Reborn in 2012, building a new energy empire

At that moment, Jiang Haoran's account balance soared to a dazzling figure.

But he simply shut down the trading software and closed his laptop calmly, as if what had just ended was nothing more than an ordinary demo trading session.

Jiang Haoran quickly packed his luggage and prepared to embark on his journey home.

For him, the futures market was an incredibly sharp sword, the arena where he made his first fortune.

The fluctuating numbers can bring instant gratification and a burning sense of accomplishment, but they are also like fireworks without warmth.

The anchor of life always lies in the familiar lights of one's hometown.

The train sped along, and the scenery outside the window gradually changed from city buildings to open rice paddies and winding waterways.

As the train slowed down, the familiar outline of the station became clear in the lights.

He picked up his simple luggage and walked with the crowd toward the exit. The sea of ​​emotions churning in his heart due to the fighting finally calmed down at this moment.

When the familiar local accent filled the carriage, Jiang Haoran knew that they had arrived in Zhenjiang.

As I opened the door, a warm scent, a blend of the fragrance of bamboo leaves and the aroma of herbs, wafted towards me.

Mother Chen Fang was busy in the kitchen. Steam was rising from a large pot on the stove, which contained zongzi (sticky rice dumplings) and salted duck eggs that were being cooked.

The father, Jiang Jianguo, sat in the living room, clumsily but earnestly weaving "duck egg nets" with colorful silk threads. It was a local Dragon Boat Festival tradition to put boiled salted duck eggs into colorful net bags and have children hang them around their necks, symbolizing warding off evil and ensuring peace.

"Dad, Mom, I'm back." Jiang Haoran put down his luggage.

Above the door, a bunch of fresh mugwort and calamus had already been placed, emitting a unique spicy fragrance. This is an old custom to "ward off the five poisonous creatures" and pray for peace and health.

"You're back!" His mother came out of the kitchen, wiping her hands. She looked him up and down, her eyes full of concern. "You must not have been eating well at school. Look how thin you are. Go wash your face and eat right away. Your father went out of his way to buy yellow croaker today."

The meal was exceptionally lavish. Besides yellow croaker, there was braised pork, stir-fried seasonal vegetables, and in the center was a large triangular plate of glutinous rice dumplings and green-shelled salted duck eggs.

Jiang Jianguo silently poured two glasses of wine, picked up the one in front of him, tilted his head back and took a sip, and when he put the glass down, his gaze fell on Jiang Haoran's face.

"I know you're all grown up and don't believe in these things." He waved his hand, his tone devoid of any insistence, only the calm of someone who had been through it all.

"But there's a reason behind old rules. No matter how big the world is outside, you have to keep some things in mind."

Looking at the amber liquid swirling in the glass, Jiang Haoran suddenly understood his father's intention.

What my father was talking about was never a ceremony, but rather how he used the way he knew best to steadily deliver that clumsy yet heavy concern.

He picked up his glass and drank it all in one gulp.

The familiar spiciness rolled down his throat, evoking a distant taste from the depths of Jiang Haoran's memory.

In his previous life, after the factory struggled to survive and was eventually swindled into bankruptcy, his parents mortgaged almost their entire future to the crumbling factory and his future.

The mother's white hair quietly spread with each journey, and the father's straight back was also bent by the heavy burden.

Jiang Haoran, however, was so caught up in his so-called "career" and "future" that he lost all patience to even sit down and have a meal or a drink with them.

This time, the simple yet intense flavor on his tongue was imbued with everything he was determined to hold onto.

"Dad," Jiang Haoran picked up the wine bottle and refilled his father's empty glass. His voice was low but clear, "My uncle has helped connect us with clients in Shanghai. They'll be coming to visit the factory after the holiday."

He raised his eyes and looked directly at his father: "The factory will get better, you believe me."

Jiang Jianguo's hand holding the wine glass trembled slightly. The wine in the glass swayed gently, reflecting the dust particles floating under the lamplight, and also reflecting a light in his eyes that had not been seen for many years.

He didn't speak immediately, but slowly raised the glass of wine, as if weighing the weight of his words, or as if confirming a possibility that had been awaited for too long.

After a long silence, he nodded heavily and downed the wine in one gulp. As he swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbed, swallowing not only the wine, but also the silence accumulated over the years and new hopes.

"Alright," the father said, setting down his cup with a crisp sound, "then do a good job."

The night outside the window was getting darker, while the light inside the room was warm and yellow.

A cup of realgar wine, from an ancient blessing to ward off evil, to a silent covenant and entrustment between father and son at this moment, has quietly altered the course of some destinies on this night filled with the scent of mugwort.

Throughout the meal, the mother's hands were almost constantly moving.

Her chopsticks always precisely crossed the plates and dishes, placing the largest piece of braised yellow croaker belly and the tenderest stir-fried vegetables into his bowl without a word.

"You can't get this fresh outside," she said casually, but her eyes were full of careful scrutiny. "The school cafeteria food is too oily. You have a sensitive stomach, so you have to be careful."

"Okay, Mom." Jiang Haoran didn't refuse, accepting all the warm love. He also naturally placed a piece of braised pork, stewed until tender, into his mother's bowl.

"Are you keeping up with your studies?" The mother hesitated for a moment before asking, her eyes filled with concern, but also a hint of caution, as if she didn't want to put pressure on him. "Study hard in university. Do you have enough money? Don't be stingy."

"I can keep up, Mom, don't worry." Jiang Haoran put down his chopsticks, his tone gentle and confident, his eyes filled with a reassuring smile.

"There is a Professor Wu in our college who is very famous in the economics circles of Jiangsu and Zhejiang. He recently praised a market analysis I wrote."

He said my paper presented novel viewpoints and had solid data. He also asked about my future plans and said that if I was willing, he could recommend me to continue research with him.

These words were spoken lightly, but they carried great weight in the parents' ears. The fine lines at the corners of the mother's eyes widened with a smile.

He then recounted his experiences on campus: the witty elective course instructors, the ginkgo trees outside the library's floor-to-ceiling windows, and an interesting project simulation he did with his classmates...

He deliberately omitted the hardships of staying up all night and the pressure of watching the market, only extracting the vivid and reassuring aspects.

He knew that what his parents wanted was not detailed reports, but reassuring signals that "their son is doing well."

Although the father did not interrupt, he listened silently, occasionally taking a sip of wine, but the slight relaxation of his brows and the occasional glint of light in his eyes revealed his relief.

Night had completely enveloped the town outside the window, with scattered dragon boat lights twinkling on the distant river, like a gentle footnote to this ordinary night.

The room was bathed in warm yellow light, and the steam from the food mingled with the aroma of wine, creating a soft yet strong net.

After dinner, Jiang Haoran returned to his childhood room.

The interior furnishings remain simple; the old textbooks on the bookshelves and the faded posters of sports stars on the walls all seem to stand still, a testament to the passage of time.

He pushed open the wooden window, and the moist summer night breeze immediately rushed in, carrying river water, soil, and the faint sound of drums in the distance.

He leaned against the window without turning on the light. Downstairs, he could hear his parents talking in hushed tones, mixed with the crisp sound of water running as his mother washed the dishes.

These extremely ordinary sounds, at this moment, sound like the most soothing music.

A profound sense of tranquility, mixed with a clear power, slowly filled and surged within him.

He knew that this journey of restarting would not be easy, but the warm and steadfast light behind him and the vibrant world waiting for him to protect were the only reasons for him to brave all the storms and never turn back.

All his scheming and actions in this life are for the purpose of ensuring that the light inside this window will never waver in the face of wind and rain.