My heart is tied to that sky

The wind at Hutanyuan still carried a lingering chill, like an invisible carving knife.

The city's silhouette is sculpted in the morning mist.

However, at the top of the center of Qingyun Mountain, the air seemed to be frozen with a kind of intense heat about to burst forth.

That was the aura that surged forth when hundreds of billions of dollars in capital intersected with a lifetime of hard work.

It was early spring of 2020, and at six in the morning, the horizon was just beginning to lighten with the first hint of dawn.

The huge floor-to-ceiling windows are like a transparent barrier connecting heaven and earth.

The morning light slanted across the huge glass curtain wall, and the cold light fell on his shoulders.

The pressed fabric of the suit had a matte sheen.

Tang Muyang did not sit in the genuine leather boss's chair that symbolized the highest power in the group.

Instead, he leaned alone against the cold curtain wall.

The morning mist had not completely dissipated, and the Shanghai skyline was faintly visible outside the window.

His gaze pierced through the thin mist, as if he could see the morning in his hometown thousands of miles away.

My father, Tang Zhiye, should have already gotten up and was feeding the chickens in the yard, or sitting on the doorstep smoking a pipe.

Waiting for the children to wake up, the morning light in the countryside is simple and peaceful.

His thoughts drifted back to when he left home this morning, when his two children were still fast asleep.

14-year-old Zhenyang looked just like his rebellious self back then, with a slight frown on his brow.

Six-year-old Shiyang was curled up in a small ball, her cheeks rosy.

It looks just like a ripe wild fruit in the mountains, so cute that it melts your heart.

He recalled that when he was 14 years old, he was still herding cattle and chopping firewood in the mountains.

Wearing worn-out cloth shoes, I walked on the muddy mountain path.

My son is now receiving the best education at an international school.

Wearing a neat school uniform and carrying a brand new schoolbag.

Time flies, and the sense of transcending social classes is so strong at this moment.

He secretly vowed to make this change continue.

A few barely noticeable red veins were hidden under his eyes, a mark of staying up half the night repeatedly rehearsing the listing process.

The shirt collar was crisp, but the cuffs were rolled up slightly, revealing a section of the wrist with slightly bulging veins.

He didn't speak, just stood there quietly, his fingertips unconsciously reaching into the inside pocket of his suit jacket.

My fingertips touched a familiar coolness and roughness.

It was an old fountain pen.

He slowly took it out.

The pen body is made of cheap plastic, which has long been worn down by the passage of time and is covered with fine and deep scratches.

On the pen cap, there is a shocking deep mark—it was made twenty years ago, during a rainstorm at a construction site in southern Hunan, when he slammed the pen and himself hard onto the cement ground to protect the blueprints.

Tang Muyang gently pulled out the old fountain pen, his fingertips softly tracing the faint scratch on the cap.

His thoughts drifted back to the early days of his business, back in 2003, when he and Gong Yiqing were just crammed into a small rented room.

Living a frugal life, Gong Yiqing secretly sold her most beloved necklace to support his business venture.

He used the money he earned to buy the fountain pen as a "first gift" for his first business deal.

He remembered that night, the two of them sat under the dim light, and she carefully handed him the pen.

His eyes shone with expectation and determination: "Muyang, I believe you can succeed."

The scratch was left on the construction site later, but what he found even more unforgettable was...

Once, when creditors came to collect debts, Gong Yiqing injured her arm in an attempt to protect the pen.

From then on, this pen became a testament to their love and a source of motivation for his struggles.

Whenever he encounters difficulties and setbacks, he takes out this pen and strokes the scratch.

It's as if you can feel Gong Yiqing's warmth and strength.

On the desk, the "Final Confirmation Letter for Qingyang Industrial's A-Share Listing" lay quietly.

The black ink on white paper, its thickness seemingly bearing the weight of thousands of families' rice bowls, weighs over a thousand pounds.

Tang Muyang did not reach for the valuable Montblanc gold pen on the table.

Instead, he gently unscrewed the old fountain pen.

The pen tip remained sharp, reflecting a cold and resolute glint in the faint morning light.

At this moment, time and space seemed to have undergone a violent displacement.

That cold glint pierced through the dazzling fog of 2020, instantly pulling him back to his mountain village in southern Hunan in 1976.

In a daze, the slight hum of the constant-temperature air conditioner in the top-floor office disappeared.

Instead, the mountain wind howled through the drafty mud-brick houses.

The aroma that lingers around the nose is no longer the slight bitterness of high-end black coffee, but the smoky smell of burning kerosene lamps and the fishy smell of damp earth.

And that lingering smell of poverty.

1976, southern Hunan, a night of torrential rain.

The roof of the adobe house leaked, and rain dripped into the old wooden basin.

The young Tang Muyang, dressed in thin, old clothes, lay sprawled on a rickety wooden table.

He gripped the pen tightly in his hand and wrote forcefully on the rough scrap paper.

The handwriting is childish, yet powerful, each stroke seemingly declaring war on fate.

"I must get out of these mountains!"

Outside the window, the rolling green hills resembled an insurmountable wall, making it hard to breathe.

In the boy's eyes, there was stubbornness, resentment, and a suffocating desire to escape the mountains.

It also reflects a sense of uncertainty and courage about the future.

"Son, stop writing, the lamp oil is about to run out." The father, Tang Zhiye's voice came from the inner room.

With a strong local accent and a hint of heartache.

The boy didn't look up, but he gripped the pen tighter, his knuckles turning white from the force.

"Father, I, Tang Muyang, swear that I will leave this mountain in this lifetime and give you all a better life!"

The vow, having traversed more than forty years, echoed in the empty office.

Tang Muyang's fingers tightened slightly as he gripped the pen, his knuckles turning white from the force.

The vow we made back then, like a seed, took root and sprouted amidst the wind and rain.

Now, at the very top of this city, the most fruitful results will finally be reaped.

He tightened his grip slightly, pulling his thoughts back to reality.

"Knock knock knock".

Three rhythmic knocks, soft yet clear, like a spring breeze brushing across an ice surface.

Gong Yiqing stood at the door, holding a steaming cup of health-preserving tea.

She wasn't wearing one of those glamorous gowns she wears to dinner parties today.

Instead, she chose a well-tailored beige business suit.

Her makeup was simple and elegant, but her eyes revealed a calm and composed demeanor that indicated she was in complete control.

She gently placed the teacup beside her and walked to stand next to him.

The two looked at each other, needing no further words.

The thin mist outside the window gradually dissipated, and the signboard in the center of the clear clouds shone brightly.

Gong Yiqing reached out and placed her hand on the back of his hand.

The warmth of my palms dispels the morning chill.

She asked softly, "Are you ready?"

Tang Muyang took her hand in return, a relieved smile spreading across his lips: "With you here, everything was already prepared."

The elevator dinged, breaking the tranquility of the top floor.

Three figures strode in.

Tang Jianguo was carrying two steaming plastic bags, his hair was slightly disheveled, and the cuffs of his coat were still damp with morning dew.

Peng Jiahui followed closely behind, holding a notebook with worn edges, and behind his glasses were a pair of steady eyes.

Li Xiao carried the camera, the shoulder strap leaving red marks, his eyes filled with excitement and solemnity.

Tang Jianguo, Peng Jiahui, and Li Xiao pushed open the door and entered, carrying steaming hot pan-fried buns in their hands.

The aroma instantly filled the entire office. Without any hesitation, I sat down and took a big bite of the pan-fried bun, the soup overflowing.

Tang Muyang looked at them, a smile unconsciously creeping onto his face, but his thoughts drifted back to the first day of his business in 2005.

It was a bitterly cold morning, and the three of them were crammed into an empty, unfinished room.

They ate cold steamed buns, drank plain water, used instant noodle bowls as wine glasses, and vowed to make a name for themselves together.

At that time, they wore tattered clothes, and their faces were filled with exhaustion and confusion.

But his eyes gleamed with unyielding determination.

Today, Qingyang Group, with a market value of hundreds of billions, has risen to prominence.

But their brotherhood has never changed.

Whenever they encounter difficulties and challenges, they always work together to overcome them.

This bond is Qingyang's most precious asset and the foundation upon which they have come this far.

"Good morning, elder brother and sister-in-law!" Tang Jianguo's voice was loud, but he deliberately lowered it a few decibels in the quiet of the top floor.

Peng Jiahui shook his head helplessly: "Jianguo, be more composed. What day is it today?"

Li Xiao chuckled and began adjusting the camera: "Today is a historic moment; we must record the entire event!"

Tang Jianguo placed the pan-fried buns on the table; the plastic bag was stained with the grease of the old alleyway.

"I specially went to the old alley at five o'clock to queue up to buy this. The queue stretched all the way to the alley entrance. I knew you didn't like those fancy breakfasts. This is very filling."

Tang Muyang looked at the bag of pan-fried buns, smelled the familiar aroma of scallion oil, and his eyes welled up slightly.

"Thanks, Jianguo."

Peng Jiahui opened his laptop, the blue light from the screen reflecting on his face.

"All branches nationwide are operating normally, transaction channels are open, and all data has been checked three times with zero errors."

The office's large screen lit up, and the faces of senior executives appeared one by one.

Su Man was dressed in a bright red suit, the blue light from the screen making her eyes look sharp, with the redness of staying up all night hidden in them.

Su Man, dressed in a red dress, stood elegantly in front of the projection screen, reporting on the progress of the digital management platform.

Tang Muyang looked at her and recalled the scene when she joined Qingyang as a career woman.

At that time, the business world was still dominated by men, but she relied on her talent and perseverance.

He opened a breach for the company and became an indispensable core member.

"All personnel in Shanghai are on standby, with the highest level of security. Every procedure is flawless. The brothers are all waiting for you to strike this blow."

Qin Fendou appeared in the corner of the screen, with the background of the northwest sandstorm. He had dark skin and a hoarse but bold voice.

Qin Fendou, on the other hand, is a pragmatist. He once worked on a project in the Gobi Desert in Northwest China.

They persevered for three months in sub-zero temperatures of -30 degrees Celsius, ensuring the smooth progress of the project.

Their story is an epitome of the spirit of Qingyang Industry.

Here, there is not only capital operation, but also a pragmatic team and unremitting struggle.

Behind every person is a legend, and it is these legends that have brought Qingyang to its current glory.

"All staff at the Northwest Branch are on duty. Qingyang's roots are firmly planted in the soil, and the wind and sand cannot blow it down."

Tang Muyang's gaze swept across the screen, finally landing on a special split screen.

On the screen, Lin Mo and Zhao Gang appeared in their offices in Bangkok and Vietnam, their eyes tired but determined.

Looking at them, Tang Muyang felt a surge of pride and emotion.

He recalled that around 2010, in order to open up the Southeast Asian market, he and his team were scammed on the streets of Bangkok.

They worked for three consecutive days without sleep to solve technical problems at the factory in Vietnam.

At that time, they faced language barriers and cultural differences, making every step extremely difficult.

But they never gave up, always believing that Qingyang's products and services could win market recognition.

Today, Ching Yee's market share in Southeast Asia has steadily increased, becoming an important growth driver for the group.

Listing on the A-share market is just a stepping stone; Qingyang's journey is to the stars and the sea.

He believes that in the future, Qingyang will continue to expand its overseas footprint and become a leading global industrial group.

Lin Mo in Bangkok, with the humid, hot air and skyscrapers typical of the tropics behind him.

"Mr. Tang, the Bangkok project is already fully profitable. We are keeping an eye on the Singapore market and are ready to enter at any time."

Zhao Gang, from Vietnam, stands against the backdrop of the roar of factory machines, his skin tanned dark.

"Our production capacity in Vietnam is already full, and we are preparing to build a branch factory in Malaysia as a springboard for entering the European and American markets."

Tang Muyang nodded slightly, his gaze deep.

"Listing on the A-share market is just the beginning; Qingyang's goal is the global market. With real industry as the foundation and capital as the sail, we are heading towards a more distant and deeper sea."

The entire venue fell silent, then erupted in applause. The convoy was ready to go, the black sedans exuding a composed and dignified presence.

Tang Muyang was about to get into the car with Gong Yiqing in his hand. He closed his eyes to rest, and several of the darkest moments of the past 20 years flashed through his mind.

During the 1998 financial crisis, the company's cash flow dried up, and he couldn't sleep for nights on end.

Anxiously thinking about how to get through the difficult situation.

During the 2008 Wenchuan earthquake, he donated a large amount of money and supplies without hesitation.

However, it also faces enormous public pressure and operational challenges.

During the 2015 stock market crash, he turned the tide, stabilizing the company's stock price and investor confidence.

Each crisis made him more mature and resilient.

He knew all too well that success was never a smooth journey.

Only by experiencing the trials and tribulations can we truly appreciate the warmth of the sun.

He glanced back at the center of the towering clear clouds, his eyes deep and thoughtful.

"No matter how tall a building is, its roots must be deep." With a wave of his hand, he said, "Let's go."

In the exchange's lounge, Gong Yiqing gently straightened Tang Muyang's tie.

The two smiled at each other, their eyes filled with warmth. They didn't talk about stocks or going public; they only talked about everyday things.

"Zhenyang has been under a lot of academic pressure lately, and he said he wants to participate in social practice as soon as possible."

"Shiyang is becoming more and more sensible. He even helped me fold clothes yesterday," Tang Muyang replied.

He lamented that he spent too little time with his family, always busy with work and social engagements.

Gong Yiqing gently held his hand and said, "You did this not only for this family."

"It's also for the sake of millions of families."

"Your hard work and dedication are seen and appreciated by everyone."

A warm feeling welled up in Tang Muyang's heart. He knew that no matter where he went...

Gong Yiqing always silently supported him from behind; this understanding and comfort was his most precious treasure.

In the exchange lobby, flashes of light shone like a galaxy.

The red carpet was laid out, and Tang Muyang and Gong Yiqing walked side by side.

With steady steps, we walked from the mud to the clouds.

The leaders of the China Securities Regulatory Commission shook hands and praised him, saying, "A beacon of the real economy."

Tang Muyang bowed slightly: "Honor belongs to those who strive, and to this land."

On the bell-ringing platform, the bronze bell stands solemn and imposing.

Tang Muyang took out an old fountain pen, and the entire audience held their breath and stared intently. The flashes went off wildly, and the scratch was exceptionally clear in the light.

He and Gong Yiqing clasped their hands together, aiming them at the bronze bell.

The moment the bell was rung, the entire exchange erupted in enthusiastic applause and cheers.

But Tang Muyang's thoughts drifted to the banks of the Fuyi River, thousands of miles away.

The scene shifted, and he seemed to see his father, Tang Zhiye, standing at the village entrance.

My hands trembled, my eyes were filled with tears, and I wanted to touch the screen but couldn't.

The village children, wearing new school uniforms, read aloud from their textbooks on the playground.

The sound was crisp and pleasant, creating a beautiful auditory contrast with the stock exchange's bell.

He recalled the look in his father's eyes when he left the mountains in 1993.

It was a complex look in his eyes, a mixture of reluctance and worry, as well as expectation and encouragement.

He knows that he wouldn't have gotten to where he is today without his father's support and encouragement.

Now, he has realized his dream and hopes to make more contributions to his hometown.

He imagined the changes in his hometown in the future: better hospitals, better schools, and better roads.

These visions came to mind one by one, making him feel incredibly excited and proud.

"Building a foundation on industry, with a deep connection to our homeland—Qingyang Industry goes public!"

Clang! The bell rang loudly, echoing through the sky, and the large screen instantly turned red, displaying dazzling numbers.

The scene abruptly shifts to a remote location in southern Hunan, on the banks of the Fuyi River, at the Qingyang Education Assistance Center.

The children held up signs and laughed, their school uniforms brand new. 77-year-old Tang Zhiye stood at the door, his white hair still gleaming.

Looking at the camera, his lips trembled slightly: "Yang Ya, we're home." Tang Muyang's eyes reddened, and his throat tightened. Despite the distance, their eyes met.

The Pudong River and the Fuyi River are connected across mountains and sea.

The noise subsided, and night fell.

The rooftop banquet was brightly lit and the atmosphere was lively.

Tang Muyang stood up, raised his glass, and said, "Today, we have witnessed Qingyang's glorious moment together."

"But I want to say that this is just the beginning."

"The roots of Qingyang will forever remain on this land."

After saying that, he took out the old fountain pen from his pocket and solemnly placed it in front of his son, Tang Zhenyang.

"This was left to Dad by Grandpa, and now Dad is leaving it to you."

"The roots of Qingyang must not be severed."

He spoke earnestly, and Zhenyang took the pen, his eyes shining with determination.

He knew that this was not just a pen, but a legacy of spirit and a commitment to responsibility.

After the banquet, Tang Muyang walked alone to the edge of the rooftop and looked up at the night sky.

A kite bearing the word "Sunny" soars in the night sky, sometimes struggling, sometimes rising.

But he eventually regained his composure, and looking at the kite, a strange sense of emotion welled up inside him.

No matter how high a kite flies, the string will always be in the hands of your hometown.

Similarly, no matter where Qingyang Industry goes, its roots will always be on this land.

This original aspiration and mission will forever inspire him to keep moving forward and to surpass himself.

My heart is bound to that sky; I will never betray it in this life.

—The End