The reception area of the Shan family was set up in a tea house, with a concept and design that were quite exquisite.
A fine bamboo curtain created a simple internal and external division between the courtyard and the tea house, casting soft shadows and light onto the people inside the house.
An intricately carved jade deer exuded a subtle plum fragrance, warming and deepening the aroma of the tea.
On the land of Silver Hammer City, it was difficult to grow anything successfully.
However, outside the tea house, a large grove of green plum trees thrived, their green blossoms drooping in clusters, appearing as if they were about to bloom.
Ning Zhuo sat by the warm window warming his hands with tea and waited for a quarter of an hour until Shan Rong’en arrived.
After many years apart, Shan Rong’en seemed to have taken good care of himself, showing little sign of aging, still wearing a Tang suit, and still looking elegant and appropriate. However, two blisters had formed at the corners of his mouth, which seemed unbecoming for someone of his stature.
Ning Zhuo stood up and said, “Mr. Shan.”
The butler leading the way quietly corrected him, “Mr. Ning, you are mistaken; it is Mr. Zhang.”
Ning Zhuo raised an eyebrow and looked at Shan Rong’en, lifting his hand to express his apologies.
He was aware of this matter, or rather, this gossip.
The main brand of the Shan enterprise was called “Tang Di.”
The founder of “Tang Di,” whose name was Shan Yunhua, had passed away about ten years ago, just one year before Shan Feibai was kidnapped.
To be precise, Shan Yunhua was not a native of Silver Hammer City.
A hundred years ago, after Safe Point 185 sank, her parents had experienced a long drift of death before finally reaching Silver Hammer City, becoming one of the fortunate few to survive.
She had an older brother, who was only six years old at the time. He had been sensible from a young age and had been injured on his foot by the tail of a shrimp while helping his parents, who worked as chefs on the ship. This led to a severe bacterial infection, resulting in the amputation of his right leg.
He survived the clutches of death through sheer will, luck, and the few antibiotics available, miraculously staying alive.
Many people on the ship called him the “Miracle Boy,” believing that with him on board, the ship might safely reach its destination.
Indeed, their ship encountered a miracle among miracles, avoiding the misfortunes of running aground, storms, and getting lost, and successfully arrived at Silver Hammer City.
Unfortunately, while at sea, people needed miracles.
Once off the ship, they were quickly brought back to the harsh reality.
These new immigrants were gathered in one place, and those with outstanding talents were soon filtered out and assigned to work in the upper or middle city districts.
Shan Yunhua’s parents were chefs, affectionately called Master Shan on the ship, but once on land, they became the “social underclass,” unnoticed and without value.
As for her brother, he was the miracle boy on the ship but a disabled person on land.
Out of “humanitarian concern,” the family was assigned a small room, cramped and destitute in the lower city district.
Ten years later, due to poor reproductive health conditions and expensive prenatal check-ups, they gave birth to a baby girl with a congenital defect in her left leg.
For an ordinary family, this was a devastating blow.
However, Father Shan looked at his son and held his daughter, saying, “Isn’t this just fate? One on the left, one on the right; one child has half a body, so the siblings can help each other in the future!”
The good thing was that Shan parents were a hopelessly optimistic pair.
Other families consumed the nutritional paste produced by Weiwei Company, while the Shan family preferred to use a high flame to cook up a colorful display of life, making their limited finances enjoyable and flavorful.
Shan Yunhua had been a tough and book-loving girl since childhood.
She had detailed her study plans to her parents.
She said, “Whatever money we have, use it all on my education. Endure a few years of hardship with me; I will study as far as I can. In the end, I will repay you a hundredfold.”
She did not go back on her word.
She broke through layers of class barriers and disdain with her grades, steadily climbing the ladder from the lower city district to the upper city.
In college, she presented a thesis on how to apply the changes in point potentials of the nervous system to prosthetics.
In this paper, she submitted the first design draft for “Tang Di.”
—”The flowers of Tang Di, are they not beautiful? Among all people today, there is none like brothers.”
At that time, prosthetics were still focused on flashy designs and practicality, capable of basic actions like eating, picking up objects, and typing.
However, her vision for “Tang Di” was complete compensation; she wanted prosthetics to truly become “limbs.”
As for those who later enjoyed the benefits of prosthetics, excessively pursuing enhancements and constantly modifying their bodies, yearning to replace their eyes, ears, and hearts with prosthetics, it had nothing to do with Shan Yunhua’s original intent.
Her wish had always been simple.
After “Tang Di” successfully entered production, the first product it created was a pair of legs.
That child who had sensibly helped his parents choose fish and shrimp was now a straightforward forty-year-old man.
With a brain-machine interface installed, he carefully wore a steel right leg and took two slow steps before standing still.
He turned around and embraced his sister, crying like a child.
Shan Yunhua, wearing a blue-and-white porcelain left leg, gently patted his back.
A miracle boy had been given a new miracle by his sister.
When outsiders asked, “How did you rise from the mire to achieve such success?” Shan Yunhua would often smile and say, “Because the food at our house is delicious. Every morning when I left home and every evening when I returned, I was motivated.”
She devoted herself entirely to her career, fulfilling her promise before turning forty: to repay her parents and relatives a hundredfold.
Perhaps even more than a hundredfold.
But who cared?
Shan Yunhua married at forty, and her husband, Zhang Bin, joined the Shan family, changing his name to Shan Bin.
At forty-five, she gave birth to a son who took her surname, named Shan Rong’en.
After the child was born, she entrusted him to her husband for full-time care, continuing to dedicate herself to her work until she retired at sixty-eight when her grandson was born.
After that, she lived freely and comfortably, skydiving, rock climbing, and water skiing, until she suddenly passed away from heart disease at eighty, ending her brilliant and busy life.
However, after her death, her son seemed to have hurriedly made significant changes.
He first consolidated all of his mother’s assets, reorganized them, and completed a major personnel reshuffle in key positions, creating the momentum to take “Tang Di” to new heights.
However, it was merely a beautiful façade.
Ultimately, “Tang Di” was a miracle achieved through Shan Yunhua’s personal ability and charm; years later, her technology had already been “shared” with large companies and conglomerates through various channels.
By the time Shan Rong’en entered the company for experience, “Tang Di’s” market share had significantly decreased, retaining only the name of an established prosthetic company, barely maintaining a basic level of respectability.
Shan Rong’en wanted respect.
Moreover, the respect he sought was not for the Shan family.
Since he was a child, his father had repeatedly expressed the frustrations and pain of being a consort, which deeply affected him. After Shan Yunhua’s death, he boldly reverted to the surname “Zhang,” along with his father and son, reclaiming their original surname with a desire to clear his past shame and gain respect.
Of course, the “son” who changed his surname along with him was limited to his eldest son, whose status was less than honorable.
Almost the entire Silver Hammer City knew that his “legitimate” second son, Shan Feibai, had been raised entirely by Shan Yunhua.
From a young age, he had followed his grandmother, driving a jeep to chase storms, unafraid of death in pursuit of spectacular astronomical phenomena, embodying a wild and unrestrained spirit.
Later, he took his adventurous spirit even further and became a mercenary.
Everyone in Silver Hammer City, from the upper to the lower city, knew this flamboyant child who went by the name of Shan Feibai.
His refusal to change his surname served as a living, walking pillar of shame, continuously reminding everyone of how deceitful, ungrateful, and wicked Shan Rong’en… or rather, Zhang Rong’en, truly was.
…
When Zhang Rong’en noticed Ning Zhuo falling silent after addressing him as “Mr. Shan,” he assumed he was embarrassed.
He politely smiled, “It’s fine. Mr. Ning, please call me whatever you’re accustomed to.”
Since he was being polite, Ning Zhuo felt no need to hold back: “Oh, Mr. Shan.”
Ignoring Zhang Rong’en’s suddenly stiffened expression, Ning Zhuo got straight to the point: “Your son is with me.”
Zhang Rong’en’s gaze flickered slightly, and he picked up his tea cup, taking a shallow sip: “Oh, that’s good.”
Ning Zhuo continued, “He has a grudge against me. Mr. Shan is aware of that, right?”
Zhang Rong’en spoke in a cultured manner: “I’ve heard some rumors, but I don’t know the details. However, since you and he have some relationship, and neither of you are children anymore, both of you have some power; it shouldn’t come to a point of breaking relations, right?”
Ning Zhuo’s purpose was to confirm through this person’s words and actions whether Shan Feibai had indeed offended someone and walked down a path he couldn’t return from.
These businessmen had quite a keen sense of smell.
Especially someone like Zhang Rong’en.
The brilliance of “Tang Di” was far less than when Shan Yunhua was alive, and the company’s scale had shrunk significantly. Zhang Rong’en was looking to make a living behind large companies and needed to be extra careful.
Ning Zhuo made things even clearer: “He has sustained serious injuries.”
Zhang Rong’en’s hand slipped, and the tea cup knocked against the rim, emitting a sharp sound.
He put down the cup, looking displeased: “How serious is the injury?”
At this point in the conversation, Ning Zhuo had already gained some confidence.
Shan Feibai had indeed offended someone.
And this biological father of his did not intend to care about his life or death.
Ning Zhuo said, “Aren’t you going to ask him why he got injured?”
“He’s grown up,” Zhang Rong’en returned to his hidden worry and heartache, resuming his deadpan scholar tone as he leisurely engaged in verbal sparring with Ning Zhuo. “Since he’s an adult, he will face his own challenges.”
Ning Zhuo leaned slightly back.
What had once been a respectful and polite posture was now completely abandoned.
“Then I’ll be straightforward,” Ning Zhuo said. “I meddled in your business and saved him once.”
Zhang Rong’en forced a polite smile: “That’s really very…”
“Don’t thank me. Let’s talk business.”
He pushed a temporary card he had prepared in advance in front of Zhang Rong’en: “You’re busy, and I’m busy. The price is set at 180,000; your son is mine starting today.”
Zhang Rong’en: “…?”
The turn of events was too rapid for him to react.
He was still pondering Ning Zhuo’s intentions and couldn’t have anticipated such a development. After a moment of shock, he managed to squeeze out an awkward smile: “Mr. Ning is truly joking. Our family doesn’t sell sons.”
Ning Zhuo replied, “That’s even better; I’ll send him back home right away. Just so happens, he broke his spine, so your family is quite suited to take care of him.”
Zhang Rong’en was momentarily dazed by Ning Zhuo’s airtight series of arguments and opened his mouth to say: “I can arrange…”
This statement immediately got caught in his throat.
His son was seriously injured; sending him back to Panqiao was a trivial matter!
Saying that would be absurd!
But if he were to take Shan Feibai back, he couldn’t do that either.
Over the years, the business of “Tang Di” had really struggled. His son was underperforming and had offended people in higher positions. If he brought him home to care for him, wouldn’t that just bring disaster upon himself? What kind of trouble would that be?
Zhang Rong’en found himself at a loss, his face flushing red and then pale.
Ning Zhuo wouldn’t let him linger any longer, handing over a draft agreement he had prepared: “Mr. Shan, I can probably understand what you’re thinking. If you bring your family’s coffin back to my house to grieve, I won’t charge you for it; I’d even return some money to you, which is already quite generous.”
He paused, continuing decisively: “Don’t calculate inflation with me; I won’t count the troubles he brings. Whatever the amount was back then is still the same now; it’s a simple exchange of people and money. From now on, if Mr. Shan comes to discuss business, ‘Haina’ welcomes you; if you come to pick up your son, I’m sorry, but there’s no such person.”
Looking at this straightforward yet detailed “transfer agreement,” which only required him and the butler to go to the notary to legally sever his father-son relationship with Shan Feibai, Zhang Rong’en forced a smile: “Mr. Ning, does Feibai know about this?”
Ning Zhuo replied, “Whether he knows or not, I don’t care. What matters is that Mr. Shan knows.”
Seeing the cold demeanor of this mercenary, Zhang Rong’en realized that if he signed the agreement, given the notorious enmity between Ning Zhuo and Shan Feibai, it was equivalent to pushing his son into the fire.
But what choice did he have?
If he didn’t draw this line, the Ning family wouldn’t let him go, and the big companies behind them wouldn’t spare him either.
In a sense, Ning Zhuo was even helping him by resolving more troubles and entanglements.
With a blank expression, he took out the seal and pressed it down carefully, then observed how Ning Zhuo did not hasten to take back the agreement but instead focused on the area where he had just signed. Zhang Rong’en gritted his teeth and politely asked, “Does Mr. Ning have any further questions?”
Ning Zhuo replied, “Well, it’s not really a question.”
Zhang Rong’en strained to maintain a semblance of dignity and calmness: “Mr. Ning can speak freely.”
“Then I’ll be direct.”
“Why did Mr. Shan change his surname but not his name?” Ning Zhuo asked. “Don’t you think your mother cursed you when she named you?”
