My heart is tied to that sky

In late spring, along the Huangpu River, the wind carries an indescribable tranquility.

The moisture on the river surface was warmed by the afternoon sun, mixed with the salty dampness in the river breeze, and drifted into the window, carrying a faint, languid atmosphere belonging to the city.

It was a rare weekend afternoon.

The whole city seemed to slow down, even the wind became exceptionally gentle, and even the usually noisiest sound of traffic on the elevated highway was as faint as distant background noise.

The Huangpu River outside the window is calm and still, like a piece of liquid gold that has been crushed and meanders outside the huge floor-to-ceiling window.

Sunlight sprinkled on the river, scattering golden glitter that made one's eyelashes flutter, and the whole world became hazy and gentle.

Occasionally, a cargo ship would sail by on the river, its low horn sound filtered almost inaudibly from hundreds of meters above the ground.

Only a faint tremor remained, drifting into this office high above the clouds, only to be quickly carried away by the air conditioning's fresh air system.

This is the president's office of Qingyang Industrial, high above the clouds.

The city skyline is visible through the floor-to-ceiling windows, offering a panoramic view of its prosperity. Yet, these dazzling lights seem as if they are seen through frosted glass, very far away from him.

Although it was the weekend, Tang Muyang still maintained his work habits.

Years of ups and downs in the business world have left him with no real rest. Even on rare afternoons, his biological clock wakes him up precisely at six in the morning.

Through the triple-laminated bulletproof glass, the bustling traffic on the ground was compressed into silent specks of light.

The noise was shut out; the entire floor was so quiet that you could hear the faint sound of the air conditioning vents and his own steady breathing.

It's as if time has been deliberately slowed down here.

Tang Muyang stood in front of the dark Brazilian rosewood executive desk.

His posture was upright, his back straight, just like the unyielding spirit he had maintained throughout his life. Even when he was just standing casually, he exuded the aura that had settled down from years of holding a high position.

The cashmere casual suit she was wearing had a delicate and soft fabric that shimmered with a subtle yet luxurious sheen in the afternoon sunlight.

Without a ostentatious logo, it exudes experience and confidence, with the hand-stitched details on the cuffs clearly visible in the sunlight.

He is 44 years old this year, and his temples are already slightly gray.

Time has etched faint lines at the corners of his eyes, but it has not diminished the sharpness in them. Instead, it has made the light in his eyes deeper and more restrained.

But those eyes, just like when they were young, still held a deep, unfathomable depth.

Beneath the calm lies a composure and strength honed by a lifetime of trials and tribulations; even a mere glance carries a reassuring sense of pressure.

Suddenly, the phone on the desk vibrated, and the screen lit up abruptly, instantly breaking the silence of the room.

The vibration was very faint, yet it sounded particularly jarring in the excessively quiet room.

It's a message from WeChat.

The sender's name was noted as "President's Office - Xiao Chen".

"Chairman Tang, the raw material suppliers in the south have raised prices again. They said they'll cut off supplies next week if we don't sign an exclusive agreement."

"In addition, the China Securities Regulatory Commission has also issued an inquiry letter regarding our acquisition, and the situation is not very optimistic."

Tang Muyang glanced at it, his gaze sweeping lightly over the screen without changing his expression. He simply pressed a button with his fingertip and turned off the screen.

He didn't even need to click to read it carefully; he could guess the undercurrents in those words without even opening them.

Having navigated the ups and downs of the business world for twenty years, he had seen far too many instances of this kind of opportunistic exploitation.

Threats, tests, and traps were commonplace for him; he could even picture the other person on the other end of the phone with a calculating smile.

Capital is like a bloodthirsty shark; the moment you show the slightest sign of weakness, it will swarm and tear you apart.

He knew this better than anyone else, and had already thought of a solution in his mind.

On the leather sofa in the living room, 13-year-old Tang Zhenyang was wearing noise-canceling headphones, frowning slightly at the iPad screen.

The boy's brows furrowed into a small knot, and even his usually relaxed jawline was taut.

Schools have not yet reopened due to the pandemic.

The classroom has moved online, and the world of teenagers has become quieter. Even the sounds of playing around with classmates can only be heard through the screen.

All courses for the second semester of the second year of junior high school were moved online.

On one side of the screen is the teacher's explanation, and on the other side is the boy's focused profile, his pen gliding rapidly across the screen with almost no pause.

The boy gripped the Apple Pencil tightly, his expression serious as he sketched geometric shapes on the screen.

With a light touch of the pen tip, she was meticulous, even using the eraser with extra caution, for fear of making a single mistake.

His tightly furrowed brows were just like Tang Muyang's back then—it was a spirit of not giving up and not accepting fate. Even if it was just a geometry problem, he didn't want to lose.

Six-year-old Tang Shiyang was lying on the carpet, playing with a pile of blocks in her hands.

Her small body lay softly against the ground, quiet and obedient, her pigtails hanging down and brushing against her rosy cheeks.

She wore two pigtails, her hair was soft, and she mumbled to herself, making herself sound incredibly cute.

She even arranged building blocks to resemble a "bridge" and a "makeshift hospital" in her eyes.

Imitating words heard in the news: "This is a bridge, this is a makeshift hospital, Daddy is going to build lots and lots of roads to keep the virus out..."

The child's innocent words added a touch of warmth to the tense atmosphere, and also made Tang Muyang's tense shoulders relax a little.

A very faint scent of jasmine wafted in on the breeze.

Light and gentle, like the owner's temperament, quiet yet powerful, it slowly spreads with the aroma of Pu'er tea.

Gong Yiqing, dressed in a soft, off-white knitted dress and carrying an exquisite fruit platter, walked lightly to Tang Muyang's side.

Her gait was graceful and her demeanor gentle; even the sound of her slippers on the floor was very soft.

Because of working from home, she has lost some of her sharpness in the workplace and gained more of her gentle maternal instincts.

Her eyes were gentle, and her smile was faint; she was completely different from the decisive and efficient vice president of Qingyang Group.

"Xiao Chen circled the door three times, too scared to come in, so he had to send a WeChat message for help."

She spoke softly, her tone carrying a hint of helpless laughter. Her voice was as light as a feather, yet it precisely soothed his emotions.

Her voice was clear and gentle, carrying a calming power.

Every word and phrase soothes his anxiety like warm water; even a simple sentence can instantly calm him down.

She reached out and picked up the teapot on the table. Her fingertips deftly lifted the lid, placed the tea leaves, and poured in water. Her movements were fluid and graceful, clearly the result of countless repetitions.

The soft clinking of the kettle lids was particularly pleasant in the quiet room.

As boiling water is poured in, the aroma of the tea explodes instantly. The rich fragrance of Pu'er tea slowly permeates the air, mixed with the delicate scent of jasmine, instantly relaxing the mind.

"I've already had the legal department draft a lawyer's letter for the suppliers in the south."

Her tone was calm, her eyes were firm, as if she had expected this to happen, and she showed no sign of panic.

"Since they want to cut off supplies, then we'll play along to the end."

Regarding the CSRC inquiry letter, I've had someone review the basic materials first, so you can rest assured.

She handed Tang Muyang a freshly brewed cup of tea, the temperature of which was just right. Then she stood quietly to the side, saying nothing and not disturbing him, simply watching him silently.

Tang Muyang's fingertips touched the warm cup, and his gaze slowly fell to the corner of the table.

The old envelope, weighed down by a mahogany paperweight, lay quietly.

It was unremarkable, yet heavy, with its edges worn rough from repeated handling, clearly indicating that he had examined it countless times.

He slowly picked up the teacup, took a sip of the warm tea, and his gaze gradually darkened.

Memories flooded his mind like a tide, and those images he had buried deep inside were now as clear as if they had happened just yesterday.

"When I was a child, we didn't even have a stable electric light."

Tang Muyang spoke softly, more like talking to himself, his voice low and hoarse, carrying a hint of barely perceptible melancholy.

"I owe two yuan in tuition fees, and I can't even afford to eat."

"One private coaching session that Zhenyang takes now is enough for me to eat for a year back then."

He stroked the rim of the teacup, his fingertips lightly tracing the porcelain surface, his eyes gradually becoming hazy.

Those bitter days, those freezing winters, those hungry nights, all come flooding back to me now.

Those long-buried memories surged back uncontrollably.

Suppressed deep within his heart, it was ready to erupt at any moment, bringing with it the emotions he had deliberately forgotten.

"On that day, I vowed to leave the mountains and give my family a better life."

"I want to ensure that future generations will never have to kneel down for a few dollars in tuition fees."

"I no longer have to worry about losing everything because of an illness."

Every word carries the weight of time, and every sentence is an obsession etched into his very bones.

Gong Yiqing didn't press for details or say anything more.

She simply stood quietly, nodding gently, her eyes filled with heartache and understanding. She understood all his forbearance and the softness hidden behind his strength.

She understood his silence, and she understood his entire past.

I understand his suffering, his stubbornness, why he got to where he is today, and all his persistence and bottom lines.

"I'll take care of the company, so you can rest assured."

In short, it's as light as the wind, yet it carries away all weariness.

Tang Muyang took a deep breath and slowly sat back down in his executive chair.

His back was still straight, but he had relaxed a bit. He tapped the table lightly with his fingertips, as if he was sorting out his turbulent thoughts.

He reached out, his movements careful, as if touching a fragile treasure, and slowly pulled out the contents of the envelope.

The movements were slow, with an almost reverent solemnity.

It was a candy wrapper that was so thin it would crumble at the slightest touch.

It is old, with slightly curled edges, and has become brittle from being exposed to the sun. It looks as if it would crumble into dust with the slightest force.

The candy wrapper has long since faded, and the once vibrant red is now just a mottled mark.

Yet it carried the memories of his entire childhood and was the sweetest thing he could think of at the time.

……

"Pingsheng, Xiuying, you are the older brother and sister, so you should take good care of Muyang in the future."

The father's voice was hoarse and heavy, echoing in the dilapidated house, weak and feeble, yet exceptionally firm.

Tang Pingsheng paused for a moment, then nodded heavily, his eyes firm and his tone resolute:

"Father, don't worry, as long as we're here, my brother will be here too."

Tang Xiuying also said softly, her voice gentle yet firm: "Dad, I will take good care of my younger brother."

The silhouettes of the father and his four sons are projected onto the mottled earthen wall, one tall and one short, like two trees standing side by side.

Roots connected to roots, hearts pressed together, they will not fall even in the face of wind and rain.

They were firmly anchored to this barren land.

The classrooms at the town's middle school were dilapidated.

The mud walls were mottled, the roof leaked wind, and the place was shabby. Even the blackboard on the podium had several cracks.

The chalk writing on the blackboard was crooked and uneven, and the window paper rustled in the wind, as if it might be torn at any moment.

A cold wind seeped in through the cracks, making people's hands and feet icy cold.

A math test paper lay quietly on the desk.

The paper was yellowed and the edges were curled up. It was the kind of practice paper that had been used for a long time. He had repeatedly pressed it under his textbook, but it was still crumpled.

That red "58 points" was like a sharp knife, piercing Tang Muyang's eyes.

The stinging, burning, and embarrassing sensations instantly brought tears to his eyes, and his breathing became rapid.

He bit the pencil stub, his lips slightly pursed, his eyes involuntarily glancing at his deskmate Peng Yiyang's test paper.

He was completely oblivious to the fact that the pencil tip was bristling from biting it; all he felt was the burning sensation on his face.

That was Ms. Peng's daughter, the homeroom teacher. The test paper had a beautiful "98 points", with neat handwriting and a clean paper. Even the teacher's red checkmark was very clear.

Peng Yiyang was packing her schoolbag, a carefree smile on her face.

She comes from a wealthy family and has a bright future; they are from two different worlds. She will never understand what a failing test paper means to him.

At that time, he thought that grades were the only currency to change one's fate.

Only by doing well in exams can one leave the mountains and enable their family to live a better life.

It wasn't until later, after experiencing the world, that I realized that integrity is the only collateral one can have as a person.

Without collateral, one will ultimately find it difficult to move an inch in this society.

On his way home from school, Tang Muyang did something he would regret most in his life.

Shame and fear made him lose his mind, and even his steps became unsteady.

He tore up the test paper with a score of 58, crumpled it into a ball, and threw it into the Fuyi River.

The paper ball traced an arc in the air before quickly falling into the river and drifting away with the current.

The paper ball spun on the water's surface and quickly disappeared without a trace.

Just like the shame he was trying to erase.

But some things become clearer the more you try to hide them. No matter how far the river carries him, that shame is forever etched into his bones.

When he got home, he lowered his head and lied when his father questioned him.

He dared not look up into his father's eyes, but stared at the tips of his shoes, his fingers gripping the hem of his clothes tightly.

"The test went...not bad."

Tang Zhiye remained silent.

She just stared at him quietly, her gaze so deep that it made people afraid to look directly at her, and even the air seemed to become oppressive.

He silently walked into the inner room, his footsteps very light, and took out the set of "Selected Works of Mao Zedong" wrapped tightly in coarse cloth from the wooden box under the bed.

The cloth bag still had patches on it, and the edges were worn and frayed, clearly indicating that it had been handled countless times.

He turned the page and pointed to a line of text.

The fingers were rough, with wide knuckles and black dirt embedded in the nail crevices, but that finger was exceptionally strong, exuding an undeniable authority.

"Words can be copied, and marks can be changed."

Tang Zhiye raised his head, his gaze sharp and fixed on Tang Muyang's eyes, speaking each word clearly and forcefully:

"But one's backbone must not be bent."

"Once it's bent, it can never straighten up again."

Tang Muyang trembled all over.

Her legs went weak, her heart pounded, and she was so ashamed she wanted to disappear. Tears welled up in her eyes, but she clenched her teeth and refused to let them fall.

He looked into his father's cloudy yet sharp eyes, eyes hardened by life yet still upright, like a ruler measuring his wretchedness.

That night, he knelt in the main room until late into the night.

His back was straight, and he refused to bow his head. Even when his knees were pressed against the cold mud, he didn't move an inch.

His older brother, Tang Pingsheng, silently stayed by his side, without saying a word, and gave him his only steamed bun.

The steamed bun was still warm, carrying the warmth of his brother's hands, but it couldn't suppress the guilt in his heart.

His older sister, Tang Xiuying, stood by silently mending his torn pants.

The fine stitches concealed a silent tenderness; under the lamplight, her shadow stretched long, nestled close to his.

The winter of 1989 was exceptionally cold.

The cold wind howled, freezing people to the bone, and even their breath was tinged with white mist.

Under the dim light of a kerosene lamp, the flame flickered slightly, and draft paper covered the entire table, filled with densely packed formulas and calculations.

Tang Muyang held the pencil, his fingertips red from the cold, and reworked the wrong problems one by one.

He wrote each stroke with utmost care, even when his fingers were frozen, he would rub his hands together and continue writing.

His pen moved swiftly across the paper, making a rustling sound.

It was exceptionally clear in the quiet night.

One, two, three... until late at night, until the candles burned out.

Tang Pingsheng got up, put on his clothes, and looked at his younger brother who was still studying hard, a trace of heartache flashing in his eyes.

He silently stepped forward and draped an old cotton-padded jacket over his younger brother.

Tang Xiuying, the older sister, brought over a bowl of hot sweet potato porridge and placed it next to her younger brother.

The shadows of the siblings were stretched long and overlapped, making it impossible to distinguish one from the other.

From that day on, Tang Muyang's math scores began to improve by leaps and bounds.

He is no longer the genius who excels only in one subject, but a well-rounded warrior.

In the spring of 1990, a light rain fell, and the mountain mist enveloped the village like a veil.

Tang Muyang stood on the hilltop, gazing into the distance.

Tang Jianguo came running up, panting, to call him.

"Muyang! Let's go home! It's raining!"

Tang Muyang didn't move. He pointed beyond the mountains, where the unknown world lay, a prosperous other side.

"Jianguo, I want to go out."

His voice wasn't loud, but it carried an undeniable firmness.

"I want to extend the road outside to our doorstep."

"I want to enable the people living in these mountains to leave these mountains."

That was the prototype of his idea of ​​"serving the country through industry".

In that era of scarcity, a boy's ambition was both simple and grand.

Above the clouds, Tang Muyang straightened the cuffs of his casual suit and pressed the elevator button.

The elevator doors slowly opened, and his sharp and determined gaze was reflected in the mirrored stainless steel mirror.

"From 1976 to 1990."

Tang Muyang stepped into the elevator and turned around.

"Under that sky, I learned to cry, to endure, and also to stand tall as a person."

The elevator doors slowly closed, shutting out that lonely figure.

"But this is just the beginning..."

The camera pierces through the clouds, traverses time and space, and connects with the bustling world of the 1990s.