Don't underestimate the poor and elderly; I was thrilled to refuse the class beauty's adva

She rubbed her eyes, and when she saw that it was her son who came in, she immediately threw off the thin blanket and stood up. The lingering sleepiness on her face had not yet completely dissipated before it was replaced by a concerned expression.

"Why are we almost half an hour later than usual today? Did the school add extra classes?"

Zhang Rongshan didn't say anything. He put the cigarette in his hand on the coffee table, turned off the TV with the remote control, and lingered on his son's face for two seconds, as if to make sure that there was nothing wrong with him.

Seeing that Zhang Yifan's school uniform was neat and his face was normal, the barely perceptible tension in his eyes slowly relaxed. He turned around, pushed the fruit plate to the side of the coffee table, picked up the milk cup, touched its temperature, and put it back on the table.

There were no questions, no follow-ups, not even a single "Why are you so late?"

There was only a glass of cold milk, a TV that was turned off, and a look of relief in someone who had been waiting for a long time.

As Zhang Yifan changed his shoes in the entryway, he looked down at the light on the shoe cabinet that had been left on especially for him, and the system's cold announcement came to mind again.

The father carried cement to the construction site, and the mother went to the vegetable market in the early morning to sort vegetables. Both of them died from overwork.

He untied his shoelaces, straightened his sneakers, and took a deep breath.

"Dad, Mom, I have something to tell you."

Liu Guilan was about to take the milk to the kitchen to heat it up when she heard her son's tone and paused.

Zhang Rongshan was folding the expired evening newspaper when his hand paused for a moment.

They exchanged a glance, both seeing a hint of unease in each other's eyes. The son's tone was calm and resolute, as if he had rehearsed it many times in his mind.

"Sit down and let's talk."

Zhang Rongshan put down his newspaper and pointed to the chair opposite the sofa.

Zhang Yifan did not sit down.

He stood in front of the coffee table, looking at the few new gray hairs at his father's temples, and then at the small, still-healing wounds on his mother's hands.

"Dad, I know everything."

Zhang Rongshan frowned slightly: "Know what?"

"The factory is laying off workers, and you've been unemployed for quite a while now, haven't you?"

The air suddenly became quiet.

The only sound in the living room was the low hum of the refrigerator compressor.

Liu Guilan's hand, holding the milk glass, froze in mid-air. She turned to look at her husband, her lips moved as if she wanted to say something to smooth things over, but after seeing her husband's expression, she swallowed her words.

Zhang Rongshan's composure finally crumbled.

That relaxed expression on her face every day after get off work was really just an act.

At this moment, his face had shed all pretense, revealing weariness, heaviness, and a hint of embarrassment at being exposed by his son.

He remained silent for a while, then picked up the water glass beside him, intending to take a sip, but put the glass down again before reaching his lips.

"Who told you that?" His voice was hoarse and low.

"Who said it doesn't matter."

Zhang Yifan shook his head.

"Dad, what I'm trying to say is, let him be laid off. That factory work is tiring and bad for his health. He's worked there for so many years, he deserves a break. Actually, I don't think it's necessarily a bad thing."

"Haven't you always been a great cook? When relatives come over for holidays, you can cook a whole table of dishes all by yourself, and they taste even better than those in restaurants."

"Since you can't stay at the factory anymore, why not try something else, like opening a small restaurant and being your own boss? The restaurant doesn't need to be too big; just cook your best home-style dishes."

Zhang Rongshan was stunned, and Liu Guilan was also stunned.

The elderly couple's eyes darted around, as if they were listening to a dream that was too far away.

It took Liu Guilan several seconds to come to her senses. She sighed, looking at her son's serious expression, feeling both gratified and heartbroken.

"Silly child, your idea is quite good. Your father and I thought about it when we were young. You know your father's cooking skills. Which neighbor wouldn't want to ask him to help with their banquet? Or open a restaurant—"

"It's not something you can just open your mouth to say."

Zhang Rongshan picked up the conversation, gave a wry smile, and

"The shop costs money, the renovation costs money, pots and pans, stoves and refrigerators, everything costs money. The little money your dad and I have saved is for your college education, not a penny can be touched. The most important thing for you now is to study hard for your exams, get into a good university and bring honor to the family. Don't worry about your mom and me, we can manage."

Zhang Yifan smiled.

He reached into his school uniform pocket and his fingertips touched a neatly folded piece of paper.

"Who says I don't have money? I do."

He took the scratch card out of his pocket, placed it on the coffee table, pressed one corner with his finger, and gently pushed it towards his parents.

Zhang Rongshan glanced down at the colorful piece of paper, not quite understanding what it meant.

Liu Guilan leaned closer, squinted, and read aloud the words: "Special Prize...three or three hundred thousand?!"

Her voice suddenly rose, and her throat cracked when she said the words "three hundred thousand".

She grabbed the scratch card, held it up to the light and examined it closely, then suddenly put it down, wiping her hands on her apron repeatedly before carefully picking it up again, her fingertips trembling slightly.

Zhang Rongshan was more composed. He looked at the words on the scratch-off lottery ticket, then looked up at his son's face, as if to confirm whether it was a joke.

"Where did this come from? A lottery ticket? When did you buy it? Can you believe this? Have you been scammed?"

"I bought it after school today, ten yuan a ticket. It's from a legitimate source, issued by the China Welfare Lottery Center. The lottery shop owner verified it; it's a sure thing."

Zhang Yifan pointed to the prize redemption instructions written by the lottery shop owner on the scratch-off ticket and explained them clearly, word by word.

"After paying taxes, I'll have 240,000 yuan in hand, which is more than enough to find a small shop."

Liu Guilan clutched the scratch-off lottery ticket to her chest, her eyes instantly welling up with tears.

She wanted to say something, but her throat felt like it was stuffed with cotton, and she couldn't utter a single word. She just kept rubbing the edge of her apron with her hand, looking at her son, then her gaze fell back on the lottery ticket, tears welling up in her eyes.

Zhang Rongshan opened his mouth, but the words he wanted to say were stuck in his throat.

He looked down at the scratch-off lottery ticket that read "Grand Prize," then looked up at his son's solemn expression and remained silent for a long while.

"Dad, Mom," Zhang Yifan said, emphasizing each word, "This money is for you. You can decide how to spend it. If you want to open a restaurant, go ahead and open a restaurant; if you want to travel, go ahead and travel; if you want to renovate the house, that's fine too. But you can't sacrifice your health to save money anymore. Health is the most important thing."

When he spoke his last words, his voice finally trembled slightly, almost imperceptibly.

He knew that people cannot predict the future, and that they should not talk about things that have not yet happened to scare people.

But the future described by the system, the future in which his parents slowly exhausted their lives without anyone knowing, was deeply etched into his memory.

He won't let that future come true.