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

Beijing Capital International Airport, VIP exit.

The air was thick with a palpable tension, a mixture of awe, excitement, and breathless anticipation.

Outside the passage, led by Teng Ao, dozens of top aristocratic scions, including Yan Rugo, Yan Hai, and Li Lunjie, stood in two rows.

Like a guard being inspected, they had long since shed their usual frivolous and unruly ways.

Every young face was filled with solemnity and barely suppressed excitement.

The passageway was brightly lit, and footsteps approached from afar, steady and clear, each sound striking the heartbeat of the waiting person.

Finally, the figure appeared alone at the entrance of the passage.

Zeng Long.

He was wearing a seemingly simple, but actually perfectly tailored, and sophisticated black casual outfit.

He carried no extra luggage, only an aura of aloofness steeped in the smoke of battle and the passage of time.

His gaze swept across the distance like a deep, cold well, and the air seemed to freeze wherever his gaze fell.

The instant he stepped out of the passage—

"Congratulations on Young Master Long's return!!!"

Led by Teng Ao, all the scions of noble families, as if they had rehearsed it a thousand times, bowed deeply in unison with all their might, and shouted in unison, creating a deafening roar!

The sound resounded through the empty arrival area, carrying undisguised reverence and a sense of belonging, announcing the official return of this "king" and his entry into his territory.

This spectacle was enough to terrify anyone who didn't know the situation.

Zeng Long paused almost imperceptibly, his face expressionless, he merely nodded slightly, but his gaze had already passed over the crowd and landed on the figure slowly walking in from the side.

Yan Ruge.

Today, she wore an elegant moon-white dress, which contrasted sharply with the surrounding noise and the crowd of people in black.

Like a delicate orchid quietly blooming in a steel jungle, it is fresh and refined, exuding a faint fragrance.

Holding a bouquet of pure white lilies with glistening dewdrops on their petals in her hands, the lilies were like her pure and innocent heart, crystal clear.

Her steps were light yet firm, each step feeling as if she were walking on clouds or on the pulse of the earth.

She walked straight up to Zeng Long, her eyes filled with determination and tenderness, as if she were telling him something.

Her eyes, clear and bright, were now misty with a thin layer of moisture as she gazed unflinchingly into Zeng Long's eyes. Her gaze held fervor, tenderness, and a stubbornness hidden deep within her bones.

She handed over the bouquet, her voice soft yet clear, each word penetrating the lingering echo and reaching Zeng Long's ears:

"Do you remember... the poems you recited?"

She tilted her head slightly, as if trying to etch his image into her heart.

"I don't want you to... 'a lone swordsman gazing at the sky'."

Her voice trembled slightly, almost imperceptibly, yet it made it all the more resolute:

"Because at this moment, you have a home. You have countless people who care about you and love you."

She took a deep breath, as if summoning all her courage, and uttered the words she had been holding back for so long:

"so……"

"May you forget the past."

"From then on, the dragon returned to the sea."

Each word was like a warm yet heavy pearl, rolling into the silent air between the two of them.

Zeng Long's gaze fell on the bouquet of pure white lilies, then slowly moved upwards, meeting Yan Ruge's eyes. He saw the unreserved sincerity and passion deep within her eyes.

Looking at this girl, the only one to whom he had ever revealed his innermost feelings.

There was a two-second silence.

Zeng Long's lips slowly curved upwards into a smile. It wasn't the coldness he usually displayed when facing enemies, nor the composure and reliability he showed when facing brothers, but rather a signature roguish smile that carried a hint of wickedness, a touch of unruliness, and a complex, indescribable quality.

He reached out and took the bouquet of lilies, which still carried the warmth of her palm.

"Thank you." His voice held a hint of amusement as he gazed intently at her. "You wouldn't... want me to fulfill that 'marriage contract' after I return to my family, would you?"

"No--!"

Yan Ruge interrupted him abruptly and resolutely almost the instant he finished speaking!

She straightened her back, and the moisture in her eyes seemed to be evaporated by a sudden surge of pride and self-esteem, making it even brighter, even carrying a hint of the sting of being misunderstood.

"I, Yan Rugo," she said, her voice clear and firm, enunciating each word distinctly, "am not the kind of girl who needs to humbly beg for a marriage contract!"

"I dare to love, and I dare to face it head-on! I dare to hate, and I will never look back!"

She was somewhat agitated, her chest heaving slightly, but her gaze remained stubbornly fixed on Zeng Long:

I may not have been a part of your past, but I understand how heavy it was.

"You know my past; I was surrounded by enemies on all sides."

"Please, don't let the dust of the past define our possible future. That's unfair to you, and even more unfair to me!"

Her words were like a drawn dagger, sharp and bright, cutting through all ambiguity and probing.

Her tone suddenly lowered, but it was infused with a deeper, almost vow-like strength. She took half a step forward, lowering her voice so that only Zeng Long could hear it clearly:

"I only hope... that one day, when you truly need to 'gaze at the sky alone with a sword'..."

A sudden glint of tenderness and resolve, almost tragic, flashed in her eyes:

"You're willing to let me stand beside you."

"It's not a burden, it's not an ornament."

"But rather, it's the person who can clothe you in battle."

"or……"

Her voice was as soft as a whisper, yet as heavy as a thousand pounds, carrying an unwavering resolve:

"In case it's necessary... for you..."

"...Holding...the hilt of the sword...!"

After saying that last sentence, it was as if he had exhausted all his strength, or as if he had completed the most important delivery. Yan Ruge didn't look at him again, nor did she wait for his response.

She whirled around, her moon-white skirt tracing a resolute arc, and strode swiftly and firmly toward the edge of the crowd. Her back was straight, her neck elegant, maintaining her last vestige of pride and dignity.

She walked through the automatically parting crowd to a deserted corner of a colonnade in the shadows.

Right here, on a side unseen by anyone, at the moment when all the emotions she thought she could control finally broke free—

A single, clear tear, without warning, broke free from the confines of the eye socket.

It slid slowly and silently down her smooth cheek. In the dim light, it reflected a barely perceptible, heartbreaking glistening.

This tear contains too many complex things:

There is a deep sense of regret for Zeng Long's eighteen years of wandering alone and suffering.

There was a sense of relief and excitement that he had finally seen the light of day and returned to his ancestral home.

There was a burning emotion for her that was deeply rooted in her heart, yet she could not express it, and she did not want to be bound by it.

Even more so for herself—as proud as she is, she had to reveal her true feelings in this way and ultimately chose to turn away… endless grievances and stubbornness.

She raised her hand and wiped away the tear stain with her fingertips very quickly and lightly, as if it had never fallen. When she turned around again, her face had returned to its usual brightness and composure, only the slightly red corner of her eyes betrayed a secret.

At the entrance to the passage, Zeng Long remained standing in the same spot, holding a bouquet of pure white lilies in his hands.

He gazed in the direction where Yan Rugo had disappeared, the wicked smile on his lips gradually fading, and a complex glint flashed deep in his eyes.

There is scrutiny there, and a sense of indebtedness.

perhaps……

There was also a tear he had never seen, yet seemed to sense, an emotional ripple he himself was unaware of.

The hustle and bustle of the airport seemed to fade away at that moment.

Only the delicate fragrance of the lilies and the silent vow of "I will hold the sword hilt for you" remained heavily at the beginning of this day of returning home.