant, loyal, genuinely wants the people around him to succeed. But he burns bright and he burns hot. Don't let him burn you out. Okay?"
"Okay."
"And take breaks. Actual breaks. Not 'working from a different location' breaks." She squeezed his arm. "You seem like a good guy. I'd hate to see Steven's work-life balance issues claim another victim."
Gene laughed. "Is that what happened to you two?"
"Among other things." Mei's smile was rueful. "Turns out 'let's build an empire together' sounds romantic until you realize one person wants to build an empire and the other person wants to make bowls and occasionally see daylight."
She let go of his arm and headed toward her scooter—of course she rode a scooter, probably a vintage one—leaving Gene standing on the sidewalk with too many thoughts.
Steven appeared beside him. "She warn you about me?"
"Thoroughly."
"Good. She's usually right about this stuff." Steven looked at his phone again. "You free Sunday?"
"I… guess?"
"Great. Flying to Singapore. There's a rare earth refining operation I want to look at. Bring a laptop and low expectations."
And just like that, Gene's weekend evaporated.
But as he caught a cab back to his apartment, watching Taipei blur past the windows, he realized something:
He didn't actually mind.
This was what he'd come for. The deep end. The real game.
He just hoped Mei was wrong about the burning out part.