43: Chapter 43 Cash Pays Off Old Debts

The farce that morning had not stirred ripples in Shen Du's heart for long.

For a trader accustomed to manipulating life and death within financial markets,

practical problems that could be leveled with money were not worth the emotional drain.

After driving away the unwelcome guests,

Shen Du brought his focus back to reality.

As the end of the year approached, most of the carpenters and masons who worked in construction away from home had already returned to their villages with their wages in pocket.

Shen Du didn't bother with appeals to hometown sentiment; he used the simplest and most brutal method: cash clears the way.

Under the pretext of "Chinese New Year rush orders," Shen Du threw out cash daily wages at double or triple the market rate.

Driven by money,

these rugged men who had intended to rest for the winter erupted with a fervor for infrastructure work.

In the blink of an eye, the date arrived at January 26th, the day before the Little New Year.

In just a few short days,

this bungalow, which the villagers had long called the "Cold Cave," had transformed.

The originally dilapidated and leaking roof had been completely resurfaced by the workers with tiles and waterproof materials.

The old wooden doors and windows, which leaked wind from all sides, were all replaced with windproof aluminum alloy ones.

What left Wang Hanmei most dazed was the red brick floor beneath her feet, which would seep water whenever it was cloudy or rainy.

Now, it was paved with a layer of smooth concrete square tiles.

Not only that,

as brand-new color TVs, double-door refrigerators, microwaves, and other home appliances were moved inside,

the originally empty small home was filled to the brim.

Standing under the bright lights,

feeling the new doors and windows keeping the cold wind at bay, Shen Du let out a sigh of relief.

This dilapidated old house, which had carried the hardships of mother and son for twenty years, finally possessed the warmth and decency of a normal home.

On the day the old house was completely renovated,

Shen Du did not hide inside to enjoy it as the villagers had expected.

He sat alone at the Eight Immortals table in the living room.

In his hand, he held an old ledger with a dark blue cover and frayed edges.

This was something he had dug out from the depths of the old sewing machine's drawer while his mother wasn't looking.

Opening the ledger, it was densely recorded with the debts of gratitude Wang Hanmei had incurred at every juncture over the past twenty years:

"The 23rd day of the twelfth lunar month, borrowed five jin of rice from Aunt Li next door."

"Shen Du had a high fever, Uncle Wang paid thirty yuan for medical expenses."

"Roof leaking, the Zhang brothers helped repair it, treated them to a dinner..."

These amounts were insignificant in the eyes of the current Shen Du.

But in this mountain valley, they were the lifelines his mother had grasped while being ostracized by the clan.

"Beep—"

With the sound of the electronic lock, Shen Du opened the trunk of that black G-Wagon.

Inside the vehicle, besides mountains of bird's nest, famous cigarettes, and fine liquor,

the most eye-catching item was a half-open silver briefcase on the floor of the backseat.

Inside were stacks upon stacks of red cash.

Shen Du picked up the briefcase with one hand.

Carrying gift boxes in the other, his gaze was decisive.

"Mom, let's go. We're going to walk around and pay a visit to the neighbors."

Wang Hanmei felt a bit uneasy looking at her son's attire.

But after seeing the calmness in Shen Du's eyes, she followed him.

For the entire afternoon that followed,

Shen Du went door-to-door according to the names in the ledger.

He did not have the arrogance of a nouveau riche.

Instead, he kept a very humble posture.

Every time he entered a home, he would first present the heavy gifts and thick red envelopes with both hands.

He was settling not just money, but old debts known as "kindness."

He wanted to use this wealth to repay those past acts of kindness a hundredfold.

Watching her son in his expensive trench coat before her,

bowing again and again before those simple, rustic neighbors, Wang Hanmei's eyes gradually grew warm.

The barrage of slaps that morning, and the violence that had erupted from her son, had once made her heart race with fear.

She had thought that the place called Shanghai had turned her son into a monster who only cared about money.

But at this very moment, Shen Du was handling social interactions flawlessly.

Regardless of whether it was a few jin of rice borrowed or a few dozen yuan paid for medical bills back then,

he didn't distinguish between big or small; for every single one, he personally presented heavy gifts and red envelopes.

He didn't act superior just because he was worth over a hundred million and drove a luxury car.

Instead, before these villagers who had once given them a helping hand, he kept his posture extremely low, saying "thank you" over and over again.

Watching those neighbors go from feeling uneasy to being flattered, praising repeatedly that "Hanmei raised a good son,"

Wang Hanmei wiped away tears on the side.

But only Shen Du, who had experienced two lifetimes, knew clearly in his heart.

He was doing this not just for simple repayment of kindness.

It was also a strategic layout tailored for his mother.

His identity in Shanghai was fragmented and dangerous.

If he brought his honest, simple mother to that Vanity Fair, it would only expose her to the spotlight and turn her into his Achilles' heel.

Therefore, he could only leave his mother in their homeland.

He would feed these villagers with heavy money, and then give them plenty of face with his humility.

Shen Du was using the logic of a trader to weave a "protective umbrella" for his mother.

As long as he, Shen Du, was still in Shanghai for one day,

the villagers who had accepted his favors and real money would protect Wang Hanmei and not let her suffer any grievances.

By evening, the night in the mountain village was enveloped by the cold wind.

In the newly renovated Shen Family old house, warm lights were glowing.

When Shen Du, having finished settling the ledger, pushed open that windproof door,

a rich aroma of food rushed toward him.

In the living room, the old Eight Immortals table was already filled with steaming hot dishes.

Placed right in the center was a plate of a local specialty snack that was only made in the mountains during festivals: "Juan Yin Bao."

Wang Hanmei, wearing an apron, walked out of the kitchen carrying the last bowl of hot soup.

Looking at her exhausted son, her face was full of smiles:

"Du'er, go wash your hands quickly and eat while it's hot."

Shen Du took off his trench coat and sat down at the table, his gaze falling on that plate of "Juan Yin Bao," his eyes softening.

This was a food made by cooking tofu, starch noodles, arrowhead tubers, and turnips with diced meat as the filling.

It was wrapped on the outside with flour pancakes or tofu skin.

This was the grandest delicacy an ordinary farm family could offer.

Wang Hanmei did not ask how much money her son had earned outside.

She had secretly wrapped a mother's most simple expectations into these steaming hot "Juan Yin Bao."

The ingredients inside were all metaphors:

"Turnips" (Caitou) sounded like "good luck" (Caitou), signifying that her son would have good fortune abroad;

"Tofu" (Doufu) sounded like "all rich" (Doufu).

It not only hoped for her son's wealth but also symbolized the need to be an upright person, just like tofu;

The finely chopped "arrowhead tubers" (Cigu) sounded like "take care of yourself" (Zigu).

That was the mother's deepest exhortation to her son traveling far away: take good care of yourself in the outside world.

Shen Du looked at this plate of unremarkable rustic food before him.

He suddenly felt that the Michelin dinners in Shanghai, which easily cost tens of thousands per table,

paled in comparison to this plate of "Juan Yin Bao."

Shen Du picked up his chopsticks, picked up a steaming hot Juan Yin Bao, and took a bite.

The taste engraved deep in his taste buds filled his mouth.

He abandoned his elegance and composure and began to eat in large mouthfuls.

However, after swallowing only a few bites, Shen Du's action of picking up food paused.

He froze blankly at the dining table.

His eyes fixed steadily on the skin in the bowl that had spilled its filling, unmoving.

"Du'er, what's wrong? Are you choking? Eat slowly!"

Wang Hanmei, sitting opposite him, was startled and hurriedly poured a glass of warm water, pushing it to her son's side.

Shen Du was not choking.

What was stuck in his throat was not the warm food.

It was the surging, overwhelming embarrassment and regret from his past life.

This long-lost taste of home was like a sharp knife, piercing through the memory barrier he had built with his rationality.

In the trajectory of his past life,

ever since he graduated from Shanghai, he had almost never returned home once.

He had been exhausted, running around in that Vanity Fair.

Until the very moment of his bankruptcy and rebirth, he had been struggling like a trapped beast in a meat grinder.

He had climbed very high in his past life, but on this road of no return paved with money,

he had neglected the mother who was bitterly waiting in the dilapidated old house.

He had lost the person he should have cherished the most in this world.

The piping hot filling slid down his esophagus; this warm current, carrying the scent of human life, melted the solid ice in the depths of Shen Du's heart.

Living a new life, it was only until he swallowed this bite of Juan Yin Bao that he truly realized.

Those top-tier, decadent social engagements in Shanghai were nothing but fleeting clouds.

This simple meal before him, wrapped with his mother's expectations, was the "ultimate taste of the human world."

Shen Du picked up the water glass, tilted his head, and took a big gulp.

He swallowed the food in his mouth, along with all the debts and regrets of his past life, into his stomach.

When he raised his head again,

the aura on that face, accustomed to controlling life and death on the capital battlefield, receded.

He was just a son who had returned home, looking at his mother with graying temples before him, a gentle smile lifting the corners of his mouth:

"Mom, it's been a long time since I last ate Juan Yin Bao..."

"I really didn't expect it to be so delicious."