You got your marriage certificate and then abandoned me? I'll feed the richest woman in the wor

The fifteen-year-old boy held a rusty farm tool in his hand.

The resounding words forever nailed this heavy promise to the yellow earth of the former site of the Sunshine Orphanage.

Chen Yuan's deep gaze fell on the poplar sapling that was stretching out in the wind.

He didn't say another word.

He turned around and strode out of the orphanage's dilapidated iron gate.

time.

In the eyes of this man who once made global capital tremble, he was nothing more than a slow fire used to brew the years.

The camera seemed to be suddenly pulled up by an invisible hand.

Piercing through the perpetually clear clouds of Jianghai City, it overlooks this steel forest.

The montage, with its interplay of light and shadow, begins a frenzied acceleration.

The row of French plane trees in the back garden of Genting Manor.

The leaves turned green and then yellow, and the withered leaves covered the asphalt road, only to be washed away by the spring rain and brought back to life.

The sun rises and the moon sets.

Shifting stars.

The glass curtain wall of the Star Venture Capital headquarters building reflects the city's rapid development.

Chen Nianshen, the cold-faced boy who once used his 100 yuan New Year's money to speculate in stocks.

He changed into a bespoke, handcrafted suit, just like his father's back then.

He strode into the top-floor CEO's office, a symbol of trillions of dollars in capital power.

Under his ruthless hand.

The business empire formed by the merger of Xingchen Venture Capital and the Shen family conglomerate is like a giant, impenetrable net.

We firmly hold more than half of the world's core technology industrial chain in our hands.

No longer has any foolish overseas conglomerate dared to venture even half a step into Chinese territory.

And then there's Chen Muzhou, the little foodie who follows his brother around eating candy.

She has also grown into a top heiress in Jianghai City's socialite circle, someone no one dares to mess with.

Instead of taking over the company, she became a world-renowned food critic.

Any restaurant that Chen Yuan had spoiled her with his refined manners would approve of.

The next day, long queues will surely form all over the world.

Decades have passed.

Just like the pot of slow-cooked soup that Chen Yuan used to simmer on the stove.

It has smelled away all the restlessness and arrogance, and settled into the most mellow and tranquil flavor.

The scene suddenly slowed down.

Let's refocus.

Forty years have passed.

Inside the sunroom at Genting Manor, made of panoramic glass.

The early winter sunlight was filtered of its chill by the double-glazed soundproof glass.

It turned into a warm orange hue, gently spreading across the Mediterranean-style mosaic floor tiles.

The air was filled with the faint scent of sandalwood and the aroma of freshly brewed Da Hong Pao tea.

Two large and comfortable rattan rocking chairs are placed side by side in front of the floor-to-ceiling window.

Chen Yuan leaned back in the rocking chair on the right.

She was wearing a soft navy blue cashmere cardigan.

That face, with its sharp, chiseled features that once struck fear into the hearts of dark web assassins.

At this moment, the ridges of time have already been etched upon us.

Several deep crow's feet lines were etched beside his deep-set eyes.

That thick black hair had long since turned a layer of white.

But even under the sunlight, her hair was still combed meticulously.

He didn't look at the complicated business reports; he just held a yellowed old cookbook in his hand.

He was wearing a pair of gold-rimmed reading glasses.

His gaze was intently studying the cooking time and proportions of the stomach-soothing sweet soup above.

Even at this age, his back remains ramrod straight.

That composure and gravitas that emanates from the very core of one's being.

The imposing aura of his youthful brilliance is even more intimidating than when he was young.

Shen Wanzhou lay on the rocking chair on the left.

He was covered with a thick, soft alpaca wool blanket.

Her once black hair had turned an elegant silver-white, held back by a warm, smooth jade hairpin.

Fine wrinkles appeared at the corners of her eyes and mouth.

But those sparkling, peach-blossom eyes, even after decades of weathering.

When she looked at the man beside her, she still exuded a girlish purity and dependence.

On the lawn outside the sunroom.

Several toddlers, only three or four years old, wearing onesies.

It was chasing a golden retriever, making a clear, gurgling laugh.

Those are Chen Nianshen's grandchildren.

When the little ones got tired of running, they ran outside the glass window.

Through the transparent glass, she stretched out her chubby little hands and waved to the two elderly people inside.

Shen Wanzhou looked out the window at the vibrant scenes.

The wrinkles at the corners of her eyes smiled like a blooming daisy.

She looked away.

I turned my head and looked at my wife next to me, who was looking through a recipe.

Over the past few decades.

The outside world has undergone earth-shattering changes.

Countless so-called century-old conglomerates have risen and fallen.

Many once-arrogant figures have become the subject of gossip.

But for her...

The most authentic and reassuring thing in her life.

It's never been those countless zeros on Star Ventures' balance sheet.

But it was the man beside her who remained unchanged for decades.

The glass of warm water that I bring to my bedside every morning without fail.

It was his large, firm hand that he would hold tightly wherever he went.

Power and wealth are irrelevant to these elderly people who have already stood at the top of the world.

It has long since become a fleeting cloud that cannot be grasped.

Shen Wanzhou stretched out her wrinkled but still fair hand.

Peeking out from under the alpaca wool blanket.

It gently covered the back of Chen Yuan's hand, which was resting on the armrest of the rocking chair.

The veins on the back of the man's hand were slightly bulging.

My skin is no longer as firm as it was when I was young, and it has a rough texture left by the years.

But the warmth from my palm is still the same as it was on that snowy winter day fifty years ago.

She looked exactly the same when they pulled her out of the dark basement.

It did not decrease by even a fraction.

Chen Yuan noticed the sensation on the back of his hand.

Stop looking at the recipe.

He grabbed her hand from behind, enveloping it tightly in his palm.

The pad of his thumb habitually rubbed twice against the still-brilliant pink diamond on her ring finger.

The years are quiet.

At this moment, these four words were embodied by the temperature inside the sunroom.

Shen Wanzhou followed his force.

Lean your body towards him.

His gray head rested steadily on Chen Yuan's still broad and sturdy shoulders.

That familiar, cool soapy scent mingled with the aroma of Da Hong Pao tea.

It filled every breath she took.

Shen Wanzhou leaned on Chen Yuan's shoulder, chuckling as she touched his somewhat rough hand: "Old man, your hands can't even crack a walnut anymore, can they?"