Lately, Chen Jin had been in a foul mood. Trouble, it seemed, liked company. No sooner had he smoothed over his brother's fiasco than new issues cropped up in the company.
If his grandfather, General Yuan, had his way, Chen Jin would've been thrown into the army long ago to "toughen up." The old man had always said this grandson—though not bearing his surname—was the one who most resembled him: hard, disciplined, unyielding. A soldier's soul, born for the iron-blooded life.
But Chen Jin had never been one to enjoy being told what to do. Discipline, routine, hierarchy—all of it grated on him. Why lock himself in a barracks when the world outside was vast and free? Out there, fish can leap in the open sea and birds soar through endless skies. Out there, life glittered in all its colors. Compared to the endless green monotony of the army, the real world was far more alluring.
He majored in telecommunications engineering in college. After graduation, he started a small company reselling telecom products. His grandfather, unimpressed by anything as intangible as the internet, had scoffed:
"That little trading firm of yours won't last two days. When it folds, you'll come to the army and learn how to be strong."
Chen Jin had smiled and said, "Sure."
But inside, he'd sworn to prove the old man wrong. He didn't care about glory or pride; he just refused to live under anyone's orders.
The company not only survived—it flourished. Timing helped; the internet was exploding across China. But credit also belonged to Chen Jin's sharp instincts. A simple reselling firm could never contain his ambition, so he reinvested every yuan of profit, borrowed more, and launched Zhicheng Technologies Ltd., a manufacturer and developer of communication equipment.
With the rapid advance of digital networks, business took off. Zhicheng became an industry dark horse, rising fast enough to rattle the established giants down south who'd dominated since the early '90s.
While he was busy conquering one frontier, others in his circle had started diving into another—real estate, the new gold mine of the age. Backed by family influence, they were making fortunes hand over fist. Chen Jin was idealistic, yes, but he was no fool. Only an idiot refused easy money. His family had deep resources; not using them would be an insult to common sense—and to his ancestors, who taught that waste is shameful.
His childhood friend Xiang Yang was eager too, so they teamed up. Zhicheng became a group—two major divisions: telecommunications and real estate.
But the truth was, it all served one goal. The tech side demanded relentless R&D, patents, and talent—expensive pursuits. The real estate profits kept the cash flowing. Within a few years, both arms were thriving. Yet success always attracts storms. The real estate wing was well-shielded—no major missteps. But the tech division, by its very nature, ran into the occasional intellectual property dispute.
Like this one. Someone had accused them of patent infringement.
There are no real winners in a lawsuit. Right or wrong, by the time the paperwork's done, the flowers are dead and the tea's gone cold. Chen Jin had always been hands-on with tech matters, so he flew to Shenzhen himself. After days of wrestling with a shrewd opponent, both sides finally compromised and settled.
Relieved, he flew home, drove straight to his bachelor apartment, showered, and crashed into bed. He'd just drifted off when the doorbell shrieked through his dreams.
Grumbling, he rolled out of bed, barefoot, hair a mess. One glance at the video screen—and, of course. His mother. Who else would dare show up unannounced?
Mrs. Yuan Lai was a textbook mother-hen: always fussing, always weeping, obsessed with finding "good girls" for her two sons—never realizing that good girls were precisely the wrong fit for the Chen family. Women of her generation, especially from her social class, were usually strong-minded managers. But Mrs. Yuan had chosen differently: she'd devoted herself to being a traditional homemaker, circling her husband and sons like a satellite. Perhaps it was this kind of mother that produced a man as hard-edged as Chen Jin.
He opened the door; she stepped in, carrying a large thermal container.
"I have told you a hundred times," she sighed, "just give me a spare key."
"No," he yawned. "This is my private space."
He turned and flopped back onto the bed, arms splayed.
Mrs. Yuan found a bowl in the kitchen, poured out the soup, and went to his bedside.
"Up, come on. I made duck-and-lotus-root soup for you. Good for the summer heat—cleanses and nourishes. I even blanched the duck with ginger, no smell at all. It's still warm."
The Yuans were from Zhejiang, and Mrs. Yuan carried that Southern gentleness with her—especially in the kitchen. Unfortunately, with her elder son never home and her husband always traveling, her culinary genius had few audiences.
Chen Jin lay with his eyes closed, breathing in the faint aroma. "Couldn't you have come later? I haven't had a full night's sleep in a week."
She reached for his waist, threatening a pinch. That got him sitting up. He took the bowl and started to drink.
Mrs. Yuan watched him fondly while complaining. "If you'd just come home to sleep, I wouldn't have to come chasing after you like this."
"This is my home," he said around a mouthful of duck.
"Home? Without a woman in it?"
"So I should get one just to keep the place legitimate?"
"You—watch your mouth! You can't just live with anyone. You marry properly, you hear me. These girls nowadays—"
"Here we go again."
"I have to say it! You boys worry me to death. Your brother changes girlfriends like shirts—"
"Didn't they say brothers are limbs and women are clothes?" he cut in with a smirk.
"Watch that tongue, you brat." She swatted his bare back. "Then you'd better find yourself a shirt soon. You're past thirty—people will start thinking there's something wrong with you."
There it was again. Why did every modern parent jump straight to sexual orientation when a son stayed single too long?
"Relax," he muttered. "Your son has plenty of wo—uh, friends."
"Then bring one home. It's time to settle down. Even Fang Mei is getting married."
At that name, her tone broke into heartbreak. Fang Mei had been one of the few standout girls from their old compound—beautiful, gentle, well-bred. Mrs. Yuan had always dreamed of her as a daughter-in-law, and Fang Mei had quietly liked Chen Jin too. But the man himself had been indifferent. After waiting for over a decade, the beauty had finally given up and chosen someone else.
Chen Jin didn't lose sleep over it. Fang Mei was a fine woman—no one could deny that—but she didn't stir him. Not even a spark. Truth be told, he found her less interesting than… someone else. A face flashed across his mind. Damn.
He finished the soup quickly, wiped his mouth, and said, "Mom, if that's all, I'm going back to bed. Got dinner meetings tonight."
"Every time I bring this up, you dodge it. That girl waited half her life for you, and you—heartless boy! Now the last good one's taken. What will you do then?"
He chuckled. "You worry too much. There are plenty of good girls out there. Your son's handsome, successful—how hard could marriage be? I'll make sure you get your grandchild, don't you worry."
She sighed. "You always brush me off. Fine, serious talk then—your father's coming back in a few days. That business with A-Zui…is it settled?"
"For the last time, Mom, yes."
"What did you do? Did you pay them off? Whatever it takes, as long as your brother's safe. That boy will drive me to my grave—"
"Mom, please," he cut her off, irritation rising. "It's done. I've handled it."
For reasons, he couldn't name them. The words made his chest tighten. He rushed through a few polite phrases, sent her off, and flopped back onto the bed—but sleep wouldn't come. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw a face. Sad. Angry. Cold.
Maybe it was the heat. Or maybe the damn soup. Either way, he felt restless, as if a cat were clawing inside his chest. Maybe I'm just too pent-up, he thought grimly. By his count, it had been half a month since he'd last… well.
He grabbed his phone and scrolled to a familiar number.
"Lulu? Where are you? Get ready—I'll send the driver… Yeah. Same place."
Before she could squeal her excitement, he hung up. He pulled out his wallet, took out the small black-and-white photo of a round-faced girl, and tossed it onto the coffee table with a mutter.
"Damn curse. Not nightmares—wet dreams."
The sight of it annoyed him. Of all the places to keep that photo, why in his wallet? No wonder he couldn't get a decent night's sleep in Shenzhen—he'd dreamed of her twice. She'd been furious in both, pointing at him and cursing—but at this rate, he thought grimly, it wouldn't be long before the dream turned into something else entirely.