The screen showed a sprawl of groaning thugs littering the ground. Lei Zhengyang, unfazed, hopped into his sports car and roared out of the underground garage. To ensure this "test" went smoothly, Lei Qiuping had locked down the area—no interruptions allowed. But the fight was over so fast that the men watching the feed in the study hadn't even caught their breath.
Lei Chunping and Lei Xiaping, no experts in combat, were floored. Zhengyang's strikes were lightning-fast, dropping a horde in mere moments. "Is Zhengyang too strong?" Chunping muttered, stunned.
Qiuping gave a wry laugh. "Strong? He's absurdly overpowered. Where'd he learn this? I hired top-tier street brawlers—not kids—and a hundred of them!"
Lei Dongping, snapping out of his daze, clapped. "Third Bro, now I get why you had those black eyes—Zhengyang really did that! One year, and he's this monstrous? The Leis can shout a bit louder now."
Lei Yunbao's eyes glinted sharply, fixing on Qiuping. "Old Third, bury this. No one outside this room knows Zhengyang's skills. This is a Lei family top-secret—zero leaks."
Yunbao's gravity sobered his sons, who nodded solemnly. If Zhengyang's strength leaked, he'd become a target, drawing relentless storms. They needed to ease him in, let him adjust.
Back home, Zhengyang found Yunbao in the living room, eyeing him oddly. Grinning, he teased, "Grandfather, you're getting too free these days. Ignoring state affairs to loaf at home? What, babysitting me to keep me out of trouble?"
Old Zhengyang feared this patriarch like a mouse fears a cat, but now, he felt only familial warmth. No matter his past screw-ups or wastrel ways, he was a Lei, and this old man was his grandfather. Recalling the patriarch's suffering in his past life, Zhengyang vowed to bring him comfort, ensuring a happy twilight and averting the Lei family's nightmares.
Yunbao, a national leader burdened with immense duty, was also just an old man craving family. Watching his children and grandchildren thrive filled him with pride. "Grandfather's just resting, and you've got complaints? You're out there wasting time, gallivanting—don't talk to me about slacking."
Zhengyang shrugged, unapologetic. "Can't compare, Grandfather. You're a mighty tree, roots deep. I'm just a blade of grass under it, coasting along as I should."
Yunbao shook his head, asking, "Where were you this morning? Missed you at lunch."
"Don't remind me," Zhengyang groaned. "Third Uncle treated me to dinner—a rare chance to bleed him dry. But after, I ran into some punks in the parking lot. Took some effort to sort them out. Now I'm starving again."
"You okay?" Yunbao asked, masking guilt. The elders, complicit in the setup, couldn't admit it, but Yunbao needed to ensure his grandson was unharmed.
"Fine," Zhengyang scoffed. "Just a few small-time thugs. Not worth mentioning." He headed upstairs to freshen up. Without seeing the full fight, Yunbao wouldn't believe those "few thugs" numbered over a hundred.
Watching him go, Yunbao mused: Maybe this boy's truly grown. Time to let him soar.
The old Zhengyang was a ghost at home. Even Xu Miaoli, doting as she was, saw him maybe once a week. He rarely ate at home, only showing up to mooch money, barely speaking otherwise. Now, he stuck around, claiming he was "too bored" to go out, preferring to read at home.
Lei Chunping was thrilled, Xu Miaoli overjoyed.
"You punk," Chunping said, "you refused to study before, and now you regret it? No matter—learn now, and it's never too late. My study's full of books—read them. Or join a tutoring class. Work hard, and you'll go far."
For once, Xu Miaoli didn't bicker with her husband. Seeing Zhengyang's desk stacked with technical books and meticulous notes, she beamed. "Zhengyang's turned over a new leaf! Mom's rewarding you—double your monthly allowance. Want anything? I'll buy it."
Father's stern guidance, mother's indulgent love—two sides of the same coin. Zhengyang knew such coddling could spoil a kid, but the warmth enveloped him, pure and blissful.
Chunping, rarely visiting his son's room due to its past chaos—celebrity posters, risqué images, a scholar's nightmare—stepped in now. Xu Miaoli's protection had kept him at bay, but today, the room was pristine. Bed neatly made, walls cleared of posters save a simple calendar, air fresh and clean.
As an educator, Chunping couldn't resist glancing at student work. Picking up Zhengyang's notes, he froze. These equations—advanced biogenetic formulas—weren't something a high schooler could grasp. "What's this?" he asked, stunned.
"It's a gift for Little Uncle-in-law in a few days," Zhengyang said, annoyed as Chunping rifled through, messing up his organized papers. "Dad, don't touch—it's not for you."
"What's with you, snooping through his stuff like a kid?" Xu Miaoli chided. She found it odd—Chunping usually dismissed their youngest as a troublemaker, never showing interest in his things.
But Chunping was entranced, muttering, "Thirty-six atoms… lightspeed dynamics… levitation computation theory…" His eyes devoured the pages.
Zhengyang snatched the notes back. "Dad, these aren't yours. Snooping's rude—you taught me that."
Chunping, frantic, pleaded, "Zhengyang, let me see! I'm onto something. Wait—you wrote this? How could you create such complex code? This is a program design!"
As Education Minister and Chinese Academy of Sciences head, Chunping's erudition was staggering. A quick scan told him this was a groundbreaking program application—revolutionary for the era.
"Why couldn't I?" Zhengyang huffed. "Haven't you seen me studying hard? I'm a genius among geniuses, you know. What's that look? Don't believe me? Fine." He wanted to brag, but his father's rigid honesty saw through it, his eyes flashing disdain.
"Hard study? Genius?" Chunping scoffed. "I know you, kid. Tell me where you got these. This is critical tech analysis—state-of-the-art, beyond our current capabilities. Never mind, I'm taking it to study."
Without giving Zhengyang a chance to protest, Chunping bolted with the diagrams and code, a research fanatic who'd forget sleep and food for science.
Zhengyang gave a wry smile. He'd spent days crafting that program, careful not to include anything too advanced. He'd picked this one to help his aunt and uncle jumpstart their IT company. Now, with key parts unfinished, his father had swiped it.