Chapter 3 - He Was (Not) A Sentimental Man

'My father was, in one word, a tyrant. He ruled his business empire with an iron fist and even as he grew older and frailer, his grip did not slacken at all. If it changed at all, the older my father was, the more paranoid he became. Although this rather barbaric method of ruling is very questionable and some would even go as far as to call it dictatorial but it is also true that no one can deny the sky-high success which Zhao Hai Industries enjoyed since the first month of its existence up until right now. Go figure.'

The ceremony was, as expected going off of every single other affair honouring Zhao Bohai, extravagant to say the least. There were at least five hundred people in attendance and there was most certainly not that many people in the world who were even remotely upset to see him leave, in fact it would be more likely for them to all be ecstatic at the news of his death. The 13th-century chapel had been bedecked in white silk which was traditional at most Chinese funerals, there were two five-minute-long speeches one done in English by a vicar and then on in Chinese by some officiant dressed in loose white robes. The third was a speech which Yingyue had been asked to prepare by her father on his deathbed and as she stood up in her stained white trenchcoat and killer heels, she took a few deep breaths which seemed as loud as if someone had suddenly turned on a very loud air conditioning machine and as she limped quickly to the lectern without a clue as to what she would say, the clicking of her heels on the flagstones echoed around the silent chapel walls.

"My father was not a sentimental man," Yingyue started, palms sweating lightly as she clenched the wood of the lectern for support. "My father was also not an omnipresent parent like most others were and to say that he had his flaws would be an understatement. I know that many sitting would expect me to mask my feelings in order to save face however, I'm only saying what you are all thinking. A funeral is a service to commemorate the passing of a loved one, and I can tell you, the only thing that my father ever loved is not here, as it is represented now, by a building and needless to say, we cannot bring the Zhao Hai Industries headquarters into the chapel." At this, there were a few chuckles in the audience and more than a few uncomfortable aversion of eyes. Yingyue's eyes sought out Adrian Lee, the man who had unnerved her so much before, his face remained expressionless and when their eyes met, he raised an eyebrow as if to challenge her to keep going.

Yingyue took a deep breath, she may have resented her father but he was her father and that had to count for something. "Thank you, but that wasn't a joke."

Silence.

"My father, with his many faults and his ever-present business mind, was still my father, and as much as we may have had our conflicts in the past, he was in my young eyes, the man who ruled the world. I lost my mother at a young age and now my father has left me before I even hit my twenties. As cold and heartless he may have seemed to you, he always had my best interests at heart and tried to make me into something that I wasn't because this was the only way he knew how to protect me. You may all curse his name to the winds and wish the worst for him, and I know many of you are only here to see if you can worm your way into the will or something as equally ridiculous. I don't want this service, in the tarnished memory of my father to turn into some kind of Hunger-Games-esque cornucopia bloodbath. If my father taught me one thing it was that a little respect goes a long way. You don't have to like my father to respect him. I don't have many cute anecdotes to share or any flowery eloquent language but my father was not a sentimental man, he would not want you to cry a river for him, come to think of it most of you would struggle to shed a single tear. "

In the words of Robert Frost: "In three words I can sum up everything I've learned about life: it goes on."

There are some epiphanies that only come into the light after a tragedy and as Yingyue stepped away from the lectern and pulled the ornate hairpin holding up her updo out, letting her long, silky black hair swing forward like a curtain to cover her face. She took the stairs at the far side and looped around to her seat in the front pew, keeping her eyes down as her the vicar resumed his place at the lectern. A tear slipped out as she fidgeted and twisted, twisting her long fingers together. She wanted to cry, cry the river that her father would not have wanted her to, she wanted to scream and yell. The funeral had made her face the reality she had been deftly ignoring for the past week and a half, as much as she resented her father, hated him even at times, but he was still her father. The conflicting thoughts raged war inside her mind and the rest of the ceremony went by in a huge blur of noise and a flurry of movement, unnoticed.

Adrian watched quietly as the guests filed out of the chapel and he noticed the lone figure of Zhao Yingyue bent over sat in the front pew as if in mourning. He spent a few moments just staring at her, expecting her to move but she stayed, still as a statue with the exception of her shoulders moving slightly every couple of seconds.

Interesting. He turned on his heel and walk slowly out of the chapel back into the pouring rain outside, his mind working at high speed and the beginnings of a plan formulating in the back of it. The near future would be very interesting indeed.