Family Banquet Offense Defense (Part 1)

On Monday morning, as soon as the market opened, Zhao Chen instructed Shen Zhiyi to buy in with all funds at 12.52, exactly one cent above the opening price.

Shen Zhiyi was excellent in this regard. She did not ask a single question about why and simply carried out the order.

That feeling of being trusted left Zhao Chen very satisfied.

After that, he only returned to the dorm once.

Having lived through Two Lifetimes, he no longer felt much attachment to his roommates, so he did not waste time on them.

During this period, he had been staying at a hotel.

He believed the profits from Sanjiang Shopping would be enough to cover his daily expenses.

Soon, Saturday evening arrived.

The fog over Shan City grew thick again.

Zhao Chen stood before a villa that overlooked half of the Yuzhong Peninsula and pressed the doorbell.

As his fingertip touched the cold Doorbell Button, he clearly felt the rhythm of his heartbeat—steady and powerful, like a war drum muffled within his chest cavity.

The door opened, spilling out warm yellow light mixed with the aroma of food and Wang Ma's delighted voice:

"Xiao Chen is back! Come in quickly, it's cold outside."

He stepped over the threshold, as though entering a carefully arranged stage.

The living room was spacious and luxurious, furnished with imported Italian sofas and expensive contemporary oil paintings on the walls. Beyond the enormous floor-to-ceiling window lay a dazzling river view.

Everything was perfect—so perfect it resembled a real estate developer's model home. The only thing missing was the messy warmth a home ought to have.

Father Zhao Jianguo was sitting on the sofa watching financial news. Seeing him enter, he set down his tablet, a textbook Fatherly Smile appearing on his face:

"You're back? Was the traffic bad?"

Father Zhao Jianguo did not know that he had already sold the car.

"Not too bad." Zhao Chen took off his coat and handed it to Wang Ma, his tone casual.

"Your Aunt Su is busy in the kitchen. She said she was cooking herself today and made Mao Xue Wang and La Zi Ji, your favorites."

Zhao Jianguo pointed toward the kitchen, deliberately creating an atmosphere of "family harmony" in both word and manner.

As he spoke, Su Wantang emerged from the kitchen wearing an apron.

She wore a simple light apricot cashmere sweater that day, her hair loosely pinned up. Her cheeks were faintly flushed from the heat of the kitchen, and she carried a plate of freshly cut fruit.

When she saw Zhao Chen, her eyes brightened. Her smile was gentle, though it held a hint of caution:

"Xiao Chen, you're here? Are you hungry? The dishes will be ready soon. Have some fruit first to tide you over."

Her voice was soft and sweet, her gaze full of concern.

That concern was genuine. Zhao Chen could tell.

But in this house, her very presence was like a piece of porcelain that was too exquisite yet utterly out of place with the overall style—beautiful, fragile, and without any say in anything.

"Thank you."

Zhao Chen nodded, took the fruit, and sat down on the Single Sofa opposite his father.

Su Wantang was only a few years older than him, so he had never called her Aunt Su.

Whenever his father was not home, he simply called her Porcelain Azalea.

Su Wantang did not mind him calling her that.

The news was reporting the birth of another new "Land King" somewhere, the host excitedly analyzing the prospects of the property market.

Zhao Jianguo watched with great interest and even offered a few comments. "Look at that—that's the kind of boldness needed to accomplish great things. Real estate's golden age is far from over."

Zhao Chen quietly ate his fruit without responding.

Dinner was soon ready.

The long dining table was laden with dishes, all of them flavors Zhao Chen had once liked.

Su Wantang carefully placed the largest piece of chicken from the La Zi Ji into his bowl, then served him a steaming bowl of chicken soup and set it by his hand. "Eat more. The school canteen food has so little substance. Look at you, you've gotten thinner."

Her care was meticulous, even somewhat ingratiating.

Zhao Chen looked at her lowered eyes and the hands that were especially slender from years of playing the piano, now stained with a little grease. Somewhere in his heart, he felt a faint ache.

He thanked her and ate quietly.

Zhao Jianguo opened a bottle of Maotai and poured himself a glass, then gestured for Wang Ma to pour one for Zhao Chen as well.

"Boys need to learn how to drink. You'll need it for social engagements in the future."

He raised his glass. "Come, Xiao Chen, have a drink with Dad. To celebrate your recent... hmm, success in your studies?"

Zhao Chen picked up his glass, the clear liquid swaying against its walls.

He clinked glasses with him and took a small sip. The fiery sensation burned all the way from his throat to his stomach.

At first, the conversation at the dining table was warm—or rather, it was warmth orchestrated unilaterally by Zhao Jianguo.

He asked about Zhao Chen's studies, reminded him to take care of his health, and recalled a few amusing stories from Zhao Chen's childhood—stories whose central figure was mostly his biological mother.

Su Wantang listened quietly at the side, refilling tea and pouring water at the right moments, a gentle, obedient smile always on her face, like a dutiful spectator.

But Zhao Chen noticed that whenever the conversation touched on "the past," her hand would pause slightly as she picked up food, and her gaze would drift toward the window, where there was nothing but impenetrable fog.

After several rounds of drinks, more than half the dishes had been eaten.

The kindness on Zhao Jianguo's face gradually gave way to the solemnity he showed only when discussing serious matters, carrying a faint sense of pressure.

He set down his chopsticks, picked up a hot towel to wipe his hands, and spoke as if casually:

"Xiao Chen, what do you think about what we discussed over the phone last time? The company's waiting for the rice to hit the pot."