138: Chapter 138 A Letter from Across the Ocean

Zhang Jing had wondered countless times what would have happened if he hadn't met Mr. Samuel Finch-Harper on that rainy night.

Perhaps he would have fallen ill from the rain and died in some unknown corner; if he were lucky, the authorities might have buried him, leaving him with a nameless tombstone.

Perhaps he would have been deported, returned to that small mountain village, or traveled south for work, living out a mundane life.

Zhang Jing had imagined many scenarios, but not once had he envisioned himself standing in the upper echelons of society as brilliantly as he did now.

Samuel Finch-Harper was undoubtedly the person who had saved his life; he was a ray of light during the darkest moment of Zhang Jing's existence.

Su Ye produced a kraft paper envelope from behind him, which had come from across the ocean, and gently placed it on the dining table in front of Zhang Jing. The earthy yellow envelope stood out starkly against the pristine silk tablecloth, bearing a wax seal that looked ancient and weathered.

This letter was an unexpected windfall for Su Ye. Although he had paid a price of three hundred thousand pounds for it, he did not feel it was unworthy in the least.

Seeing the envelope before him, Zhang Jing recognized the wax seal all too well—it was the crest of the Finch-Harper family. With trembling hands, he picked up the envelope and gently opened it. Inside was a white sheet of paper densely covered in English, the handwriting revealing the author's profound skill.

"This was written by Baron Samuel Finch-Harper seven years ago. I imagine he hadn't completely lost consciousness back then, but the people of the Finch-Harper family clearly didn't give it to you."

Zhang Jing did not reply to Su Ye but instead began to read the contents of the letter seriously, word by word, his gaze seemingly piercing through the paper.

"My dear child: The rain outside the window is drumming against the glass right now, just like the rain on Oxford Street when you were eighteen. So, I know I must write these words down now—I fear that when the fog rolls in again, I won't remember how to tell you the thoughts I most want to share.

I was just sorting through old things and came across the photo taken when you wore your Savile Row suit for the first time. You were standing by the attic window, your bowtie a little crooked, yet you smiled brightly at the camera. But what about now? I heard from the old butler that you spend your days clutching thick administrative reports, working late into the night in a cubicle, while the white papers you meticulously crafted are tossed into the bottom drawer by Thomas, and you haven't even had the chance to step into the small conference room. Every time I think of this, these hands of mine, which have held pens and signed countless contracts for a lifetime, cannot help but tremble.

Child, don't waste any more time. The eaves of Guangyao International Group can no longer accommodate your wings. Thomas fears you and guards against you, not because you aren't good enough, but precisely because you are too good—you understand the gentleness of the East and the elegance of the West. You can transform 'headhunting services' from a rigid process into a warm bridge of culture; these are things he will never learn. Yet, he insists on locking your talent away in the trifles of the administrative department and trampling your dreams under the foot of profit. Such a place is not where you should stay.

I know you cherish the old bonds and my expectations of you, which is why you haven't left even after suffering grievances. But have you forgotten? When I took you in back then, it wasn't to let you waste your years in a stifling place; it was to let you grow into an eagle that could soar. Do you remember how you looked when you said you wanted to make Guangyao Headhunting number one in Daxia? There was light in your eyes, and even your tone carried warmth when you spoke of the details. That is what you should be doing, not sighing here over proposals that never get approved, bowing your head to those who deliberately make things difficult for you.

True 'protection' is not guarding a place that has already lost its essence; it is taking your original intention and venturing further afield. You can go to Shanghai, to The Capital, to any city you wish, to realize your life's value.

As for the group's shares and the old directors, do not take them to heart. The spirit of Finch-Harper was never retained through a stock certificate; it is passed down by people like you who have 'protection and understanding' engraved in their bones. Even if you leave, this spirit will go with you and will grow more flourishing in your new world. If Thomas wants to guard his interests, let him; but you are different. Your world is not in this old mansion, nor in this small group, but in a much broader world.

I left this letter on the attic desk you used to live at. You haven't changed that desk in all these years; I know you are sentimental. But being sentimental doesn't mean you should trap yourself. When you see this letter, pack your things. Before you leave, remember to brew a cup of Darjeeling tea, just like we did in the living room the first time, drink slowly, and think slowly—think of the courage you had at eighteen, and then turn around and forge your own path.

Don't worry about me. Even if I can't remember many things, I will remember that my child has gone to a further place and done more remarkable things. I will be here in the old Kensington mansion, waiting to hear the good news you send from all over the world, becoming a light that illuminates more people. Always proud of you, Samuel Finch-Harper. At the living room of the old Kensington mansion, Autumn, 20XX."

"Drip, drip." Tears soaked the white paper. Zhang Jing, flustered and helpless like a child, tried to pull out a tissue to dab away the water stains on the paper. He knew this might be the last conversation he would ever have with that old man.

Su Ye handed him a tissue at the right moment. Zhang Jing took it and said, "Thank you."

After Zhang Jing calmed his emotions, Su Ye said, "Before, you lived for Guangyao International and for the Finch-Harper family. Perhaps now, you can live for yourself. I will give you sufficient platform and trust to allow you to display your talent and ambitions."

Zhang Jing's heart was filled with a thousand thoughts; he felt a tinge of reluctance, yet also a sense of relief. He had given the best ten years of his life to the Finch-Harper family business; perhaps it was time for it to end.

Zhang Jing had always known what Thomas Finch-Harper feared. Although Mr. Samuel Finch-Harper possessed vast wealth, his relationship with his children was not harmonious; otherwise, Zhang Jing would not have gone years in London without seeing them even once.

Perhaps Mr. Samuel Finch-Harper had simply regarded himself as a burden to his family, and the reason the Finch-Harper family had been so eager to take the old man back after he fell ill was also out of fear that Samuel Finch-Harper might do something that they would regret deeply.

For instance, drawing up a will to transfer his assets to Zhang Jing; such precedents were not unheard of.

Su Ye extended his right hand toward Zhang Jing: "Come, do not bury your talent any longer. Join me."

Zhang Jing looked up at Su Ye, stood up, adjusted his attire, and then extended his right hand to grip Su Ye's hand tightly. "It is an honor to serve you, Boss!"