The Rise of a Special Forces Soldier Abandoned by a Wealthy Family

In Beijing, the courtyard house of Mr. Zeng Rong

The guard posts here remain tight, and all the guards are keeping a low profile, as if they do not want to disturb the peaceful family life that belongs to the old commander.

Under the crabapple tree in the courtyard, the fallen leaves had been carefully swept aside by the orderly and laid out on a thick wool carpet embroidered with auspicious clouds and mythical beasts.

Grandpa Zeng Rong took off his crisp old military uniform and put on a comfortable Chinese-style jacket with frog buttons, sitting in a large rosewood armchair.

The ruthless aura that once commanded thousands of troops was now replaced by an almost clumsy gentleness.

He was holding his granddaughter, Zeng Lingyu.

The little girl, wearing a pink cotton-padded jacket, curiously looked at her grandfather, whose white hair and beard and dignified face were now smiling at her with a smile that smoothed out all the wrinkles on his face.

She babbled "Grandpa," waving her little hands as she tried to grab the heavy jade thumb ring on Zeng Rong's finger.

"Oh dear, my little darling, you can't grab this, it's rough on your hand."

Zeng Rong's voice was low and hoarse, the kind that you would never hear on the battlefield, with a coaxing tone.

He carefully used a thick finger, but deliberately used very little force, to hook Zeng Lingyu's soft little hand.

The little girl grabbed him and giggled. Her laughter was as clear and crisp as a wind chime under the eaves, which softened Zeng Rong's heart and made his eyes overflow with doting affection.

On the other side of the carpet, He Jing sat sideways, holding her son Zeng Linglong (who had been switched at birth) on her lap.

I remember that my son was found to be weak just a few days after he was born, and was subsequently required to be isolated and observed for more than a month!

This child had lost his mother's love for more than a month. Looking at her son, He Jing's heart ached so much that it almost melted the world.

She held a brightly colored, lifelike little animal toy in her hand, gently shaking it to attract her son's attention.

The child's bright black eyes followed the toy, his little mouth slightly open, occasionally uttering a tender "Mom...Mom," as if responding to his mother's gentle whisper.

Zeng Sheng sat on a low stool to the side, looking at his wife and children, his face showing pure happiness and contentment after shedding all his military disguise.

He was peeling an apple with fluid movements, the peel forming a long strip that hung down.

"Dad, look at Linglong, doesn't he look even stronger than the last time I saw him?" he said to his father with a smile.

"Yeah, the doctor said Linglong was quite weak at the time, and he was isolated for more than a month. They also said that they couldn't let us have close contact to prevent infection. I was worried about Linglong's health, but I'm relieved now, hahaha..."

Zeng Rong smiled happily, "Our Zeng family should thank Jingjing!"

"Jingjing deserves the most credit; thank you for your hard work."

He looked up at He Jing, his eyes filled with the kindness and gratitude of an elder.

He Jing smiled gently, her face radiating happiness.

Dad, what are you saying? This is all I should do.

Seeing them change every day makes all the hard work worthwhile.

She lowered her head and gently rubbed her cheek against her son's soft forehead. Zeng Linglong seemed to feel comfortable and snuggled his little head into his mother's arms.

Sunlight filters through the gaps in the branches and leaves of the crabapple tree, casting dappled patterns that dance on the wool carpet and fall into the children's pure eyes, reflecting a shimmering glow.

The surroundings were quiet, with only the innocent babbling of children and the low, loving conversations between family members.

This is a meticulously protected, exquisitely warm and complete experience, where every detail exudes cherishment and care.

Zeng Rong looked at his exquisitely beautiful twin grandchildren, and at the satisfied smiles on his son and daughter-in-law's faces—

The lingering unease in my heart, stemming from the inexplicable palpitations of years past, seemed to have been largely dispelled by the warm sunshine filling the courtyard.

He walked over to He Jing and teased Zeng Linglong, then pondered in his mind:

"Old Yan's granddaughter... well, these two little ones must grow up safely and smoothly in this sweet haven, then get married, continue the glory of our two families, and protect our nation..."

His gaze swept over Zeng Linglong's clear and innocent eyes, his heart filled with pride and affection.

Completely unaware, on the other side of the world, a child of his true bloodline, born on the same day, month, and year as his granddaughter, was experiencing a different kind of life.

The Gobi Desert, "The Villain's Fortress".

The same sunlight, passing through the thin and murky atmosphere above the Gobi Desert, becomes scorching and blinding, baking the earth and evaporating all moisture, leaving only cracked soil and scorching sand and gravel.

In a corner of the training field, under a makeshift shelter made of old iron barrels and tattered canvas, a small figure huddled up.

Zero, having just endured the torment of "pushing a tire up a mountain of knives" and "anti-toxicity testing" in the morning, has been given a short "rest" time.

Long-term malnutrition and extreme pressing!

This made him much thinner and stronger than other children his age!

But those eyes, as black as the deepest night, held no innocence, only a forced, beast-like vigilance and a cold, observant power.

He was wearing a tattered T-shirt, so dirty its original color was unrecognizable, left behind by some dead mercenary. It was draped over his body like a robe, the hem of which reached his knees.

On his bare arms and calves, old and new scars were interspersed. Some were abrasions, some were bruises from bumps and bruises, and some were strange red rashes or tiny needle marks left by Xue Yan's "experiments".

He has no toys.

His only "entertainment" was watching a few desert ants carry away the carcass of a beetle much larger than themselves in front of him.

His gaze was focused, even with a research-like scrutiny, as if he were observing the microscopic world of the survival of the fittest, learning the laws of survival.

The sun was so hot that his scalp felt burning, and his lips were dry, cracked, and peeling from lack of moisture.

He stuck out his little tongue and licked his lips, tasting only the bitterness of the sand and the salty tang of his sweat.