"GENE! GENE WAKE UP!"
Someone shaking his shoulders. Hard. Violent.
Gene's eyes snapped open.
His mother stood over him, face red, mascara running down her cheeks. Behind her, his father, arms crossed, jaw tight.
"What—" Gene looked around. His bedroom. His actual bedroom. In Irvine. Posters on the wall from high school. His old desk. Textbooks from UC Irvine stacked in the corner.
"What the hell were you thinking?" His mother's voice cracked. "Thirty-six hours, Gene. Thirty-six hours you've been in this room. We couldn't wake you up. We almost called an ambulance."
Gene tried to sit up. His head felt like it was filled with concrete. "I was in Taipei. I had meetings. Steven and Mr. Chen and—"
"You've been in bed for a day and a half." His father's voice was ice. "Mumbling. Talking to people who weren't there. Your mother found you on the floor this morning. You want to explain that?"
Gene looked at his hands. They were shaking. When had they started shaking?
"The Singapore deal," he said slowly. "It collapsed. David Koh pulled out because of regulatory—"
"Gene." His mother grabbed his face, forced him to look at her. "You've never been to Singapore. You've never worked for anyone named Steven. You're a junior at UC Irvine studying business. You live here. With us."
The room tilted.
"That's not… I was there. Six months. I made connections, I went to that private club, Mr. Chen offered me—"
"You've been having fever dreams." His father sat on the edge of the bed. His anger faded into something worse. Fear. "We found you on the floor mumbling about documents and deals and people chasing you. Your temperature was 104. The doctor said it was some kind of stress-induced breakdown combined with the flu."
Gene looked around his room again. Slowly. Taking it in.
His high school debate trophy. Photo of him and his ex-girlfriend at prom. His UC Irvine acceptance letter framed on the wall.
No Taipei. No Steven. No six months of work.
Just… here. The same place he'd always been.
"But it felt so real," he whispered.
"I know, baby." His mother smoothed his hair back. "The doctor said that happens. Fever dreams can feel more real than actual memories. You were so sick. We were terrified."
Gene tried to remember. Going to bed. Feeling off. Then… nothing. Just Taipei. All of it. Steven's office, Lin Yue's parties, Mei's studio, Mr. Chen's private club, the Singapore trip, everything falling apart.
None of it real.
"How long have I been sick?"
"You came home Friday complaining of a headache. By Saturday morning you had a fever. Today's Monday." His father checked his watch. "Almost noon. You missed two days of classes."
Two days. Not six months.
Gene's phone buzzed on his nightstand. A text from his roommate: *Dude where are you? Professor Chen asking about you.*
Professor Chen. Not Mr. Chen. Just his business strategy professor.
"I need to get up," Gene said. "I have class at—"
"You're not going anywhere." His mother pushed him back down. "Doctor said bed rest for at least two more days. Your fever finally broke this morning. You're lucky you didn't end up in the hospital."
Gene lay back. Stared at his ceiling. The same ceiling he'd stared at for years.
But in his mind, he could still see Taipei. Could still feel the leather seats of Mr. Chen's car. Could taste the whiskey from that private club. Could hear Steven's voice telling him to distance himself.
Dreams. All dreams.
But they'd taught him something.
The game he'd been playing in his head—the circles, the connections, the hunger to climb—that was real. He'd just been playing it in the wrong arena. In the wrong way.
He picked up his phone. Scrolled through contacts. Found the email he'd received two weeks ago—the one he'd ignored because it seemed beneath him.
An invitation to a business networking event in Los Angeles. Hosted by some Chinese investment group. He'd deleted it thinking it was spam.
Gene opened his laptop. Found the email in trash. Read it again.
"Shanghai Investment Alliance - Los Angeles Chapter invites promising young entrepreneurs to an exclusive networking dinner. Limited seats available."
Shanghai.
The word hit him like electricity.
"Mom," he called out. "Can you bring me my laptop charger?"
"You need to rest."
"I will. I just need to check something first."
When she left, Gene researched the organization. The Shanghai Investment Alliance wasn't small-time. They had connections to major financial groups in China. Not the aristoc
racy exactly—nothing official or party-connected—but the other side. The families who'd built power outside the system. The ones who moved money through networks nobody talked about publicly.
The ones who played a different game entirely.
Gene's hands stopped shaking. His head cleared.
He'd just spent six months living an entire life inside his own fever dream. He'd learned the rules. Seen the patterns. Made the mistakes.
Now he knew exactly what to do.
Three weeks later, Gene stood outside a restaurant in Downtown LA, wearing his best suit, carrying nothing but confidence and the knowledge from a dream that had felt more real than his actual life.
The invitation said 7 PM. Gene arrived at 6:45. Early but not desperately early.
Inside, about thirty people milled around. Young, mostly Chinese, all dressed like they had something to prove. Gene scanned the room. Spotted the actual players immediately—three older men in the corner, watching everyone else like hawks watching mice.
Gene didn't approach them. Not yet.
Instead, he talked to the others. Learned their names. Asked about their businesses. Listened more than he spoke. All the things he'd learned in his dream.
Around 8 PM, one of the older men approached him.
"You're the Eu family son." Not a question. "Your father's in semiconductors."
"Import-export originally. Semiconductors came later." Gene kept his voice casual. "You're Mr. Zhang."
The man's eyebrows raised slightly. "You did your homework."
"Some. Not enough. That's why I'm here."
Mr. Zhang smiled. "Most kids your age either come here desperate to impress or too arrogant to listen. You're neither. Interesting."
"I'm hungry. That's different."
"Hungry how?"
Gene thought about his dream. About Mr. Chen's test. About Steven's warning. About all of it.
"Hungry enough to learn before I climb. Smart enough to know I don't know anything yet."
Mr. Zhang studied him for a long moment. "How's your Mandarin?"
"Native fluency. My parents made sure."
"And you're finishing school where?"
"UC Irvine. Business and economics. Graduate next year."
"Plans after?"
"That depends on who I meet tonight."
Mr. Zhang laughed. Actually laughed. "Your father know you're here?"
"No. He'd tell me to focus on school."
"Smart man, your father. You should listen to him."
"Maybe. But respectfully, Mr. Zhang, my father built something comfortable. I don't want comfortable."
"What do you want?"
Gene met his eyes. Remembered standing in that private club in his dream, surrounded by power he didn't understand yet.
"I want to learn how the real game works. Not the one they teach in business school. The other one."
Mr. Zhang pulled out his phone. Typed something. "Shanghai office is always looking for people who understand both cultures. American education, Chinese roots, hunger to prove themselves. You interested in spending a summer there?"
Gene's heart pounded. "Very."
"It's not glamorous. You'll be doing grunt work. Running errands. Sitting in meetings where nobody explains anything. You'll have no official title, no real authority, and you'll work eighty-hour weeks."
"When do I start?"
"You haven't graduated yet."
"I can take spring quarter off. Make it up later."
Mr. Zhang smiled. "I'll make some calls. Someone will contact you." He handed Gene a business card. Plain white, just a phone number. "Don't lose this. Don't share it. When they call, you answer immediately. Understand?"
"Yes sir."
After Mr. Zhang walked away, Gene stood there, card in his hand, feeling like his life had just split into before and after.
His phone buzzed. His father: *Where are you?*
Gene stepped outside to call him back.
"Ba. I'm in LA. At a networking event."
"On a school night? Gene—"
"I need to tell you something. I'm taking spring quarter off. Going to Shanghai."
Silence.
Then: "Shanghai. For what?"
"Business opportunity. Investment group. They're offering me an internship."
"You're six months from graduating and you want to throw that away for an internship?"
"I'm not throwing anything away. I'm taking a chance."
"With who? What group?"
Gene looked at the card in his hand. Just a phone number. No name. No company.
"People you'd tell me to stay away from."
His father's voice went quiet. Dangerous. "Gene. Listen to me very carefully. There are paths that look exciting when you're young. Shortcuts that seem smart. But they take you places you can't come back from."
"Or maybe they take you places you were always supposed to go."
"Your mother and I didn't leave China so you could go back and get swallowed by—"
"By what, Ba? By opportunity? By success?"
"By people who don't care about you. Who see hungry kids and use them up."
"Maybe. But I'd rather get used up trying than spend my whole life wondering what I could have been."
The line went quiet for a long time.
"When do you leave?" his father finally asked.
"April. After finals."
"Come home. We need to talk about this properly."
"There's nothing to talk about. I'm going."
"Then at least let me tell you what you're walking into. Because I've seen this before, Gene. The Shanghai networks, the investment groups, the people who operate in the spaces between legal and illegal. It's not what you think."
"Maybe I need to see it myself."
After he hung up, Gene stood in the parking lot, looking at the LA skyline. Cars rushing past on the freeway. Normal people living normal lives.
He'd spent six months in a fever dream learning how to play a game that didn't exist.
Now he was about to play it for real.
His phone buzzed. Unknown number: *Mr. Zhang passed along your contact. Shanghai expecting you April 15th. Ticket information coming separately. Bring nothing but ambition and closed mouth. Questions make you liability. Silence makes you asset. Understood?*
Gene typed back: *Understood.*
Welcome to the real climb.
-----
April 15th, Gene landed in Shanghai at 11 PM local time.
A driver met him at baggage claim. Didn't introduce himself. Just grabbed Gene's single suitcase and walked toward the exit.
They drove for forty minutes in silence. Not to a hotel. To an apartment building in Pudong, expensive but not flashy.
"Fifth floor. 503. Key under mat. Phone rings tomorrow morning. You answer. Questions?"
"No."
"Good."
The driver left.
Gene stood in the empty apartment. Modern furniture. Clean but impersonal. A place designed for temporary people.
He unpacked. Tried to sleep. Couldn't. His mind kept running through everything he'd learned in his dream. Steven's lessons. Mr. Chen's tests. The way power actually moved.
At 6 AM, the phone rang.
"Wei speaking. You slept?"
"Some."
"Lie. But acceptable lie. Car downstairs in fifteen minutes. Wear dark suit. No questions today. Just observe."
Click.
Gene dressed fast. Went downstairs. Different driver, same silence.
They drove to an office building. Glass and steel, modern, anonymous. Inside, thirty people worked in open floor plan. Nobody looked up when Gene entered.
A woman approached. Maybe thirty-five, perfect suit, calculating eyes.
"Gene Eu. Americans always so punctual. Follow."
She led him to a desk in the corner. No nameplate. Just a laptop and a phone.
"You know what we do here?"
"No."
"Good. Keep it that way. Your job is simple. Watch meetings through that laptop. Take notes. Say nothing. Every evening, email summary to this address." She handed him a card. "Not what people said. What they didn't say. The gaps. The tensions. The things nobody wants to admit out loud."
"You want me to analyze subtext."
"I want you to see patterns. Americans think business is about contracts and numbers. Chinese business is about face and relationships and things never written down. You see those things, you become useful. You don't, you go home."
She walked away.
Gene sat down. Opened the laptop. A video conference was already running. Four men in different locations arguing about something in rapid Mandarin. Financial terms Gene barely understood mixed with references to people, families, territories.
Not territories like geography. Territories like… gang influence.
Gene started taking notes.
By day three, he understood. This wasn't a normal investment group. This was a network. Families who'd built power outside official channels. Money that moved through businesses that existed and businesses that didn't. Investments that were really protection payments. Partnerships that were really truces.
Shanghai's shadow economy. The game beneath the game.
By week two, Gene sat in actual meetings. Silent in the corner. Just watching. Older men making deals that sounded legitimate but carried weight Gene was starting to recognize. The pauses that meant threats. The compliments that were actually warnings. The gifts that were actually tests.
All the things he'd dreamed about in Taipei, but real this time. Bigger. Dangerous in ways his fever dream hadn't prepared him for.
One night, Wei called him.
"You're learning fast."
"Thank you."
"Not compliment. Observation. Fast learners either become valuable or become problems. Which are you?"
"Valuable."
"Prove it. Tomorrow, meeting with Zhao family representatives. Old Shanghai money, new Shanghai territory disputes. Your job: tell me afterward who's actually in charge. Not who talks the most. Who actually decides."
The next day, Gene watched five people negotiate for two hours. Took notes. Watched body language. Saw who spoke first, who spoke last, who others looked at before answering questions.
That night, he sent his analysis: *Elder brother talks but defers to sister-in-law through eye contact before decisions. Real power is wife, operating through traditional structure while holding actual control. Brother knows. Others pretend not to.*
Wei called five minutes later.
"You just earned your first real assignment. Zhao family interested in American tech investments. You become their liaison. Help them understand Silicon Valley opportunities without getting exposed to regulatory problems. Both American and Chinese regulations."
"That's a minefield."
"Yes. Navigate it well, you stay. Navigate it poorly, you disappear. Not metaphorically."
Gene's hands started shaking again. Just like in his dream.
But this time, he was awake.
"I understand."
"No. You don't. But you will."
The real game had begun.