Chapter 100

Jiang Luo arrived and was just about to ask the restaurant staff which table the Zhao official had reserved and whether he had arrived, when he looked up and saw Zhao Guangyuan raising a hand to greet him.

Immediately, Jiang Luo knew exactly who he was here to meet—and that he had been tricked.

He didn’t show any expression and turned to leave.

“Jiang Luo!”

Zhao Guangyuan quickly stood, wanting to follow.

Jiang Luo paused after a few steps, knowing that if he didn’t talk today, the Zhao family would continue to chase him later. He didn’t care about making a scene again, like last time, or being the subject of gossip in the factory; he just didn’t want to waste his limited energy entangled with the Zhao family.

So he stopped, turned, and walked back into the restaurant.

“Sir?” the server asked, puzzled.

Jiang Luo raised a hand to signal it was nothing and walked directly toward Zhao Guangyuan.

Seeing him return, Zhao Guangyuan breathed a sigh of relief. As Jiang Luo approached, he invited him to sit. Jiang Luo sat down, and Zhao Guangyuan followed.

The server poured water, and they sat across from each other in silence. Zhao Guangyuan looked at Jiang Luo, while Jiang Luo checked his watch.

When the server left, Jiang Luo finally looked up and got straight to the point:

“I know why you want to see me.”

“I’ll be clear and repeat it again,” he said.

“I have nothing to do with you Zhao family.”

“I’ll stay where I belong, not anywhere you are.”

“You don’t need to come to my company or the factory, calling me to ‘come home.’”

“Listen carefully: I have no home.”

“The silk factory isn’t my home, and your Zhao family isn’t my home.”

“I have no parents. I recognize no parents. You are not my parents.”

Even with mental preparation, Zhao Guangyuan felt a pang of sorrow and frustration hearing this.

Unlike Zhao Guangqian or Su Lan, Zhao Guangyuan wasn’t angry or heartbroken. He simply stayed silent, looking at Jiang Luo calmly, speaking earnestly:

“I understand.”

“You’ve made yourself very clear, and I’ve heard everything.”

“I’m not here to call you home. I know your attitude.”

“I just want to calmly ask—why?”

“Why won’t you come home?”

“Why won’t you recognize me, your mother, or your brother?”

“What are you thinking?”

“Is it because you resented us for finding you but not immediately taking you home?”

“Or because you feel Zhao Mingshi took your life, yet we continue to treat him as our son?”

“Or is it none of these things? Then why? Can you tell me? I really want to know.”

Jiang Luo looked at Zhao Guangyuan and saw the father’s humble, earnest demeanor, and all he felt was amusement.

In his previous life, he had dreamed of Zhao Guangyuan looking at him properly, having a calm conversation as father and son, hoping his father would like him as much as he liked Zhao Mingshi.

And the result?

This life, Zhao Guangyuan gave him exactly what he had wanted—sincerely, willingly, and without restraint.

How was he supposed to evaluate the contrast between the two lives?

Aside from ridiculous… nothing but ridiculous.

He didn’t care about any of it; in fact, he felt a certain coldness, even a touch of disdain toward Zhao Guangyuan.

Disdain? Of course—how else could a person of such stature stoop so low? He was a respected director, yet here he was, trying to reclaim a son who hadn’t squandered his life in some wild lifestyle but had started a legitimate business, impressing them.

Jiang Luo could only laugh to himself.

He should have realized it long ago—in his previous life—what blood, parents, family, or love really were.

Bullst. Pure bullst.

The Zhao family had no love in their bones. Their love was conditional:

If you were “good,” they’d love you;
If not, in their eyes you were trash—even their own child.

Jiang Luo couldn’t help but smirk, the corner of his eyes carrying ridicule. He said, half-laughing:

“Why? Reason? Don’t pretend you care.”

“Do you even care?” he asked Zhao Guangyuan.

“To put it bluntly, if I nodded and agreed to return to the Zhao family now, would anyone care why or why not?”

Jiang Luo, not wanting to argue, spoke carefully, word by word:

“There’s no reason. No ‘why.’”

“I, Jiang Luo, don’t acknowledge anyone. No one has the right to be my parent.”

“Whether you came to the silk factory to claim me or not, I don’t care.”

“Whether you continue treating Zhao Mingshi as your son or like him, I don’t care.”

“I don’t care about any one of you Zhao family or anything you do.”

“Listen clearly, I’ll say it one last time—”

“I, Jiang Luo, have no relation with any of you Zhao family. No relation at all.”

“I am me, and you are you.”

“Please, do not come looking for me again, and stop talking about ‘coming home’.”

“I have no parents, no home.”

“I am my own home.”

Having said this, Jiang Luo stood and walked straight out without looking back.

Zhao Guangyuan sat there, dazed and heartbroken.

He finally understood: Jiang Luo wasn’t angry, and it wasn’t about any reason. He simply didn’t want any connection with them.

Plainly speaking—he didn’t want them.

His son didn’t want him. His own biological son.

They had lost eighteen years due to a mistake, a full eighteen years.

From now on, Jiang Luo would remain a stranger to them.

Zhao Guangyuan’s heart sank to the bottom, feeling stabbed, unbearably sorrowful.

He regretted, like Su Lan, that when they found Jiang Luo in the housing block that April, they hadn’t taken him home immediately.

If only they had…

But nothing in this world comes with an “if.”

No “ifs,” only consequences of cause and effect.

Meanwhile, Jiang Luo’s and the factory workers’ fates were also advancing.

At a state-owned chemical oil factory in Juxiang Town, behind the workshop, a group of workers sat, squatted, or stood in a circle.

Originally noisy with chatter, someone suddenly shouted:

“Yes! We must fight for our rights as workers!”

“Exactly!”

Another voice echoed in agreement.

A man with a crew cut raised his hand, signaling everyone to quiet down.

Once calm, he addressed the group loudly:

“Let me summarize our demands. One by one. If I miss anything, we can add it later, okay?”

“Alright.”

“Sure.”

The workers responded in unison.

The crew-cut man continued:

“First, we demand the factory sign a 20-year contract with us to ensure our employment isn’t disrupted by changes, so we won’t lose our jobs or wages again.

“Second, we require the factory to guarantee each of our monthly salaries is no less than 350…”

…

He listed several points. As he spoke, workers started chatting again, disorder creeping back.

One point, however, was unanimously agreed upon: the crew-cut man would serve as their representative to negotiate with the expanding Shengfei Garment Factory in town.

Standing tall like a leader, he raised his hand, quieting the crowd, and said:

“Don’t worry. I will represent all of you and negotiate properly.”

“We won’t accept being told to work elsewhere without results.”

“Exactly!”

“Yes!”

“We must negotiate properly! Give us an explanation!”

“We fight for our rights as workers!”

“Yes! We aren’t donkeys, we won’t work blindly!”

“Everything we’re entitled to must be given!”

“Yes!”

…

Meanwhile, Jiang Luo arrived at the town government. Deputy Mayor Wu Dayong’s secretary personally escorted him upstairs.

Walking up the stairs, Jiang Luo asked:

“Why was I called here?”

The secretary replied:

“If there’s a matter, there’s a matter. I don’t know the details. You’ll have to meet with Deputy Mayor Wu to discuss it.”