A Jin leaned back against the sofa, casting a pleading glance at his father. Chen Shenxing, still focused on the small print in his newspaper, didn't look up and said, "You should settle down and get married. Wandering around like this isn't good."
"Dad, I'm just focusing on my career. Didn't you say that men should establish themselves before starting a family?" A Jin replied, trying to justify himself.
"Hmph, establish yourself? Isn't your business big enough? Do you still want to reach the heavens?" Chen Shenxing scoffed, his tone growing sharp. "Desires are a bottomless pit. How long do you think you can keep filling it?"
In the early days of A Jin's career, Chen Shenxing had been supportive, but ever since A Jin got involved in the real estate industry, he had opposed it strongly. This field was too murky, with too many entanglements, and it had dragged the Chen and Yuan families into it. His son, however, had inherited his stubbornness—perhaps even more than he himself had. The only thing Chen Shenxing could do was keep a close eye on A Jin, occasionally reminding him. Fortunately, A Jin was cautious enough to avoid major mistakes.
"Still, you should settle down and stop living like this. With your chaotic lifestyle, I'm not even going to comment on it," Chen Shenxing muttered, finishing his words, tossing the newspaper onto the coffee table, and getting up to head upstairs.
A Jin watched his father's straight-backed figure disappear at the top of the stairs and shook his head with a smile. Lifestyle? Who still cares about that these days? People were all driven by their desires. Loyalty and devotion were no longer virtues—more was always better. The world had changed, and so had people's hearts. There didn't seem to be anything worth holding onto anymore. Even his father, once a sharp sword in the fight against corruption, had softened over time. But what was the result?
Thinking about this, A Jin reflexively touched his left chest, feeling a dull ache. He chuckled bitterly. Having a good memory wasn't always a good thing—especially when the memory of pain was so vivid. Even the strongest beliefs can't always stand up to reality. What was reality? Reality was like an earthquake, a tsunami—upending, eroding. Humans weren't gods. They had to bow to nature.
His father had gradually given in to reality. Compromise was a painful process. In the past, his father would often lock himself in his study to drink alone. A Jin knew it, and he sympathized, but he never tried to stop him. Everyone was suffering in some way. As someone had said, "The world is a furnace, and all beings are being tempered." He believed that if someone had lived a long life but still couldn't face reality, that was foolish. Reality was what it was—if you didn't like it, you could throw yourself into the river like Qu Yuan, but if you couldn't die, you'd have to learn to cooperate with it.
It wasn't long before his mother cheerfully came downstairs with a stack of photos. She spread them out on the coffee table—round faces, square faces, and pointed faces. Each one was unique in its own way, "full-figured" or "slender." A Jin couldn't help but laugh to himself, thinking that this was like being treated as royalty in ancient times.
Mrs. Yuan picked one out and said, "I think this one is good. She looks delicate, and her features are kind. She seems to have a good temperament, and her family background is…"
A Jin secretly laughed. His mother always focused on their temperament when choosing a woman for him. She said she couldn't be a bad mother-in-law, so she wouldn't choose a bad daughter-in-law. But how could he be interested in someone so mild, like a little dumpling? He raised a finger and casually commented, "She's too pale, looks anemic."
"Ah, yes, she does look a little unhealthy. We can't have someone with poor health. I want to have grandchildren," Mrs. Yuan quickly discarded the photo, sending it into the "cold storage." A Jin secretly laughed again. The girl looked like she had applied a thick layer of foundation, like painting a wall—one layer after another. He wondered if her makeup would fall into her food during meals.
"This one, this one looks healthy."
A Jin glanced over, sneering, "She's even darker than me. If the lights were out, no one would be able to see anyone."
Mrs. Yuan slapped him on the arm, "Stop saying that. You're such a troublemaker." But she couldn't help but take another look at the photo. "Well, she is a little dark. Fine, let's put her in the cold storage too. After all, there are so many to choose from. I'm sure I can find someone who's perfect for you."
Mrs. Yuan continued reviewing photos, while A Jin propped his chin up, lost in thought. He thought of Lin Wan. She had such natural, soft skin—so white, like a peeled boiled egg. She was so smooth to the touch. Just touching her would set his body on fire. Lost in these thoughts, he suddenly felt thirsty and quickly grabbed a tea cup, gulping down a sip.
Eventually, Mrs. Yuan slammed the photos onto the table in frustration, "I've figured it out. You're just here to make trouble. You really think you're an emperor, huh? Even emperors didn't have it as good as you!"
She pointed to a few of the photos she liked: "These, these, these. Any one of them would make me happy."
A Jin crossed his arms and leaned back against the sofa, unconcerned. "Then just adopt one of them as your daughter. You have a son, after all."
"You..." Mrs. Yuan was furious, unable to hold back. She pointed at him and yelled, "You don't like any of these, but you like those low-class women you've been seeing outside, huh? I want to see what kind of vixen has bewitched you so much that you don't even care about your own life!"
A Jin's face darkened. He stood up and said, "You're underestimating me. I know the difference between good and bad women. All these women are good enough for me, but I just don't like them. If you want me to marry any of them, don't expect any grandchildren from me. I'm tired. I'm going to wash up and sleep. You should rest too."
With that, he walked upstairs. Mrs. Yuan stomped her feet in frustration, upset that her efforts had been dismissed. She looked around the empty living room, realizing she had no one to vent her anger on. Sighing, she went upstairs and threw open the bedroom door. "Look at the son you raised! He's driving me crazy."
"Isn't he your son too?"
"You..."
"You're just overthinking it. Sons and daughters will have their own fortunes."
"I'm just worried. What if he brings some stray cat or dog home?"
"With his kind of luck, he'd be lucky to get a stray."
"Is that how you talk about your own son?"
"Exactly because he's my son, I know you're wasting your time."
"Then how do we fix it?"
"Let it happen naturally."