Chapter 3: Dressing the Master
The black car was a silent, electric sedan, windows tinted to a mirror finish. It slid to the curb exactly at 6:30, as Li Wei emerged from his apartment building. He’d followed the instruction: simple black trousers, a plain black crewneck sweater, sneakers. He felt invisible and hyper-visible at the same time, like a shadow moving in the wrong direction.
The driver, an older man with a cap, said nothing, merely nodded toward the open rear door. The interior smelled of leather and ozone. Li Wei watched his neighborhood—the steamed bun vendor, the old men already playing chess on the sidewalk—slide away, replaced by the gleaming canyon of the financial district. The car didn’t use the hotel’s main entrance. It dipped into an underground service bay, a concrete throat that swallowed them whole. A private elevator, activated by a keycard the driver handed him without a word, took him directly back to the Jade Pavilion’s foyer.
The suite was different in the morning. The golden glow was replaced by a cold, clear light from the wall of windows, exposing every detail. The empty champagne flutes from last night stood sentinel on the console. The silk robe was draped over the same chair. The bedroom door was closed.
Li Wei stood in the center of the living room, unsure. He checked his phone. No new messages. The silence was a physical thing, pressed flat by the hum of the city far below.
A sound came from the bedroom. A cough, then a low, sleep-roughened voice. “Li Wei?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Come in.”
He pushed the heavy door open. The bedroom was vast, dominated by a four-poster bed heaped with rumpled silk sheets. Mr. Zhao was propped against a mountain of pillows, bare-chested, the sheets pooled at his waist. He held a tablet in one hand, scrolling. He didn’t look up.
“Close the door.”
Li Wei did. The room smelled of sleep, of expensive cologne, of a faint, musky sweat.
“You’re punctual. Good.” Mr. Zhao set the tablet aside. He removed his glasses, rubbed the bridge of his nose. His hair was dishevelled, and without the sharp lines of his suit, he looked older, more solid. Real. “The bathroom. My toiletries are laid out. Run the shower. Not too hot.”
Li Wei moved to the en-suite bathroom, a marble cavern with a rainforest showerhead. On the counter, a row of minimalist black bottles stood like soldiers. He turned on the water, adjusted the temperature until it steamed just slightly. The sound filled the tiled space.
When he came out, Mr. Zhao was standing by the bed, stretching. He was completely naked. Li Wei’s gaze snapped away, fixing on a painting on the far wall—an abstract swirl of ink.
“The robe,” Mr. Zhao said.
Li Wei fetched it from the chair, holding it out by the shoulders. Mr. Zhao turned, slid his arms in slowly, and let Li Wei lift it onto him. The silk was shockingly smooth under his fingers. He tied the belt, his hands clumsy.
“Coffee’s in the kitchenette. Black. Bring it to me in the shower.”
The kitchenette was a hidden alcove. A top-of-the-line machine gurgled, a carafe already full. Li Wei poured, the rich, bitter smell cutting through the other scents. He carried the mug to the bathroom doorway. The glass shower door was fogged, a blurred shape moving behind it.
“Set it on the ledge. Then wait. I’ll need you to shave me.”
Li Wei’s stomach tightened. He placed the mug on the stone ledge. Through the misted glass, he saw a hand reach out, take it. He retreated to the bedroom, standing awkwardly by the made side of the bed. He could hear the water stop, the sigh of the shower door sliding open.
Minutes later, Mr. Zhao emerged, the robe clinging to his damp skin. He sat on a velvet stool before a large, well-lit mirror. A badger-hair brush, a ceramic bowl of shaving soap, a straight razor laid out on a linen towel.
“You know how to use this?” Mr. Zhao asked, his eyes meeting Li Wei’s in the mirror.
“No, sir.”
“You’ll learn. It’s about pressure. And trust.” He leaned back, tilting his chin up. His throat was exposed. “Lather.”
Li Wei’s hands were steady, he was surprised to see. He worked the brush into the soap, building a thick, citrus-scented lather. He applied it to Mr. Zhao’s jaw, his cheeks, his neck. The skin was warm, firm. The action was strangely intimate, his fingers spreading the white foam over another man’s face.
Mr. Zhao picked up the razor, its blade catching the light. He pressed the cool, heavy handle into Li Wei’s palm. “Hold it like a pen. Now. The sideburn first. A single stroke, downward. No hesitation.”
Li Wei’s heart hammered against his ribs. He positioned himself, his left hand tentatively holding Mr. Zhao’s temple to stretch the skin. The blade touched skin. He dragged it down a fraction of an inch. A clean path appeared in the foam.
“Good. Continue.”
It was a slow, silent ritual. Li Wei’s world narrowed to the path of the blade, the sound of its scrape, the exposed vulnerability of the man in the chair. He was intensely aware of Mr. Zhao’s eyes on him, watching his every micro-expression, every flicker of concentration or fear. When he got to the neck, his hand shook.
“Steady,” Mr. Zhao murmured, his voice a vibration under the blade. “The most dangerous part. Where the artery is. You have absolute control right now. Remember that.”
Li Wei finished, wiping the last traces of lather away with a hot towel. Mr. Zhao examined his reflection, running a hand over his smooth jaw. “Adequate. Now, the closet.”
The walk-in closet was a room itself, illuminated by soft LEDs. Three suits, five shirts, a selection of ties and shoes, all arranged with military precision. Mr. Zhao dropped his robe on the floor. He stood naked in the center of the room.
“The charcoal suit. The white shirt from the left. Not the one with the sheen.”
Li Wei fetched the items, his arms full of fine wool and Egyptian cotton. Mr. Zhao stepped into the trousers, buttoned them himself. Then he held out his arms for the shirt.
Li Wei helped him into it, the fabric whispering over his shoulders. Mr. Zhao stood very close, looking down at him as Li Wei started on the buttons, beginning at the waist. His fingers, which had been steady with the razor, fumbled now. The simple pearl buttons felt tiny, slippery.
“Take your time,” Mr. Zhao said, his voice low. He didn’t step back. Instead, he sat down on a low bench in the middle of the closet, his knees falling apart. Li Wei was now standing directly between them, forced to lean in to continue his task. The position was profoundly awkward, invasive. He could feel the heat from Mr. Zhao’s body, smell the clean, sharp scent of his shower.
Button by button, he worked his way up. His knuckles brushed against the bare skin of Mr. Zhao’s chest. He focused on the stitches in the shirt seams, the weave of the cloth, anything but the man’s direct, unblinking gaze.
“You did well with the razor,” Mr. Zhao said conversationally, as if they were not arranged like this. “Most people are afraid of causing harm. But harm is just a form of impact. All transactions have impact. The key is to be the one directing it.”
The last button, at the throat. Li Wei’s hands were trembling openly now. He smoothed the collar.
“Cufflinks.” Mr. Zhao held out his wrists. The links were simple platinum bars. Li Wei slid them through the holes, his fingertips brushing the pulse points on Mr. Zhao’s wrists. It felt like touching a quiet engine.
Mr. Zhao stood up suddenly, forcing Li Wei to stumble back a step. He selected a tie, looped it around his own neck, and stood before the full-length mirror. “Now this. You’ll learn.”
He tied it himself, a perfect, compact Windsor. He adjusted it, then turned to Li Wei. “My watch. From the safe. The code is 7190. The year I started my first company.”
Li Wei found the wall safe behind a panel, spun the mechanical dial. Inside, on a velvet tray, lay a watch with a complex, skeletonized face. It was heavy, cold. He brought it out. Mr. Zhao extended his hand.
As Li Wei fastened the clasp, Mr. Zhao spoke again. “You are wondering what the boundaries are. What I will ask for. What you will do.” He waited for the clasp to click. “The boundary is the transaction. You are here for access. For a tutorial. Today’s lesson is observation. You will accompany me. You will not speak unless spoken to. You will watch how the world bends for those who know how to ask. And how to take.”
He turned, a fully assembled monument of power, the vulnerable man from the shaving stool gone without a trace. He picked up a wallet, a phone, slipped them into his pockets.
“The car is downstairs. We have a breakfast meeting at eight. You will sit in the corner. You will eat what is put in front of you.” He finally looked at Li Wei, a long, assessing look. “You still taste the champagne, don’t you? That sour note at the back of your throat.”
Li Wei was startled into honesty. “Yes.”
“Good. That’s the taste of the deal. You’ll get used to it. Eventually, you’ll develop a preference for it.” He walked out of the closet, leaving Li Wei standing alone amid the empty hangers and the scent of wool and cologne. “Come. We’re late.”
Li Wei followed, the phantom weight of the straight razor still in his palm, the memory of the blade against a man’s throat as vivid as a scar. The tutorial had begun.