The morning after the gala, the city's newspapers didn't carry his name.
They carried his image.
On the second page of the Shanghai Daily, beneath a headline about new economic policies, there was a photo of Table 5. Four figures centered: Han Yuchen and Su Yanli side by side, polished and poised; Professor Qin Ruo, brooch glinting like a small sun; and Lin Ze, salt crystals clinging to his lapel like diamonds. The caption was simple: "Old Money Meets New Faces."
On the entertainment blogs, the headline was different: "Who is the mystery man at Su Yanli's side?" followed by speculation about his identity, his relationship to her, whether he was a paid escort or a prodigy. The comments were a mixture of admiration, jealousy, and amusement. Someone had created a meme of him sprinkling salt on his suit with the text: "When life gives you lemons, grab the salt."
On an anonymous forum, the tone shifted darker: "Scholarship fund? More like publicity stunt. Rich kid pretends to help poor students while soaking up attention. Wake up, sheeple!"
That comment had thousands of likes.
He scrolled through it all with a detached curiosity that was part survival, part self-preservation. He had known there would be backlash. He had just underestimated how quickly and how personally it would come.
His phone buzzed incessantly. Some messages were congratulatory. Others demanding. A few were from donors asking if their names would appear in the paper. One was from his mother: "You looked so handsome. I showed your aunt. She says she wants to meet this Professor Qin. Also, why were you sprinkling salt on yourself? Is that a new trend?"
He responded: "Wine spill. Salt trick. I'll explain later."
There were also messages from unknown numbers with links. He did not click them. He was learning.
At nine, he met Su Yanli in her office. She was dressed in a charcoal suit, hair pulled back, reading a tablet. The look on her face was equal parts amused and annoyed.
"Do you see this?" she asked, sliding the tablet toward him. The headline read: "Trust Fund Baby or Guardian Angel? Netizens Ask the Real Question."
"Which one am I?" he asked, reading the article. It quoted anonymous "insiders" who claimed he was leveraging the scholarship for personal fame. It hinted at nepotism. It questioned why someone so young was given so much money to manage.
"The comments are worse," she said, scrolling. He skimmed. Some defended him. Many did not. He saw his own face next to words like "pretend philanthropist" and "charity whore."
"Welcome to fame," she said dryly.
"We knew this might happen," he said. "How do you want to respond?"
"We don't," she said.
He looked up. "Ignore it?" he asked.
"Exactly," she said. "Engaging with gossip legitimizes it. If we issue a statement, we elevate a baseless claim to the level of news. Better to let it burn out."
"It could influence donors," he said. "They might think there's truth."
"Then they're not the donors we want," she replied. "Anyone who believes an anonymous forum over audited reports is not our partner."
He leaned back. "And the students? They might worry."
"Then you tell them the truth," she said. "Not the internet. Not the press. Them. Personally, if necessary."
He nodded slowly. "And Han?" he asked. "He likes to control narratives. He won't like this."
"He'll call," she said. "He'll offer to buy the blog. Or sue the commenters. Or bury the story with bigger news. We'll decline. This is a test. For him. For you. For us."
On cue, her phone buzzed. She glanced at it and smiled faintly. "Han," she said. "Do you want to listen?"
"No," he said. "I already know his lines."
She answered anyway, putting the call on speaker. "Yuchen," she said.
"I assume you've seen it," he said, voice smooth. "This… smear."
"I have," she replied.
"And?" he asked.
"And nothing," she said. "We're not responding."
There was a pause. "Yanli," he said, his tone dropping, "this affects me."
"Then let it," she said. "Your image can take it. It's pristine. Mine is not. Lin's is not. This is not your battle."
"You think if you ignore it, it goes away?" he asked.
"I know if we amplify it, we lose control," she said. "Trust me."
Another pause. Then a sigh. "Fine," he said. "But if it escalates, we handle it my way."
"Noted," she said. "Anything else?"
"Dinner," he said. "Next week. My mother insists."
"I'll check my calendar," she said, glancing at Lin Ze. He kept his face blank.
"Do that," Han said. "And please tell Mr. Lin I hope he's not discouraged by a few trolls."
"He's listening," she said.
"Ah," Han replied. "Mr. Lin, remember: the internet is an echo chamber. It echoes the loudest voice. Make sure yours stays measured."
"Thank you," Lin Ze said.
The call ended. Su Yanli put her phone down. "He's annoyed," she said. "That's good."
"Because annoyed people make mistakes?" Lin Ze asked.
"Because annoyed people show their hand," she corrected.
They spent the next hour reviewing scholarship applications. Real work. Real people. It grounded him. He read essays about parents who sold apples by the roadside, about siblings sharing one textbook, about a girl who wanted to be a doctor because she saw too many doctors treat her community with contempt.
"These," he said, placing a hand on the stack, "are why I won't let an online smear derail me."
"Good," she said.
Lin Meiqi's reaction to the smear was the opposite of Su Yanli's.
She called him while he was grabbing coffee. "We need to clap back," she said.
"No," he said.
"Yes," she insisted. "We need to take their narrative and twist it. They're saying you're fake? Let's show them how real you are."
"I just went live yesterday," he said. "It's not about me."
"It is," she countered. "They make it about you. So we steer it. Let's do a behind-the-scenes of you reviewing scholarship apps. No faces, no names. Just your hand, the essays, the process. Show how transparent you are. Make it aesthetic. People love process videos."
"Or it looks like damage control," he said.
"Or it looks like truth," she argued. "And if we're creative, they won't know it's a response. It will just be content. We can caption it: 'Saturdays are for changing lives.' Or something less cheesy."
He chuckled. "You're relentless," he said.
"Relentless is my brand," she said. "Also, the negative posts? I dug into the IP addresses. One of them is a bot farm. Someone's paying for this."
His spine straightened. "What?"
"Yeah," she said. "I have friends in cyber. They owe me favors. They traced a bunch of accounts to a marketing company in Shenzhen. Guess who's one of their clients?"
"Tell me," he said.
"Han Logistics," she said. "And a few other big names. But his mother's foundation is on the list."
"Could be coincidence," he said.
"Could be," she echoed. "Or not. Either way, you need to protect the narrative. So. Video?"
He looked at the essays in his bag. He thought of anonymity. "Let me think," he said. "No faces. No names. Just hands, salt, and ink."
"And maybe a voiceover," she said. "Yours. Tell them why you care. Make the trolls irrelevant."
"I'll send you a draft," he said.
"Yay!" she exclaimed. "Also, wear a nice watch. Don't look too humble. It's weird."
"You're impossible," he said.
"Adaptable," she corrected. "Bye!"
At noon, he received an email from an unfamiliar address: [email protected]. He frowned. The trust never emailed him. They called or met. He opened it.
Subject: URGENT: Compliance Review
Dear Mr. Lin,
In light of recent media coverage, we have scheduled an urgent compliance review of all transactions associated with the Harbor Private Trust. Your presence is requested at Harbor Tower, Conference Room 17C, on Tuesday at 10:00 AM. Please bring all relevant documents.
Regards, E. Liu Compliance Officer, Harbor Private Trust
He read it twice. He glanced at the calendar. Tuesday. Two days away. He wondered if it was legitimate or a trap. He replied, copying Su Yanli and Zhang Yu, the legal liaison.
Please confirm legitimacy of this meeting. I was not previously informed of any compliance review. – L.Z.
Zhang Yu responded within minutes.
Mr. Lin – this is legitimate. The Board is concerned about reputational risk. We will accompany you. Prepare a full summary of scholarships disbursed, funds allocated, and pending transactions. – Z.Y.
Reputational risk. The smear had done more than annoy. It had triggered the Board. He felt a flare of anger. They trusted him with billions but flinched at blog comments? Or perhaps this was an opportunity for some Board members to reassert control.
He forwarded the email to Professor Qin Ruo with one sentence: "Any advice?"
Her reply: "Facts. Bring them. And remember: some people hold compliance reviews to find errors. Others hold them to find excuses. Identify which you're dealing with."
He exhaled. He needed to gather papers.
At three, he stood in front of a classroom filled with students. Not by necessity. By invitation. Professor Qin had asked him to speak to her third-year ethics class about the intersection of money and morality. He had hesitated. He felt like he was still forming his own ethical code. But he agreed.
The room hummed with youthful energy. Laptops. Coffee cups. Whispered jokes. When he stepped to the front, the murmurs died down. He glanced at Qin. She nodded.
"My name is Lin Ze," he began. "Some of you know me because your scholarships come from the Harbor Trust. Some of you don't know me and only see a headline. Either way, I'm here to talk about money."
He told them about his mother's bills. About the text message that had changed his life. About contracts with weight. He spoke about salt stains and internet smears and donors who asked if he could help their grandsons. He asked them questions. "Would you take money if you knew it came with strings?" "Would you refuse money if it could change your life but would tie you to someone you don't trust?" He watched them think. He watched their faces shift.
One student raised her hand. "How do you stay ethical when everyone around you plays games?" she asked.
"You define your line," he said. "Then you enforce it. People will try to push you. They will dangle things you want on the other side of that line. You decide whether crossing is worth it. Sometimes you will cross. Sometimes you will regret it. Be honest about both."
Another asked, "What do you do when people attack you unfairly?"
"You breathe," he said. "You consult those you trust. You consider whether responding gives the attack power. Then you either let it go, respond strategically, or use it as a lesson. There is no one answer."
After the class, Qin Ruo walked with him down the hall. "You were honest," she said.
"I tried," he replied.
"Students appreciate that," she said. "They're used to being fed answers. They like questions."
He laughed softly. "They asked hard ones."
"They live in a hard world," she said. "Hard questions are preparation."
As they reached the exit, she added, "About the compliance review. Don't be defensive. They will try to rattle you. They want to see if you crumble."
"I won't," he said.
"Good," she said.
That evening, his home was quiet. He sat at his table with the scholarship files. He opened a new document. He began to write a summary of every transaction, every disbursement, every meeting. Facts. Dates. Names. He found comfort in the precision of numbers. They did not lie. They did not gossip.
His phone lit up with a new email notification. Another unfamiliar address: [email protected]. He opened it.
Subject: URGENT: Scholarship Fund in Danger
Lin Ze,
I know you don't trust anonymous emails, but you need to read this. The Harbor Trust board is planning to freeze your access. They will claim it's about compliance. It's not. They're being pressured by an outside party who wants you gone. Meet me tomorrow at 8 PM at the Riverside Cafe. Tell no one.
– A Friend
He stared at the screen. His pulse quickened. Was this a trap? A test? Was it someone trying to spook him? Or someone genuinely trying to help?
He forwarded it to himself, then deleted the original. He'd decide later whether to go. He would not tell Su Yanli yet. He needed more information.
His phone buzzed again. Another message. This time from Han Yuchen.
: "Tea?" : "Tomorrow?" : "We have more to discuss."
Round two.
He laughed quietly. "They never stop," he whispered to the salt jar on his counter.