Wounds Could Heal, but the Heart Could Not

The shattered cup was still spinning on the floor, its clear, resonant sound still lingering. For a moment, the air in the room seemed to freeze.

The people sitting next to Simon didn't say anything; it was Simon's family matter, and they had no right to interfere.

The boy recovered from the dizziness. Even as his vision went black and the world spun around him, he remained firmly standing. He ignored the warm liquid slowly trickling down his head and maintained his humble, cautious, and expectant smile.

"Father, I've brought you some tea and pastries. It's been more than two hours."

Simon glanced at the almost empty kettle on the coffee table in front of him, then said coldly, "Put your things on the shelf next to you, and then get out. No one is allowed to come in without my permission, including you!"

The boy carefully placed the tray, which had spilled a little tea, on a shelf next to him. That shelf was for storing small items. It had a base with a small ornament that looked like a very shallow soup bowl, with a concave center.

When you casually put these small, odd-and-even items in, you don't need to worry about them "running" around.

It's not a place to put pallets, but it's now holding a pallet that doesn't belong to it and shouldn't be held by it.

"I'll be leaving now, Father, and gentlemen..." The young man bowed and left, closing the door without making a sound.

Just as the door was about to close, the boy looked up, and in the narrow world of the door crack, his gaze met Simon's.

With a look full of disgust, Simon had never liked this child. If it weren't for the need to quickly build a good relationship with the locals and to downplay his "foreigner" label, he would never have married a native woman and had a child here.

In his eyes, the child was just a prop, a tool to maintain his image in the eyes of the locals, whether he was a bastard, a lowlife, or whatever.

But with the addition of foreign forces, the Federal's merchants, and Preton's escape, all of these things became worthless, and he grew even more annoyed with this disliked child.

Compared to Simon's intensely hateful gaze, the boy's eyes were much simpler, showing expectation, humility, sadness... and despair.

The boy never understood what he had done wrong that made his father never like him. If he didn't like him, why did he bring him into the world?

His repeated efforts only led to repeated despair. He seemed to have realized that no matter how well he did, he would always just be an unpopular child.

Just as the door was about to close, he lowered his head as he had done countless times before, and only then did Simon's gaze leave him.

"Young Master..."

The butler stood outside the door; he knew what had happened, but there was nothing he could do.

Compared to Simon, a foreigner, he actually had a better impression of the young master in the family, probably because the young master had at least half Nagaril People ancestry.

The young man looked at the butler, whose face was already stained red with blood. He grinned and said, "Father still hates me so much."

The butler couldn't help but take out a handkerchief and press it against the boy's wound, whispering words of comfort, "It's not like that, young master, actually..." He wanted to make something up, but he found that no matter how he made it up, he couldn't change the fact.

"Actually, the master has been in a bad mood lately. You know, Preton Merchant House went bankrupt, Bayer People came here to steal our business."

The boy remained unmoved. He simply uttered one sentence that left the old butler speechless. "I am his son..."

Yes, no matter how bad a person's mood is, they wouldn't do something like this—smashing a cup on their son's head and telling him to get out, especially in front of many outsiders.

No matter how you explain it, you can't hide the cruel truth behind these problems: Simon, the Family Head of the family, simply doesn't like his son, no matter how outstanding he is.

The old butler dared not say anything more, nor could he say anything more. The boy pressed his hand against the handkerchief. "Alright, Grandpa Butler, don't worry about me. It's always been like this, and it will always be like this. Once you get used to it, you won't find it scary."

"Your head..." The old butler was heartbroken. He had watched the young master grow from a baby to what he was today. Moreover, the young master was very polite, and the butler was won over with just a simple "Grandpa Butler".

But there were many, very big problems between the father and son, so he could only choose to remain silent.

Seeing that the young master's head was bleeding, for a moment I really had the urge to ask Master Simon why he did this.

"The bleeding has stopped..." The boy loosened the handkerchief slightly. He could no longer feel any new warmth coming from the wound. Actually, the cut wasn't big; it was just that a lot of blood had flowed out, which was frightening.

After applying pressure for a short while, the bleeding stopped.

The old butler was still a little worried. "Young master, please go to the courtyard. I'll have someone from the family treat your wound..."

The boy nodded. "Thank you for your help. Also, please don't let my mother know about this."

The old butler nodded again and quickly left. The boy walked to a corner of the courtyard, found a place to sit down, and soon a maid in her thirties came over quickly, carrying a medicine box in her hand.

Sitting in the shade of a tree, the young man calmly gazed at the distant street scene, the sorrow in his eyes so intense that even the remaining sunlight could not dispel it.

"Thank you!" After the maid finished treating his wound, he turned around to thank her for her help. The maid knew about the family's situation, comforted the boy for a few words, and then left.

Just as the boy was about to go back, some commotion broke out outside.

A group of young people were gathered together, and they seemed to be arguing, as if they had something to do with foreigners.

He stood there for a while, then, finding it uninteresting, went back.

He knew that what Simon disliked most was his association with shady people; he had almost no friends his own age.

Unbeknownst to him, he had caught the eye of Simon.

"In the end, he's just a native bastard..." Simon took the cigarette out of his mouth, exhaled a puff of smoke, and turned to look at the others.

He quickly put this child, whom he disliked, out of his mind. What he cared about most now was what the Federal merchants would bring and what they would bring him.

"The Nagaril Joint Development Company does not agree to our investment. If we cannot invest, it means we will not receive our quota..."

The man speaking was also not a local; he was a businessman from abroad but living in the area. "I found out some inside information through some connections. They also plan to handle all import and export trade, just like the trading company used to do."

"Major shareholders can freely export or import anything, while minority shareholders have to rely on quotas for import and export. Their management is more stringent than that of Preton's group."

"If we cannot join the United Development Company and get some stock, it means that our products cannot be exported and foreign products cannot be imported, and we will immediately lose our way to make money."

Another gentleman tapped the coffee table, picked up the kettle, poured himself a glass of water, and took a large gulp without any manners. "Have you contacted Lin Qi? I heard we've been assigned to his team. What makes him think he can be on equal footing with those conglomerates?"

The others looked at Simon, Simon was still smoking by the window. Only after the child he loathed disappeared into the yard did he turn his attention back outside.

When asked by someone behind him, he immediately nodded and replied, "I have already sent a message that I will find a way to see him no matter what."

"As for why he can stand on equal footing with large conglomerates, it is perhaps because he represents the interests of the Federal President."

His words surprised everyone else. "What new information do you have?"

"Nothing new, just speculation." Simon stubbed out his cigarette and sat back down on the sofa. As he poured himself some water, he said, "Lin Qi and Truman are good friends, and they also have a good relationship with the president."

"It's hard not to imagine whether there are any interests involved between them. You know, if the president or Truman hadn't been backing Lin Qi, those big corporations wouldn't have paid him any attention."

Another asked, "You mean the chances are slim, since we're not fighting for Lin Qi's share, but for the president's or Truman's?"

Simon smiled noncommittally, picked up his glass and drank it all in one gulp. He had been smoking for a long time and was a little thirsty.

After putting down his cup, he said, "But whether my guess is right or wrong, this is our last chance, and I will try my best to seize it, but we also need to be prepared."

He hesitated for a moment, then said, "If things turn out badly, we will have to evacuate Nagaril."

His expression was serious, which made some people uneasy.

After a few seconds, someone broke the tense atmosphere, "That's unlikely. You know, we're not these Natives. If they attack us, the Federal will only lose face in the end!"

Simon thought about it and seemed to agree with him, but he remained cautious. "I hope they will consider their own and the country's reputation, but I'm always worried."

"Actually, we've made quite a bit of money over the years. If things really don't work out, we can always take a step back."

"Although living a secluded life in China lacks some excitement, it's stable, and I'm starting to miss home..." He looked up at a photo in the cabinet in front of him, a photo of his wife and children.

They share the same bloodline, the same skin color, the same eye color, speak the same accent, and receive the same education...

Those are his family! Those are his children!