Old Master Zhao’s hand trembled, knocking over the teacup beside him.
Scalding liquid soaked into the newspaper, but he barely registered the heat as he brushed the tea aside, adjusted his reading glasses, and meticulously scanned every word on the page. Then, with urgent fingers, he called for a laptop.
He didn’t even need to search. The moment the browser loaded, Ye Shaohua’s face dominated the homepage in a massive banner headline.
This was the first time Old Master Zhao had truly seen her. In the photograph, she faced the camera with an unreadable calm—no arrogance, no triumph. Even amid such staggering acclaim, she remained unshaken.
Even without this achievement, he would’ve bet his fortune on her future brilliance.
But the articles didn’t stop there. As a longtime follower of financial news, one detail seized his attention: the retired “God of Stocks” from M Country—a legend who’d sworn off the industry—had come out of seclusion. For Ye Shaohua. He was reportedly flying to the capital to meet her personally.
“Master… Master Zhao,” the steward finally stammered after a long silence, “this is…”
The old man took even longer to respond. Only now did he grasp the magnitude of what Ye Shaohua—the girl he’d dismissed as the Zhao family’s disgrace—had become.
Unlike the awed masses, he understood exactly how much influence she now wielded.
The realization ignited something feverish in his chest. If Ye Shaohua took over the Zhao family, her financial clout and ruthless efficiency wouldn’t just restore their former glory—she could propel them onto the global stage.
Remembering his earlier words to Ye Shaohua’s mother, regret twisted like a knife in his gut.
“Good… good!” His voice thickened as he stared at the newspaper, eyes glistening. “Just like her father—a tiger doesn’t sire a housecat! Prepare the car. We’re going to the hospital.”
…
Hospital, VIP Ward
Ye Shaohua had originally planned to ease her mother into the truth about her success, step by step. But last night, to convince her, she’d laid all her cards on the table.
Now, with no reason to hide anything, she’d arranged for her mother to be transferred to a private suite.
At this moment, Ye’s mother was on the phone with her older sister. “Jie, why did you send money again? Isn’t Danuan getting married soon? The groom’s family is from the city—”
“Yes, Beijing. I’ll have her visit you in a few days.” Her sister’s voice hitched, though she masked the tears. “Dongxiang, we’re doing fine here. Don’t you skimp on hospital expenses—”
“Send me their address later. Shaohua mentioned wanting to see Danuan.” Ye’s mother bit back the full truth—how rural brides often suffered in urban marriages if the in-laws were harsh. To spare her sister worry, she kept Ye Shaohua’s meteoric rise vague. “I had Shaohua wire you 200,000. It’s her money. She’s… incredible now. Tell Huzi to buy a newspaper—her photo’s even in the headlines—”
Before she could finish, the door swung open.
Her face paled.
Old Master Zhao and his entourage stood there.
Though the old man now revered Ye Shaohua, his disdain for Ye Dongxiang hadn’t faded. He’d never forget: this woman’s recklessness had killed his son.
“What do you want?” Ye’s mother instinctively shrank back—then straightened, remembering who stood behind her now.
No. She didn’t need to fear the Zhaos anymore.
The patriarch seated himself with practiced authority, his gaze heavy. “You’ve seen the news. I’ve decided to enroll Shaohua in the Zhao family registry. But you—” His lip curled. “Given your… history, you understand why that’s impossible. Unless you want your past to stain her reputation forever?”
A bitter regret gnawed at him. If only he’d wrested the child away years ago.
If Ye Dongxiang—a woman like that—could raise such a prodigy, how much greater would Ye Shaohua have been under his guidance?
Neither noticed the door creaking open again.
Ye Shaohua stood there, her presence slicing through the room like winter wind. The icy amusement in her eyes made even Old Master Zhao stiffen.
…
Outside the Ward
Zhao Yijun walked alongside a dignified noblewoman, her voice saccharine.
“Auntie Ji, I’m not exaggerating. Young Master Ji has been quite close with that girl. As a former business partner, I couldn’t bear to see him dragged into the mud.” She paused outside the door, feigning reluctance. “This is her mother’s room. Shall we…?”
Madam Ji studied her but said nothing. She hadn’t climbed to power by swallowing every rumor. Still, her son’s lifelong indifference to women had worried her. If there was someone who’d finally caught his eye…
She needed to see this girl for herself.
The moment they entered, Zhao Yijun froze. “Grandfather? Why are you—”
The old man’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Yijun, meet your cousin—Shaohua.”
Madam Ji’s brows lifted. “Zhao family?” Memories of Zhao Yan—the dazzling prodigy who’d once lit up Beijing—resurfaced. “Ah. That explains it.”
Zhao Yijun’s nails dug into her palms. No. She wouldn’t let them whitewash this.
“Cousin? Grandfather, have you forgotten what Madam Ye is?”
Ye Dongxiang’s face drained of color.
After all these years, her dignity was once again trampled in public.
She couldn’t bring herself to look at Ye Shaohua. She’d never told her daughter the truth about her past. What if—what if she saw disgust in those eyes?
Savoring Ye’s mother’s anguish, Zhao Yijun turned to Madam Ji with faux concern.
“Auntie Ji, this ‘Madam Ye’ was a dance hall girl from the red-light district. Ye Shaohua grew up in that filth.” She sighed. “You know what those women are like. And a daughter always takes after her mother—who knows if she’s even clean?”
