Chapter 148 — The Misunderstood Unspoken Rule

"Send some men to open an account at a bank over in Africa. Best to forge an identity document and open it under General Karls's name—that way the Huang family won't get suspicious," Li Shu said. "That's step one. No problem with that, is there?"

"No problem, Father. Rest assured—that's a piece of cake," Li Tianyu agreed.

"Mm. Then look among your men for someone whose voice is similar to General Karls's. It doesn't matter much if it's not a close match—Huang Ce never had any dealings with General Karls anyway, and a voice relayed over a phone line getting distorted is perfectly normal. He won't get suspicious," Li Shu said. "When the time comes, I'll call you, and you just put on General Karls's tone and deal with me."

"All right, that's easy enough too. I'll go pick out the best candidate in a bit," Li Tianyu nodded and answered.

"Mm. But the content of the conversation we can't fix in advance, since Huang Ce will be right there—he may want to ask some questions, so you'll have to improvise. That shouldn't be a problem for someone of your intelligence, should it?" Li Shu said with a smile.

"Don't worry, Father, that's easy. It's what I do best," Li Tianyu assured him.

"All you have to do is this. It looks simple, but whatever you do, don't slip up. If you do, our whole plan falls apart," Li Shu warned.

"You needn't worry about that. I won't let you down," Li Tianyu said.

Li Shu grunted in acknowledgment and hung up with an easy mind. On his end, he still had to work out how he was going to break it to Huang Ce.

Old Buffon did not wait until the next morning. That very night, once he was back in his room, he called Mr. Luokelali, the city councilman and owner of the opera house.

"Hello? Who is this?" Luokelali rubbed his bleary eyes and glanced at the clock on his nightstand. It was past eleven at night—who would call at such an hour? His voice was not exactly friendly.

Small wonder. As one of the city's wealthy men, a member of high society, and a councilman besides, a certain arrogance came naturally to him.

"It's me. Old Buffon." Old Buffon announced himself.

"Old Buffon? Who—" Luokelali froze for an instant, then snapped fully awake. "Patriarch Buffon, is that you?"

"It is," Old Buffon said firmly.

"Ah—my apologies, Patriarch Buffon. I was still half asleep and was just now rather rude. I'm truly sorry." Luokelali's manner changed in an instant. And no wonder—never mind a mere councilman, even the city's mayor was deferential before Old Buffon, not daring the slightest neglect. With a single word from him, the mayor himself might lose his post.

Besides, the music group to which his own parent company belonged was still under the controlling hand of the Buffon family. If one really reckoned by seniority, he was nothing more than a minor underling in the other man's service.

"It's no matter." Old Buffon was in a hurry to do Yang Ce's bidding and would not fuss over such trifles. "There's something I need. The tickets for Miss Shuya's concert—you have them, don't you?"

"Ah?" Luokelali was taken aback. Why on earth would Patriarch Buffon want to attend a concert? Strange as it was, he still answered without pause: "Yes, of course, of course. However many tickets you want, I have them."

Though Shuya was not as wildly popular in Europe as in Asia, she still counted as a star of considerable fame, especially among the young, and her tickets sold like wildfire.

But if Patriarch Buffon wanted tickets, he could have as many as he pleased. Luokelali would gladly have canceled an entire concert's worth of sales and given them all to Old Buffon—even if the parent company came down on him for it, he was not afraid.

After all, even the chairman of the parent company's chairman was deferential in Old Buffon's presence.

"Good. Reserve four tickets for me, with good seats." Old Buffon said, "How much are they? I'll have someone in my family bring you the money."

"It's a gift from me to you—what money?" How would Luokelali dare take payment? Besides, it was only four tickets, hardly anything of consequence.

"Then I'll accept them." Old Buffon did not stand on ceremony; to his mind, there was no need to go back and forth over such small matters. "By the way, do you know which company is putting on Miss Shuya's concert?"

"The organizer is our theater group's parent company, Shengmei Music Group," Luokelali said. "But the specific arrangements are all handled by the local opera house. Is there something you need, Patriarch Buffon?"

"It's like this. I have a very important guest—a senior of mine, if you trace the connection. He is very fond of Miss Shuya. Do you think you could arrange for them to meet?" Old Buffon said.

"This—" Luokelali hesitated, deeply troubled. But he had clearly misunderstood Old Buffon's meaning.

"What, is there a problem?" Old Buffon asked. "Do I need to have a word with Shengmei Music Group?"

"That won't be necessary—" Luokelali had no choice but to speak honestly. "Patriarch Buffon, Miss Shuya is a guest we have invited; she is not a singer under our music group. There are matters on which we simply cannot dictate to her. And Miss Shuya's family is very distinguished as well—she was once invited by Miss Alice. If your friend were to—"

Hearing this, Old Buffon burst into laughter. "Luokelali, you've misunderstood. I only said to create an opportunity for them to meet—just a meeting, nothing more. No other demands. Whether he wins Miss Shuya's favor is entirely up to my friend himself."

"I see." Luokelali breathed a sigh of relief. He had thought Patriarch Buffon's friend meant to play some casting-couch game, which had put him in a tight spot—after all, she was not a singer of his own, and he had no way of making demands on her.

"Then I'm relieved. My apologies—I misunderstood just now. You know how it is in my position; all sorts of wealthy men come to me wanting to be introduced to young starlets," Luokelali said in apology.

"Heh, I understand." Old Buffon let it pass. "So there's no problem with this?"

"None at all. I can invite you and your friend to the celebration banquet—how does that sound?" Luokelali said.

"There will be too many people at the celebration banquet. See if there's a smaller reception—a welcome reception, something of that sort, with only a few people. That would be best," Old Buffon said.

"Very well, I'll make the arrangements," Luokelali said.

"Once you've arranged it, give me a call. My number is—this is my private line, so you can call it directly." Old Buffon gave Luokelali his private number.

Luokelali was suddenly thrilled. This was Patriarch Buffon's private number! To think how many people longed to possess it and could not—and now he had it. How could he not be overjoyed?

No matter what, he must see this matter through with all his heart. And Patriarch Buffon's request was not a tall order—merely attending a reception together, nothing earth-shattering.

Luokelali hung up and took out his work journal, jotting the matter down to study further tomorrow.

But no sooner had he hung up than the phone rang again. Luokelali assumed it was still Old Buffon, with something forgotten to be relayed, and hastily picked up with great deference: "Yes—is there something you need my help with?"

"Councilman Luokelali, you're performing rather well. I'm calling from my son's phone, and you were so courteous even to an unfamiliar number—one can tell you're a councilman close to the people." The voice of Mayor Markweide of the city came over the line.

"Good evening, Mayor Markweide." Luokelali was startled. What was this about tonight—why were all the great personages calling him? But he had not expected his inadvertently deferential tone to win the mayor's praise, which pleased him greatly.

"Yes, Councilman Luokelali. I hear your opera house is holding a concert soon, is that right?" Mayor Markweide said.