Chapter 77: The Jiangnan Society

The attendant standing nearby gave a thumbs-up, clearly impressed. "You're a connoisseur!" he exclaimed, then hurried out to the kitchen to remind the staff to pay extra attention to the dishes. As each plate arrived, it was evident that the old establishment still possessed its depth of tradition. Johnson was quite satisfied, especially with the Dragon Well Shrimp—refreshingly crisp, with a distinct flair.

When the West Lake Vinegar Fish was served, Johnson picked up a piece, frowned, and asked the attendant, “Is Chef Chen Wenzhong still in charge these days?”

“Chef Chen retired last year,” the attendant replied. “His apprentice, Chef Liu, is now at the helm.”

Johnson shook his head and fell silent. Only after the attendant left did he lament, “My own master once told me that Chef Chen was nicknamed ‘Old Man’ within the culinary circle. He never won any grand awards or received any prestigious titles. All his life, he focused on one thing—making West Lake Vinegar Fish.”

“A single serving takes no more than ten minutes. You pull a grass carp, fattened in West Lake, from the water, kill, clean, and slice it—all while the flesh still quivers. Boil water, place the fresh fish in, blanch for three to five minutes, then plate it. Next, prepare the sweet-and-sour sauce—the ratio of sugar to vinegar is one to two, mixed for about three minutes, then poured evenly over the fish.”

“Though the steps are brief, mastering them demands endless practice. The fish must weigh about one pound six ounces, while the vinegar and soy sauce must come from local suppliers. Yet every batch tastes slightly different, requiring experience to perfect.”

“Chef Chen spent five years practicing this dish before he truly understood its nuances,” Johnson said, laying down his chopsticks and rinsing his mouth with water. With a sigh, he added, “Louwailou has six kitchens. Chef Chen used to oversee the East Hall. Order West Lake Vinegar Fish here, and you’d always get his touch. But now, alas…”

Johnson felt a pang of regret. Retirement was inevitable. To cook West Lake Vinegar Fish all his life, averaging a hundred fish a day—subtracting days off, that’s about thirty-six thousand fish a year. Over thirty years, he must have prepared over a million fish. If he jumped into West Lake, the fish would probably rise up to avenge themselves!

The group burst into laughter. Qianqian, happily devouring rice, polished off two bowls before sneaking a satisfied burp. Watching Johnson shake his head and sigh, she muttered, “Is there really such a difference?”

All in all, the meal lived up to the century-old reputation. Once everyone had eaten their fill, they got back in the car. Qianqian asked, “Where would you like to go this afternoon?”

Johnson patted his belly and replied casually, “Let’s skip West Lake. I heard Jack Ma has a club called Jiangnan Society?”

Qianqian was momentarily surprised—after all, Johnson was wealthy himself. Did he know Alibaba’s founder personally?

“It’s near the Xiling Seal Society,” she explained. “Originally, it was an ancestral hall—later transformed into a private club. Jack Ma, being accustomed to building platforms and creating value, joined forces with Guo Guangchang from Fosun, Ding Lei from NetEase, Shen Guojun from Intime, Lu Weiding from Wanxiang Group, Chen Tianqiao from Shanda, and other tycoons. Eight in all, they opened Jiangnan Society to the public, calling themselves the Eight Knights.”

Johnson chuckled. Rumor had it that Alibaba’s internal team was known as the Eighteen Arhats—the backbone of the company. Now there were Eight Knights. Clearly, someone loved martial arts lore.

It couldn't be helped; life was all about circles, and no one could escape theirs. Jiangnan Society wasn’t the only group; there were three other major interest alliances in the country, collectively dubbed the Four Great Clubs.

Taishan Society, Jiangnan Society, Huaxia Alumni Association, and the Overseas Alumni Business Association. Each was a gathering of tycoons, and joining wasn’t just a matter of wealth.

Johnson was curious about what the legendary Jiangnan Society had to offer. Soon they arrived at a tranquil spot by West Lake. As everyone got out, they saw a massive tree split in two at the entrance, with three bold characters written in dramatic calligraphy.

Jiangnan Society!

“That’s the handwriting of Master Jin Yong himself!” Qianqian laughed. “Jack Ma visits him in Hong Kong every year, always finding excuses. He’s his number one fan.”

“When ‘If You Are the One’ was filmed, Ge You, Shu Qi, and Alex Fong shared tea in a Jiangnan-style residence—the very scene was shot here at Jiangnan Society.”

“Zhejiang entrepreneurs don’t interact much, especially the founding members, but whenever trouble arises, they lend a hand. For instance, a couple of years ago, when Song Weiping from Greentown Group faced a financial crisis, Jack Ma stepped in and rallied Alibaba employees to buy Greentown’s properties.”

“If any of the eight face a business crisis, and Jiangnan Society is willing to intervene, the problem usually gets solved.”

Looking at the grand entrance, Qianqian said admiringly, “I hear the threshold is high, the membership few. Entry requires a recommendation from a senior member and a year-long assessment.”

“The most famous perk is the Jianghu Token—a core member’s privilege. Each wears one, and wherever they go, showing the token grants the most distinguished service from Jiangnan Society’s allies.”

“It’s not just about entertainment—the Jianghu Token can be lifesaving. If a member with the token faces an emergency, presenting it obliges the rotating chairman to summon all members for a ‘Martial Arts Assembly,’ no matter where they are, to offer help and advice to overcome the crisis.”

“Of course, the token is used only in dire circumstances and may be invoked only once. After receiving assistance, the price is permanent departure from Jiangnan Society.”

Johnson gazed at the seven small, antique buildings before him. The site was originally the Hall of Sages, dedicated to venerated figures of past generations, later transformed into a club. After rigorous inspections in the past years, it now welcomed visitors. Along the lakeside were shrines to reclusive scholar Xu You, hermit Yan Guang, calligrapher Chu Suiliang, King Qian of Wuyue, poets Luo Yin, Pan Lang, Lin Bu, and others. Inside, stone tablets bore their portraits and biographies.

At the main building, the central courtyard faced a memorial archway, exuding understated elegance. Below was a hall for entertaining guests, with an antique desk displaying a half-rolled painting. Cabinets beside the sofa were filled with various antiques from different eras, and a guzheng sat quietly behind the couch.

Ordering drinks and coffee, Qianqian gossiped, “Jack Ma, famous in Hangzhou, is said to be obsessed with martial arts!”

“When CCTV’s Zhang Dachuzi filmed ‘The Smiling, Proud Wanderer,’ Ma repeatedly asked to play Feng Qingyang. Money wasn’t an issue—but…”

“Not only does he fool around outside, he even brings it into the company. Offices are named Peach Blossom Island, conference rooms are called Bright Summit, and many executives have their own nicknames.”

“He’s the most shameless, calling himself Feng Qingyang. Vice Chairman Lu Zhaoxi is Genghis Khan, the CEO is Xiaoyao Zi, and there are others—Eastern Heretic, Western Venom, Guo Jing, Huang Rong. Isn’t it childish?”

The group chatted to digest their meal. The club, now more symbolic than real, was merely a curiosity for Johnson—he had no interest in joining. He turned and left.

In the afternoon, they drove to a few more tourist spots, each crowded beyond hope. They gave up and returned directly to the hotel.

Sending the two brothers away, Johnson pounced on the little beauty with abandon. “Mock me, will you? Here’s a taste of my essence for your nourishment!”