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

Liu Guilan blinked hard a few times, forcing back the tears that welled up in her eyes. Then, she quickly put the scratch-off lottery ticket into her apron pocket, pressing her hand tightly against the pocket.

She looked up at her husband.

"What should we do? Tell me."

Zhang Rongshan remained silent for a long while.

He finished the glass of water, which had gone cold, put it on the coffee table, and then looked at his son.

"Yifan, this money is yours to win, so it should be saved for your college education."

He raised his hand to stop Zhang Yifan from refuting him, and then changed the subject.

"But since you're so keen on this, Dad can't let you down. Let your mom and I discuss opening the shop properly. We need to go look at potential locations and find out about the market; some things can't be rushed. As for you—"

He stood up, walked to Zhang Yifan's side, and placed his hand on his son's shoulder. His hand, which had been holding a file for many years, was covered in rough calluses.

"Promise us you'll study hard for the exam and get into the best university. Dad will take care of things at the shop, you don't need to worry about anything."

"OK."

Zhang Rongshan nodded, and the lines on his lips, worn down by years of life, finally curled up slightly.

Liu Guilan watched quietly from the side, and the scratch-off lottery ticket in her apron pocket seemed to suddenly come warm, making her whole heart feel warm.

"Alright," Zhang Rongshan patted his son on the back, "It's almost 10:30, hurry up and wash up, don't be late for class tomorrow."

Zhang Yifan said "Yes, sir," using a rare light tone, and turned to go to the bathroom to wash up.

The tap gushed for a while, then came the sound of him walking down the hallway in his slippers, followed by the soft sound of the bedroom door closing.

The living room fell silent, with only the untouched glass of milk slowly losing its last bit of warmth on the coffee table.

Liu Guilan took the scratch-off lottery ticket out of her apron pocket again and carefully laid it flat on the coffee table.

Zhang Rongshan and Liu Guilan remained standing in the same spot, all four of their eyes fixed on the scratch-off lottery ticket on the coffee table, as if they were looking at an antique that had just been dug out of the ground.

Liu Guilan's fingers traced the gold lettering of "Special Prize: 300,000 yuan," her fingertips repeatedly rubbing the numbers as if trying to count each zero clearly.

"Is it true?" she asked, her voice as if afraid of waking someone.

"It's true," Zhang Rongshan said. "The lottery center's stamp, the lottery shop owner's signature, and the prize redemption instructions are all there."

"Three hundred thousand."

"Um."

"After taxes, it's 240,000."

"Um."

Another silence followed.

Then Zhang Rongshan suddenly slammed his hand on the coffee table, so hard that the apple slices in the fruit plate jumped and the milk in the milk glass swayed and almost spilled.

"open!"

Liu Guilan was startled by his slap, patted her chest, and glared at him: "What's wrong with you in the middle of the night?"

"Open the shop!"

Zhang Rongshan's eyes shone like flashlights with new batteries. His large hand, which had been slapping the coffee table, was still there, his knuckles red, but he was completely unaware of it.

"Guilan, do you remember when we first got married? I was the head chef in the factory canteen, and you were the waitress. We said back then that once we saved enough money, we would open our own business, with you managing the accounts and me cooking."

"In the end, I used the money to pay for the elderly’s medical treatment first, and then for Yifan’s schooling. More than 20 years have passed in the blink of an eye. This thought has been going on in my mind countless times. How could I ever forget it?"

"Now that Yifan is making something of himself, he's even given us this capital. Guilan, do you still remember the shop we wanted to open back then? Selling soy milk and fried dough sticks in the morning, and home-style stir-fries at noon, with sweet and sour pork ribs as our signature dish."

"I remember, of course I remember."

Liu Guilan picked up the conversation, her eyes reddening again, but this time it was a smile that made her redden.

"You also said you wanted to name the shop 'Ronggui Snacks,' with your name first and mine last."

"Should my name still be listed first?"

"Nonsense, you cook and I manage the accounts, where else would I put your name if not at the beginning?"

Zhang Rongshan laughed, a deep but heartfelt laugh, the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes deepening into folds.

He rolled up the expired evening paper and tossed it onto the coffee table. He paced back and forth in the living room a couple of times, then abruptly stopped, placed his hands on the coffee table, and stated his work schedule for the next day with unwavering certainty:

"Tomorrow, let's get my resignation settled first. These past few months, I've been secretly doing odd jobs moving goods at the labor market to keep it from Yifan, it's time to get to the end of it."

"You should quit your job sorting produce at the market too. You leave at four in the morning and don't get back until seven at night. Your back is killing you. Quit it all, then go look at shops and get things ready!"

"Okay, okay, I'll do whatever you say."

Liu Guilan smiled and carefully put the scratch-off lottery ticket into her apron pocket.

"But please keep your voice down, Yifan just fell asleep."

Zhang Rongshan immediately lowered his voice by eight octaves, but he couldn't suppress his excitement.

The two sat on the sofa, wishing they could find a piece of paper and write down all the shop names that came to mind.

The next morning, when Zhang Yifan opened his bedroom door, he smelled a stronger aroma of scallion pancakes than usual.

He walked to the kitchen door and saw his father wearing an apron, flipping pancakes in front of the stove. The scallion pancakes in the pan were fried until golden brown and crispy on both sides, with the edges slightly puffed up and oil sizzling on the surface.

My mother helped me out, adding soaked soybeans to the soy milk maker while humming a tuneless version of "Small Town Story".

The two of them showed no signs of fatigue from their usual work; instead, they radiated a kind of spirit that Zhang Yifan rarely saw at home.

"You're up? Hurry up and wash your face and brush your teeth, the scallion pancakes will be ready soon."

Liu Guilan greeted him without turning her head, her hands moving with such speed that she seemed ten years younger.

Zhang Rongshan scooped the scallion pancake into a plate, then fried an egg on top, the edges of the egg white crispy while the yolk was still runny.

He placed the plate neatly on the table, then heated up the leftover milk from last night and brought it up. He pulled out a chair, sat down, and pointed to the plate with his chopsticks:

"Try it, this scallion pancake will be one of our shop's signature dishes from now on. The scallion pancakes I make, just with the scallions, bring out three layers of aroma."

"Alright, alright, you're already praising yourself first thing in the morning."

Liu Guilan walked over with a bowl of soy milk, complaining, but the smile lines at the corners of her eyes were impossible to hide.

Zhang Yifan took a bite of the scallion pancake; it was crispy on the outside and soft on the inside, with the aroma of scallions and oil exploding in his mouth.

He looked up at the long-lost, even unfamiliar, radiance on his parents' faces and suddenly felt—it was all worth it.

No matter how dramatic or outrageous the system was, it didn't lie to him about one thing: this money could really change something.