I couldn't take it anymore; when I went home for Chinese New Year, the family genealogy book ha

After hanging up Su Tianhao's call, Jiang Chen glanced back at the situation inside the tin shack.

Jiang Yaohua sat on the broken wooden bed, clutching the stack of land deeds, his tears still wet on his face, repeating the same sentence over and over.

"This is too precious...too precious...I can't accept it..."

Jiang Ming squatted down beside his grandfather, wiping his face with his sleeve, his own eyes red.

Jiang Wanshan sat on the only intact plastic chair by the bed, his cane resting against the edge of the bed, and his copper pipe resting on his knees.

The old man's expression was calm, but his eyes remained red.

"Yaohua".

Jiang Wanshan spoke, his voice not loud, but in the cramped tin shack, every word was clear.

"You don't need to worry about the money. Brother Chen's family is much wealthier than you think. Two hundred million is like selling two bowls of soy milk to him."

Jiang Yaohua was stunned.

He looked up at Jiang Wanshan, then turned to look at Jiang Chen standing at the door, and his lips moved slightly.

"Big brother...is there someone important in our family?"

Jiang Wanshan chuckled but didn't reply.

Wang Dagou couldn't hold back any longer. He squeezed through the door and plopped down on the floor—there weren't even any extra chairs in the room.

"Second Grandfather! What a question! What big shot is he? That's our Brother Chen! The man who spends the most money in the entire Nanjiang Province!"

Jiang Yaohua's expression was complicated. He had been selling soy milk in Southeast Asia for forty years, earning a few dozen Malaysian Ringgit a day, not even enough to pay protection money. The phrase "the man who spends the most money" was nothing short of a fantasy to him.

He looked at Jiang Chen, his eyes filled with heartache.

"Children...did you...sell all the fields in your hometown to come see me?"

His voice grew softer and softer as he spoke.

"Spending so much money... how will we manage after we go back? My brother is getting old, he can't take this kind of strain..."

As he spoke, he reached out to touch the stack of land deeds, intending to return them.

"No. This is too much money. You should take it back and live on it. I can make a living selling soy milk."

Jiang Wanshan was amused by his younger brother's words and laughed so hard he coughed.

Wang Dagou slapped his thigh and laughed heartily.

"Second Grandfather! You've flipped back to the Qing Dynasty in your almanac!"

He took out his phone, swiped around a bit, found a video, and shoved the screen in front of Jiang Yaohua.

"Look, this was taken a couple of days ago at our village's winter solstice pig slaughtering feast."

The screen lit up.

In the video footage, the Jiangjia Village Cultural Square is brightly lit, with hundreds of large round tables filling the entire square. As the camera pans across, each table is laden with steaming hot dishes—braised pork hock, pig's head meat, blood sausage, and pork stew with sauerkraut—the bowls and plates are stacked high like small mountains.

Hundreds of people sat together, drinking from large bowls and eating large chunks of meat.

The air seemed to smell of pork stew.

Jiang Yaohua's eyes were immediately drawn to him.

"This...this is my hometown?"

"That's right!" Wang Dagou gestured forward, "Take a look at this."

Screen switch.

Dividend distribution meeting.

On the long table in the center of the square, neatly stacked bundles of 100-yuan bills, sealed with pink tape, were piled up like small mountains. Next to them were seven or eight red cloth bags, which, though small, bent the table legs under their weight.

Jiang Chen stood on the stage and read out the names.

Jiang Shitou went on stage with a simple smile to accept the award. The red cloth bag was opened, and the gleaming gold bars reflected the sunlight.

Jiang Yaohua opened his mouth.

It can't be closed anymore.

"This...this is distributing gold?"

He brought his face close to the phone screen, his eyes wide open, his nose almost touching the glass.

"Chen-ge'er's village...is it producing gold?"

"It's not just about giving out gold." Wang Dagou cut to another video.

In the scene, rows of neat two-story villas line the newly paved asphalt road, with white walls and gray tiles, flowers in the front yard and parking in the back. Automated smart streetlights line the roadside, and in the distance, a modern processing plant with a glass curtain wall can be seen.

Jiang Yaohua's hands began to tremble.

"This...this is really my hometown? Or is it some TV program?"

"Second Grandfather, this is just where we usually live." Wang Dagou got more and more excited as he spoke, and then drew another paragraph.

The video shows a patrol convoy of more than a dozen black Mercedes-Benz G-Class vehicles slowly driving along a village road.

"See that? That's our village security team's patrol car."

Jiang Yaohua: "..."

Jiang Ming had somehow gotten close and was craning his neck to look at the phone screen.

"Grandpa, their patrol cars are even better than those of the Kuala Lumpur police."

Wang Dagou drew another section—this time using a drone for aerial photography.

From a bird's-eye view, thousands of acres of farmland stand in neat rows, with smart greenhouses gleaming silver in the sunlight. The ecological base on the back hill is faintly visible, and further away is a modern small airport with several white Boeing cargo planes parked on the runway.

Jiang Yaohua was stunned for a long time.

He pushed the phone away and turned to look at Jiang Wanshan.

"Big brother, did our family... find a gold mine?"

Jiang Chen burst out laughing at the door.

"Great-grandfather, we don't mine in our village." He walked in from outside, poured a glass of mineral water and handed it to him. "We focus on high-tech agriculture and logistics. We grow vegetables, raise pigs, and sell strawberry jam."

Jiang Yaohua took the water glass, his hands still trembling.

"Growing...growing vegetables can make you this rich?"

"Yes, you can." Jiang Chen squatted down in front of him. "Now every household in the village lives in a villa and receives gold bars at the end of the year. Even the street sweepers earn over ten thousand yuan a month. If you had gone back a few years earlier, you would have been entitled to all these benefits."

The tin shack was silent for a few seconds.

Grandpa Jiang Wanshan stood up, walked to his younger brother's side, and put one hand on Jiang Yaohua's thin shoulder.

"Yaohua, stop wandering around outside."

His voice wasn't loud, but every word was spoken with force.

"Pack your things and come back to Jiangjia Village with me. We'll go into our newly built Jiang Clan Ancestral Hall. It's a time to return to our roots."

The words "ancestral hall" acted like a key, unlocking everything that had been locked in Jiang Yaohua's heart for seventy years.

His lips trembled, and tears streamed down his face uncontrollably.

"Go back..."

The sound was as soft as a mosquito's buzz.

"I dream of going back..." He wiped his face, his voice growing louder, "I'd rather die on the kang (heated brick bed) in my hometown! My father's last words before he died were for me to go back. I'm so sorry to him... I'm so sorry..."

He cried so hard that his whole body trembled, and his bones creaked and rattled under his tattered undershirt.

Jiang Ming also shed tears, squatting down beside his grandfather and hugging his arm.

The seven- or eight-year-old great-grandson peeked out from the corner of the bed, saw all the adults in the room crying, and also let out a wail.

Wang Dagou sniffed and turned away to wipe his face.

Ding Xiu stood outside the door, facing the alley, his back ramrod straight.

Holding the thermos in my hand, my knuckles turned slightly white.

That evening, the news spread throughout the Chinese community in Kuala Lumpur.

The old Chinese man who has been selling soy milk in Chinatown in the North District for forty years is a relative of that wealthy man from China.

Those who previously looked down on Jiang Yaohua's family and thought he was poor and stingy have now completely changed their tune.

Someone came knocking on the door with fruit and said, "Uncle Yaohua, it was all a misunderstanding before."

Someone claimed to be a friend who "borrowed" a bag of soybeans from Jiang Yaohua thirty years ago and now wanted to repay the favor.

Even worse, some brought their own daughters and said, "Isn't your grandson still unmarried? My daughter is a perfect match."

But they were all kept out of the old street.

Charles's security personnel stood at the street corner with guns at the ready, their faces expressionless.

"Unauthorized personnel are prohibited from entering."

A stylish local Chinese woman, refusing to believe the superstition, barged in carrying an LV bag.

Two security personnel stepped forward.