Jiang Luo and Huo Zongzhuo both attended the banquet together.
Naturally, as soon as they arrived, people crowded around them, engaging in conversation and social pleasantries.
Today was somewhat special—many wealthy young heirs and daughters from Haicheng were also present. The hall was lively and bustling.
Jiang Luo had just taken a glass of champagne and exchanged a few words with Zheng Bin’s brother-in-law and a few others when the youngest daughter of Chairman Qiu came running over and grabbed him.
“Stop chatting, I’m taking him away!”
Miss Qiu was flustered and very direct.
Zheng Bin’s brother-in-law and the others didn’t mind. They laughed, letting the young heirs and daughters take Jiang Luo, commenting, “They didn’t usually come before, but today, everyone’s here.”
“Not surprising, with Jiang Luo here.”
“Jiang Shao is basically the ‘child king’ of all of them now.”
Jiang Luo was pulled over to play billiards, surrounded by a group of young people laughing and teasing him. Their energy made the banquet hall even more lively.
Chairman Qiu saw his youngest daughter following Jiang Luo like a shadow and silently sighed, muttering to those around him, “Not a bit of girliness in her. So mischievous.”
Naturally, people around complimented and praised Miss Qiu.
“Isn’t it good, childhood friends? Jiang Shao might just become your son-in-law.”
“Exactly, it’s hard to find such a capable son-in-law, even with a lantern!”
“But ultimately, your daughter is remarkable, she has an eye for talent.”
Chairman Qiu laughed heartily.
Huo Zongzhuo stood nearby, hands in his pockets, sipping champagne, his expression calm and distant. He didn’t comment—he couldn’t very well declare publicly that Jiang Luo wouldn’t be Miss Qiu’s future son-in-law; Jiang Luo belonged to him.
Soon, someone tried to flatter him, saying, “Huo Zongzhuo is so close to Jiang Shao. If these two young people end up together, you and Chairman Qiu would be relatives.”
Chairman Qiu was about to laugh, but Huo Zongzhuo, holding his glass of champagne, raised it slightly toward someone in the direction they were talking, then quietly walked away.
The person left standing there: awkward, utterly awkward.
During the banquet, there was a grand piano in the hall, originally played by a hired musician. Partway through, the musician stepped down, and the young heirs and daughters took turns playing. Everyone wanted to play a few pieces.
Jiang Luo stood by, hands in his pockets, watching them. Huo Zongzhuo came over, clearly concerned that Jiang Luo, who couldn’t play, might feel awkward.
“I don’t know how to play either,” he said.
Jiang Luo turned to him: “Do you want to hear me play? I’ll play for you.”
“You can?” Huo Zongzhuo was surprised.
Jiang Luo winked.
When Miss Qiu finished her piece, the sparse applause died down, and Jiang Luo walked over.
Miss Qiu stood, surprised: “You can play?”
Jiang Luo adjusted his sleeves casually: “Why, only you can?”
“You really can?” Miss Qiu stepped aside.
Jiang Luo sat down, lifted his hands, and placed his fingers on the black-and-white keys. The melody of a piano piece someone had played earlier slowly filled the hall—he truly could play.
His posture was relaxed, his expression calm and unhurried like a typical young man, yet the music flowed perfectly from the grand piano—the world-famous piece Mariage d’amour.
Many people nearby watched and listened, and whether they knew music or not, they couldn’t discern whether the playing was flawless. But seeing Jiang Luo handle the piano so naturally, everyone assumed he could play.
In truth, Jiang Luo could only play this one piece.
In his previous life, Zhao Mingshi had performed it publicly. Feeling slighted, Jiang Luo secretly learned it, practicing for a long time until he could master it. This was the only piece he had ever learned.
Before today, apart from his piano teacher, no one had ever heard him play.
Now, he played this one piece for Huo Zongzhuo, the person he loved.
Jiang Luo felt a warm satisfaction—his piano lessons had not been in vain.
As he played, he glanced at Huo Zongzhuo nearby and smiled—finally, learning piano had meaning, not because of Zhao Mingshi, not because of lingering resentment.
At the same time, Jiang Luo knew that in many eyes, especially Huo Zongzhuo’s, he shouldn’t be able to play. Showing this skill would reveal a secret.
But Jiang Luo didn’t care. He had already revealed the TV tower’s name to Huo Zongzhuo. He was ready to share his secrets.
After finishing the piece, he returned to Huo Zongzhuo. The man’s expression was thoughtful and probing: “When did you learn piano?”
Jiang Luo looked at him naturally, without resistance, smiling: “Last life.”
He spoke casually: “Remember when we went out to the fishing port in Shenzhen? I told you then—I was a person in my last life, and so were you.”
Huo Zongzhuo looked at him, recalling all the subtle oddities he had noticed—Jiang Luo’s fluency in English, his knowledge of GDP, his calm reactions in unexpected situations, his maturity beyond his age, and more.
He had never pondered these discrepancies deeply before, but now, hearing Jiang Luo play the piano publicly, it all made sense: logic could not explain him.
An ordinary boy growing up in a dorm at a silk factory could not possibly speak fluent English, play piano, or understand GDP.
“You…” Huo Zongzhuo thought, astonished, yet he didn’t ask further. He simply watched Jiang Luo in the noisy banquet hall and quietly said: “Can I know your original name?”
Jiang Luo smiled to himself, thinking that Huo Zongzhuo truly was perceptive.
“Jiang Luo,” he said casually.
Huo Zongzhuo’s gaze sharpened: “When was the Oriental Pearl completed?”
Jiang Luo stepped closer to his ear: “1994.”
He continued softly: “1995, China’s GDP surpassed five trillion yuan. 1996, the Atlanta Olympics—China won 16 golds. 1997, Asian Financial Crisis. 1998, domestic policy shifted to encourage private economy. 1999, NASDAQ approached 5000 points. 2000…”
He chuckled lightly: “I won’t tell you the rest.”
With that, he stepped back.
Huo Zongzhuo looked at him, his gaze softening.
“Did we not know each other before?” he asked.
Jiang Luo shrugged: “Yes, we didn’t.”
“No past destiny, then,” Huo Zongzhuo murmured.
Jiang Luo turned, smiling brightly before going to play with others: “Only this life’s destiny matters—you must cherish me.”
As Jiang Luo was about to leave, Huo Zongzhuo suddenly grabbed his wrist: “So, what you said before… it’s true. There really was a fire at the factory, wasn’t there?”
Jiang Luo smiled but didn’t answer directly. He teased: “I also said you’d be married, with three wives and ten sons.”
Huo Zongzhuo released his hand: “Don’t want to tell me?”
Later, back home, Jiang Luo moved his lips silently, smiling, and turned to go play again.
Huo Zongzhuo watched him for a long time—if this was true, then Jiang Luo was truly a treasure bestowed by fate.
“Huo Zongzhuo.” Someone approached.
He turned, clinked glasses with the person, and returned to socializing, only a touch of regret lingering: in the previous life, why hadn’t he met Jiang Luo?
He always felt a little greedy for Jiang Luo.
In this life, they were together. He even wished that the version of himself in the parallel timeline could have been with Jiang Luo too.
Had they not met? Never crossed paths?
Huo Zongzhuo felt that, if they could have met, with his instant love for Jiang Luo, he would surely have fallen for him.
Perhaps there was truly no fate—they had never met.
This Spring Festival was the second Jiang Luo spent with Huo Zongzhuo’s mother, and he was still very happy.
He found Su City magical. Other provincial capitals or economically thriving cities were tearing down old buildings and constructing high-rises everywhere. But Su City remained unchanged. Pingjiang Road was still white walls, gray tiles, and stone pavements, giving a serene, peaceful, and beautiful feeling.
Jiang Luo loved it.
He wore a warm cashmere sweater knitted by Huo Zongzhuo’s mother from Huo Zongzhuo’s old sweater.
In the kitchen, he helped Huo Zongzhuo, chatted and played cards with his mother while eating, then put on a coat and strolled around Pingjiang Road with Huo Zongzhuo.
His mother had placed two rattan chairs under the eaves in the yard—one for herself, one for Jiang Luo—and brought a radio to listen to opera together.
Jiang Luo placed the white cat on his lap, stroking it while mimicking the opera tunes with his voice.