Chapter Thirty-Three: A Match Made in Heaven

Xia Yubing gazed at her mother with a look full of pity for a long while, then let out a deep sigh.
“Mom, how many years has it been? You’re still carrying around this burden, and honestly, I think it’s pointless. To put it bluntly, you come from a big family, you’ve always been the best among your peers, a strong woman who succeeded in school and in business, but you stumbled hard when it came to Dad. You experienced a setback, and you just can’t get over it.”
Wu Li’s expression was a sight to behold; her mouth dropped wide enough to fit an egg, and she stared at Xia Yubing in shock for a long moment before finally saying, “You little rascal, where did you learn all this? Criticizing your own mother with such a routine!”
“It’s just the truth. I didn’t understand before, but now that I’m older, I see it clearly. You never really thought much of Dad, always seeing yourself as a lady of privilege while he was just a poor nobody. You thought marrying him was a blessing for him, but in the end, he divorced you and left you behind, and you couldn’t accept that. It broke you inside.”
Xia Yubing patted Wu Li’s shoulder with an air of sage-like maturity and said seriously, “Mom, as a woman, you should be kinder to yourself. Let go sooner, free yourself sooner. A person who doesn’t love themselves has no charm.”
“You’re going to be the death of me, you little brat!” Wu Li slapped her forehead in exasperation. “You weren’t like this before! Where did you pick up these strange ideas?”
“From Zhao Zejun, the guy you’ve been investigating. He’s actually pretty interesting to talk to. Sure, he’s blunt, but his analysis is spot on. Isn’t it?”
Xia Yubing shrugged indifferently, stood up, and headed for the door. Without looking back, she waved her hand. “I’m off! Not coming home for dinner tonight. Oh, and if you’ve got time to spare, instead of snooping around my classmates, maybe focus on finding yourself a new husband. That way you won’t be so lonely and bored all the time…”
“Hey! You little brat! How can you talk about our family business to outsiders?!”
Wu Li’s investigation into Zhao Zejun hadn’t actually started because of the dancing incident, but rather because of a bank certificate.
In theory, a branch manager shouldn’t be checking up on customer deposits, but at her level, there were plenty of ways to do so.
Most of the time, she wouldn’t bother. With so many transactions passing through the bank every day, she neither had the time nor the inclination to check them all.
But by chance, while she was reviewing some other statistical reports, she spotted the name “Zhao Zejun” and a transfer of nearly half a million yuan.
Arguments between single mothers and daughters were common, but nothing was off-limits between them. Wu Li knew her daughter had an unusual classmate, and Zhao Zejun’s name wasn’t common, which caught her attention.
A quick look at the client’s information confirmed her suspicion: this Zhao Zejun with fifty thousand yuan in transactions was indeed her daughter’s classmate.
So young—where did he get so much money?
Curious, she logged into the internal system once again.

“Hm? Just deposited another hundred and twenty thousand? In just a few days? This boy’s family must be doing pretty well,” Wu Li thought, instinctively assuming the money came from Zhao Zejun’s parents.
A woman who’s been burned in love becomes both hypersensitive and deeply yearning when it comes to relationships.
Wu Li, now older, had shifted those feelings onto her precious daughter, Xia Yubing. Though Xia Yubing was only eighteen, Wu Li paid close attention to her interactions with boys.
If her daughter could meet a boy with a good family, some charm, and mutual affection, and build a relationship from a young age, it would surely be more stable than some arranged match later on.
But the prerequisite was equality of status—she absolutely couldn’t let her daughter repeat her own mistakes!
Wu Li was growing uneasy. Her daughter’s recent behavior was unlike before—she’d never have spoken such peculiar words in the past. Clearly, she’d started imitating Zhao Zejun, wholly influenced by him. They must have reached the point where nothing was off-limits between them.
Having once been a young girl herself, Wu Li knew all too well what this meant. If the man was suitable, all would be well; but if he was trouble, at this stage, a young woman’s judgment would be clouded by sweet infatuation, willing to leap without care.
With that in mind, she picked up the phone and dialed an internal number. “Hello, Xiao Zhang? The end of the year is coming. Please conduct a follow-up with clients who have deposited over half a million recently. If you can, try to gather some family background information too. It’ll help with our work next year…”
Zhao Zejun hadn’t been home long and was working through college entrance exam practice tests when his phone rang—it was a call from the bank.
A sweet-voiced customer service representative first offered a string of auspicious wishes, then got to the point. Given the large sums Zhao Zejun had deposited, he was a priority client, and they wanted his cooperation in a family background survey. If there were suitable financial products, the bank would make timely recommendations based on his circumstances.
In his previous life, his mother had been fond of financial products—the risk was low, and the returns were a little better than regular savings. Zhao Zejun didn’t particularly care about a little extra interest, but he thought that once he had more money in the future, he’d let his mother invest, so she’d have something to occupy her time in old age.
He answered the questions: family members, parents’ workplaces, and income.
Then he returned to his practice tests. These questions were brutal! Sometimes, Zhao Zejun really despised the people who wrote these practice exams—did making them harder than the real test prove their competence? Senior year students were already under immense stress; did they have to make it even worse?
Grumbling aside, he had to keep going. University was essential—it would shape not just the next few years, but the next decade or more.

The winter vacation flew by. After purchasing the four courtyard houses from the Ren family, Ren Bida hadn’t contacted Zhao Zejun for a week. Zhao Zejun was sick of the endless practice tests, so he went out, and passing by the Aijia Realty office, he stopped in to chat with Ren Bida.
It was then he learned that with the New Year approaching, the housing market had gone quiet. Few people sold houses before the holiday; everyone was waiting for the festivities. Unless someone was truly desperate, even the most reckless wouldn’t sell their assets at New Year. After the holiday, the market would pick up quickly.

They talked a bit about Ren Jifu. Ren Bida had a friend who ran a gambling den—he’d heard that Ren Jifu, after getting his hands on money, was practically living at the casino and had even won over ten thousand yuan.
“Why don’t you talk some sense into him? It’s obvious they’re letting him win at first. Now that he’s up ten thousand, he should quit while he’s ahead,” Zhao Zejun said.
“Advise him? He never listens! That kid thinks he’s some god of gambling now, you wouldn’t believe how cocky he is,” Ren Bida replied with a wry smile.
Zhao Zejun couldn’t be bothered whether Ren Jifu would end up losing money. As long as, when it came time for the house to be demolished, he didn’t come back with regrets and cause trouble, it didn’t matter. Someone like Ren Jifu was more likely to ruin things than accomplish anything. If he really lost everything at the casino, who knew what shameless thing he might do for money? That could bring a heap of trouble. When it came to demolition, it was best to keep a low profile and quietly make a fortune—no need to make a scene.
Still, he’d have to keep an eye on him. If it came to it, before demolition, he’d have Jiang Xuan’s crew break Ren Jifu’s legs so he’d be laid up in the hospital for a couple of months.
It sounded ruthless, but Zhao Zejun was absolutely prepared to go to extremes for his first pot of gold. He’d risked his own body before—what was Ren Jifu compared to that?
Having survived by the skin of his teeth, Zhao Zejun was now like a wolf with bloodshot eyes, fixated on any prey within reach, ready to pounce at a moment’s notice—even at the cost of his life.
Whoever tried to stop him from making his first fortune had better be ready to face his blade!

Time flew by. The little dagger didn’t make an appearance; instead, New Year’s Eve arrived first.
When Zhao Zejun was in college, he’d once attended a guest lecture where the professor claimed that, among all the world’s peoples, the Chinese loved festivals and celebrations more than anyone—even more than the Brazilians who threw carnivals at every turn, or the gypsies who wandered the world singing and dancing.
The reason, the professor said, was that the Chinese were an agricultural people with a long cultural history. For thousands of years, traditional beliefs placed family and kin above all else—even above the nation itself.
Festivals symbolized family reunion and carried the longing for loved ones.
For foreigners, holidays meant joy; for the Chinese, they meant warmth.