Chapter Nineteen: Returning Home

In truth, Mr. Wang had no idea what Zhang Can's real intentions were; had he known that Zhang Can stayed with Zhu Senlin mainly out of a desire for revenge, he might have thought rather differently! As it was, however, his esteem for Zhang Can only grew. Money may not be everything, but to be without it is impossible, and in today's society, it is truly rare to find a person who cannot be tempted by wealth.

When the small underground auction came to a close, it felt like an impromptu picnic or spring outing—everyone having eaten and drunk their fill before heading back their separate ways. Before leaving, Wang Qian shook Zhang Can's hand solemnly. "Little Zhang, I look forward to working with you!"

On the way back, Zhu Senlin had Old Su drive, while he and Zhang Can chatted in the back. Whether by accident or design, Old Su kept steering into the rocky, bumpy parts of the road, jolting Zhu Senlin so much he cursed and groaned. Zhang Can, young and sturdy, weathered it better. Not until they reached the asphalt road did Old Zhu recover, though he’d lost the spirit for conversation. Once back in the city, he’d thought of inviting Zhang Can out for some fun, but he felt too precious, too exhausted to even keep his eyes open.

Though Zhang Can felt he had undergone a dramatic change in temperament, he still felt a strong urge to check his bank account—to see with his own eyes the 5.5 million lying in his name. His air of composure was only for others; in private, he was still his old self.

"Old Zhu, everyone’s tired today. I’ll head back for some rest. Tomorrow I’ll come to your shop and we can talk," Zhang Can suggested.

With genuine feeling, Zhu Senlin patted Zhang Can on the shoulder. "Little Zhang, good, get some rest and come early tomorrow. By the way... do you have a driver’s license?"

The question caught Zhang Can off guard. "No, I haven’t had time to go back home to get one, and I always thought I didn’t have the financial means to learn here, so I’ve never gotten around to it."

Zhu Senlin chuckled. "I’ve got a friend in the traffic police. I’ll have him sort you out with a license tomorrow, and I’ll find you a teacher for some hands-on lessons. Once you’re ready for the road, I’ll give you my BMW 5."

Both Zhang Can and Old Su were taken aback. Zhang Can hadn’t expected Zhu Senlin to make such a grand gesture—he really wanted to draw him in. That BMW 5 was only bought last year, replacing an old Honda, and was almost as good as new.

Old Su, meanwhile, was breathing heavily, face flushed with envy and resentment. Zhu Senlin’s open favor toward Zhang Can, right in front of him, left him nowhere to hide his embarrassment.

But Zhu Senlin paid him no mind, explaining further, "I’ve been thinking of switching to a Mercedes 600 anyway. You need to keep up appearances when doing business with the bigwigs. I’ve checked—my BMW, with all its papers and in such good condition, would fetch over half a million at a secondhand dealership. You can’t be without a car, Little Zhang, so I’ll just give you mine."

At first, Zhang Can wanted to decline, but seeing Old Su’s face turning as red as blood, he decided to accept graciously. "Alright then, thank you, Old Zhu. I’ll have to help you make some good deals in the future!"

"That’s more like it—nice and straightforward!" Old Zhu laughed. Zhang Can hadn’t been lured away by Mr. Wang’s offer of millions, and chose instead to stay with him—Old Zhu understood full well that Zhang Can was doing him a great favor. If he treated Zhang Can poorly, Mr. Wang’s attitude made it clear—his doors were wide open to Zhang Can, who could join him anytime he wished.

Ignoring the look from Old Su that could have killed him, Zhang Can bid Zhu Senlin farewell with a smile and took a cab to the outskirts of his village. At the ATM outside the bank, he checked his balance. When the screen showed "5,500,000.00," he counted the digits one by one with his finger—tens, hundreds, thousands, ten thousands—over and over again, feeling as if he were in a dream. Just days ago, Old Su’s trap had left him penniless, nearly driven to suicide, and now his account held 5.5 million in cash—he was a bona fide millionaire, and confident he’d earn even more in the future.

So thrilled was Zhang Can that he bit his own finger in excitement. There was no need to hide it—no one was watching except perhaps the bank’s security cameras. Let them see! The balance would only go up from here, and he wasn’t afraid of being watched.

After some thought, Zhang Can withdrew five thousand in cash. The day was still young, so why not visit an agency and find a new place to live? He wasn’t a masochist; before, he had no choice, but now that he had money, he ought to enjoy life—there was no reason to make himself suffer. As Uncle Benshan once said, the greatest sorrow in life is to die with money still unspent. Such a fate must be avoided!

As he cheerfully made his way back to the village, Zhang Can unexpectedly ran into Liu Xiaoli at the crossroads. She wasn’t alone—she was intimately holding the arm of a young man. The man was handsome but with a roguish, flighty air, clearly not the steady type, yet Liu Xiaoli gazed at him with deep affection.

When she saw Zhang Can, Liu Xiaoli hesitated, then made a subtle gesture to him—telling him not to speak—before passing by.

Zhang Can stood there in a daze, his good mood spoiled. Just then, his phone rang. He pressed the answer key fiercely and barked into the receiver, "Who is this? Speak up if you have something to say, don’t waste my time!"

"Is that how you talk to your father, you brat?!" The voice on the other end paused, then roared even louder than Zhang Can. "Have you swallowed gunpowder? Yelling at me like that!"

It was his father, Zhang Guonian.

Zhang Can immediately became flustered. "Dad... is that you? I thought it was someone else..."

Zhang Guonian grumbled, "What do you mean, someone else? Can’t I call you? Or is it that now you’ve got a bit of money, I’m no longer your father?"

Zhang Can laughed sheepishly. "Dad, of course not! So, why did you call?"

His father’s tone grew somber. "Son, come home quickly—your mother is ill."

"What? Mom’s ill?" Zhang Can’s heart clenched. "Dad, what... what kind of illness? Is it serious?"

Though he hadn’t been home in years, it was only because he’d been working to earn money. It was hard to make a living in their hometown. The family was poor, but harmonious and close-knit—his parents, elder brother, younger sister, and nephew were the people he missed most. The news of his mother’s illness filled him with dread. He remembered her as always being in good health, but at their age—his parents were both around sixty—anything could happen.

Zhang Guonian spoke in a low, grave voice. "No more questions. If you still have any filial feeling, buy a ticket today and come home. Don’t wait and regret it. I have things to do—goodbye."

"Dad! Dad..." Zhang Can called out anxiously, but his father had already hung up. Zhang Can’s heart trembled—he could think of nothing but his mother. Without hesitation, he hurried to a ticket agency and found that there was a flight to Chongqing at 5:50 p.m. It was three o’clock now—he booked a ticket immediately.

With little time and no need to return to his rented room—he had nothing worth bringing—he headed straight to the airport by taxi. On the way, he suddenly remembered Zhu Senlin and quickly called to explain the situation.

Zhu Senlin responded without hesitation, "Don’t worry about things here—your mother’s health comes first. Take care of things at home, and call me if you need anything. There’s no rush!"

He knew Zhang Can wouldn’t borrow money from him, and besides, even the most expensive treatments in the countryside wouldn’t cost five or six million; Zhang Can now had more than six million. Still, Zhu Senlin’s words were a comfort.

So long as Zhang Can wasn’t snatched away by someone else, it didn’t matter when he returned. From Zhang Can’s words, Zhu Senlin sensed the illness was serious, and given Zhang Can’s loyalty, it was only natural he’d rush home for his mother.

After a few more words of concern, Zhu Senlin ended the call. Zhang Can, worried and anxious, wished he could sprout wings and fly home instantly.

He had never flown before—the tickets were too expensive. This was his first time, and now he didn’t care about the price, booking a first-class seat. Throughout the journey, he thought of his parents—how they’d toiled all their lives for their three children and never enjoyed any comfort. Now that he was finally earning money and could have given them a better life, his mother had fallen ill.

Remembering his father’s heavy words brought tears to Zhang Can’s eyes. His father had always been cheerful; such seriousness meant his mother’s illness must be grave.

The taxi took an hour to reach the airport, and he waited another hour and a half in the terminal before boarding. Eager to know his mother’s condition, he had no mind to savor his first flight—he simply followed the other passengers onto the plane.

Before takeoff, the flight attendant politely asked everyone to fasten their seatbelts. After the initial turbulence, Zhang Can gazed out the window at the receding landscape, but his mind was filled with thoughts of his mother.

A few minutes later, once the plane stabilized at cruising altitude, a flight attendant came by and asked, "Sir, would you like a drink?"

Zhang Can absentmindedly asked for a hot milk, only then noticing the attendant—plain-faced but with a good figure. Who said flight attendants were always beauties?

Two hours felt like an eternity. When the plane finally landed, Zhang Can hurried out—without any luggage, he moved quickly. Outside the terminal, taxis lined up like a long procession.

He got in a cab and asked only one thing, "How much to Zhangjia Village?"

The driver hesitated. "Zhangjia Village? That’s a small place out past the county, more than a hundred kilometers from the city. For that kind of distance, it’s best to charter the ride—it’s at least three hundred, but I don’t usually go that far..."

"I’ll give you six hundred. I just need to get there fast, is that alright?" Zhang Can cut him off, doubling the price. In his anxious state, money was no object—he would have paid even more.

The driver was momentarily stunned. Six hundred—over four hundred in pure profit. No need for expressways or tolls—fuel would cost no more than a hundred. On a good day, he only made about two hundred, and he’d already made over a hundred today. This trip would earn him two or three days’ profits—very tempting.

But with so many recent robberies, most drivers were wary of leaving the city limits.

He looked Zhang Can over—the young man seemed cultured, not like a criminal. After a moment’s thought, the driver said, "Alright, but I’ll need to bring a companion. Is that okay?"

"Of course, I don’t mind. As long as you hurry—my mother’s ill, I’m rushing back from Jincheng," Zhang Can replied, understanding the driver’s caution. He had nothing to hide; he was no criminal, after all.