Chapter 489: Years

March 11, 2000, Shenzhen. At six in the morning, the sky was just dim.

Li Ping'an, as usual, completed a set of Bajiquan on the balcony; when he finished, his forehead was faintly damp, his breath lingering.

Seventy years old, his hair still jet black, his back still straight, a single punch could still push back a forty‑year‑old strong man three steps.

But he knew that when he retracted his fist, his knees bent half an inch more than before, and when he launched, his shoulders were a bit heavier than in earlier years.

Time, that thing, doesn't reason with you.

Lin Xueqing stepped out of the house, carrying the purple‑clay tea cup that had accompanied him for twenty years. Li Ping'an took it, sipped, and the fresh aroma of Longjing Tea Tea unfolded on his tongue.

"What day is it today?" he asked casually.

Lin Xueqing stood beside him, looking at the gradually brightening Shenzhen, her tone as calm as if she were commenting on the weather.

"March 11, Saturday."

Li Ping'an nodded and said nothing more. He never really celebrated birthdays—when he was a child he couldn't afford one, later he could but saw no need. When he turned sixty, the kids offered to arrange one; he waved it off, saying a family meal would suffice.

That one meal turned into ten years.

"I want to go out today," Lin Xueqing suddenly said.

Li Ping'an gave her a look. After more than forty years of marriage, he knew that look too well—it wasn't a genuine desire to go, but that something had been arranged.

But he didn't ask.

"Fine." He set the tea cup down, "Where to?"

"Xianhu Botanical Garden," Lin Xueqing said, "I heard the peach blossoms are in bloom there."

At nine in the morning, a villa in Wanshang City was bustling like New Year.

Li Yaozong stood in the middle of the living room, a list in hand, checking items one by one.

Li Nuanqing stared at the cake decorator in the kitchen, while Su Jingming assisted, clumsily handing over tools.

Li Yaoyang and Zhang Xiufen hung streamers in the courtyard; He Xiao climbed a ladder to hang lanterns, and Xu Jiaming, supporting the ladder below, kept shouting "Slow, slow" as he was shaken.

The scent of braised meat drifted from the kitchen. He Yuzhu wore an apron, wielding a big ladle; Ma Dongmei sliced vegetables beside him, her knife work still the same as the fast, steady chops she practiced in the Steel Rolling Mill cafeteria years ago.

The elderly couple, retired, had been taken in by Li Ping'an to Shenzhen for retirement, usually looking after grandchildren and showing off a skill on holidays.

"Uncle Zhuzi," Li Nuanqing poked her head in, "Is the cake ready?"

"Already!" He Yuzhu didn't turn his head, "Your dad is turning seventy, you can't just wing it. My braised meat must simmer for three hours; the timing can't be off by a minute."

In the living room, Chen Jianghe was discussing with Zhou Wenbin how to "trick" Li Ping'an back later.

Chen Anbang sat on the sofa flipping through today's newspaper, occasionally glancing at his watch. Zheng Guodong cradled his grandson, arguing with Zhang Wei about the next version of the Pangu system, when Li Yaozong stopped him with a look—today they wouldn't talk about the company.

"Brother," Li Yaoyang ran in, "Mom just got back on the telephone, said they're preparing to head back. Should be an hour away."

Li Yaozong glanced at his watch: ten twenty.

"Everyone take positions." He clapped his hands, "Check everything, don't let anything slip."

The living room buzzed with activity, finally confirming the cake, the streamers, the sound system, and that all the people who needed to hide were hidden.

At eleven sharp, everything was ready.

All that remained was waiting.

In Xianhu Botanical Garden, the peach blossoms were indeed in bloom.

Trees of powder‑white and blush pink spread along the lake shore, as if spring had been dressed in a patchwork of flowers.

Li Ping'an and Lin Xueqing strolled slowly along the lakeside, occasional tourists passing by; young people with cameras, children chasing butterflies, elders sunbathing on benches.

"You chose a good day," Li Ping'an said, "The peach blossoms are beautiful."

Lin Xueqing looped her arm through his, smiling.

"As long as you like it."

They walked a while, then stopped beneath an old peach tree. Its trunk was so thick two people had to embrace it to encircle it, twisted branches tangled, flowers dense, and when the wind blew, petals fluttered down in a riot.

Li Ping'an looked up at the blossoms.

"Xueqing," he suddenly asked, "Are the kids up to something?"

Lin Xueqing's heart startled, but her face remained unchanged.

"What something?"

Li Ping'an smiled.

"We've been married over forty years; when did you ever suggest going out to the park?" he said, looking at his wife, "And you pick a day like this, pull me out, and we spend half the day wandering."

Lin Xueqing knew she couldn't hide it any longer, so she didn't.

"The kids want to give you a birthday," she said, "They prepared it in secret."

Li Ping'an was silent for a few seconds.

Then he laughed, and as he laughed his eyes grew a little warm.

"These kids…" he shook his head, his voice a bit hoarse.

Lin Xueqing tightened her grip on his arm.

"Shall we go back?" she asked.

Li Ping'an took a deep breath, suppressing that surge of emotion.

"Back," he said, "Don't keep them waiting too long."

When the car entered the villa area of Wanshang City, Li Ping'an saw the house through the window.

Red lanterns hung at the doorway, and faintly in the courtyard the streamers fluttered.

Li Ping'an opened the car door and stepped into the courtyard.

It was very quiet.

Too quiet.

He glanced at Lin Xueqing; she only smiled, saying nothing.

He pushed open the door.

"Happy birthday!"

The fireworks burst, ribbons fluttered, and everyone in the house shouted in unison. Li Ping'an stood at the doorway, stunned by the sudden spectacle.

The living room was draped with ribbons, a huge "Longevity" character hung on the wall, the rosewood dining table was laden with dishes, and in the center stood a three‑tiered cake with buttercream writing: "Dad, happy 70th birthday."

Li Yaozong stood at the front, his suit crisp, smiling with relaxed eyes and brows. Li Nuanqing stood beside him, still holding unfinished fireworks. Li Yaoyang and Zhang Xiufen stood side by side, their faces full of anticipation.

He Yuzhu, apron tied, poked his head out of the kitchen, still holding a spatula: "The birthday star is back? The dishes will be ready right away!"

Ma Dongmei stood behind him, laughing so hard her eye‑corner wrinkles gathered together.

Chen Jianghe and Zhou Wenbin stood beside the sofa, Zheng Guodong cradled his grandson, Zhang Wei adjusted his glasses, Xu Jiaming and He Xiao squeezed together, and Zhou Huaming held a camera in his hand.

Chen Anbang stood at the back of the crowd, smiling and nodding.

Li Ping'an stood at the doorway, looking at everyone in the house.

His children, his old subordinates, his old comrades.

Fifty years ago, he had nothing.

Ten years ago, he came to Shenzhen alone.

Now, at seventy, there are so many people willing to spend so much effort, keeping it secret from him, to prepare this surprise.

Something seemed to block his throat.

"Dad, why are you standing there dazed?" Li Nuanqing ran over, looping her arm around his, "Come in quickly!"

Li Ping'an was pulled inside by her. The crowd automatically cleared a path, guiding him to the dining table.

On the three‑tiered cake, seventy candles remained unlit.

"Dad, make a wish." Li Yaozong handed over a lighter.

Li Ping'an stared at the seventy candles, silent for a few seconds.

"In my whole life," he began, his voice a bit hoarse, "I've made many wishes. Some came true, some didn't. Some now, whether fulfilled or not, no longer matter."

He paused.

"Today's wish, I'll make for all of you."

He lifted his head, looking at the children gathered around him.

"May you—live well."

The seventy candles were lit one by one, their flickering light illuminating every face.

Li Ping'an took a deep breath, leaned forward, and blew out the candles.

Applause rose from all sides.

When the cake was cut, He Xiao snatched the first piece.

"Boss," he said, holding the cake and grinning, "actually, you should be called 'Old Master' now. Old Master, happy 70th birthday, good health, may you live a hundred years!"

Li Ping'an took the cake, looking at him.

"He Xiao, how old are you this year?"

"Thirty‑one."

"Thirty‑one," Li Ping'an nodded, "when I was thirty‑one, my child worked at the Steel Rolling Mill. You kid, now you run the entire automobile group."

He Xiao scratched his head: "Isn't that all because you were the one doing the work?"

"Enough, stop flattering me," Li Ping'an patted his shoulder, "Work hard, don't embarrass me."

He Xiao grinned.

Zhang Wei carried a cup of tea over, not as boisterous as He Xiao, simply handing the cup over.

"Boss, in place of wine, I offer you a cup of tea."

Li Ping'an took the tea, looking at him.

Fifty‑year‑old Zhang Wei, his hair half white, his lenses three times thicker, had spent fifteen years at the Nanshan R&D Center, taking Wanshang's chips from nothing to become the nation's top.

"Zhang Wei," Li Ping'an said, "the five‑year plan still has three years left; is the pressure on your side great?"

Zhang Wei shook his head: "Big, but we can hold it."

"If you can't hold it, speak up," Li Ping'an patted his arm, "I may have retired, but I'm still alive."

Zhang Wei laughed, and as he laughed his eyes grew a bit red.

Xu Jiaming squeezed over, still holding a floppy disk.

"Boss, let me show you the demo of Pangu 5.0…"

"Xu Jiaming!" Li Nuanqing shouted nearby, "No business talk today!"

Xu Jiaming sheepishly shoved the floppy disk back into his pocket.

Li Ping'an smiled.

"Jiaming, how much faster is Pangu 5.0 compared to 4.0?"

Xu Jiaming's eyes lit up, and he immediately began reporting: "Boot time is five seconds faster, multitask response improved by thirty percent, and a new input method has been added…"

Li Nuanqing shook her head helplessly beside him.

He Xiao leaned in: "Old Master, don't indulge him. Today you're the biggest; if you say no talk, then no talk."

Li Ping'an watched the crowd, watching them argue and make a ruckus, and a long‑missing feeling rose in his heart.

That feeling is called satisfaction.

Three rounds of wine, five courses of dishes.

He Yuzhu's Red Braised Pork was all taken, Ma Dongmei's sweet‑and‑sour fish was reduced to a skeleton, Zheng Guodong, holding his grandson, fell asleep on the sofa, Zhang Wei and Xu Jiaming were still debating the Pangu system in the corner, He Xiao played rock‑paper‑scissors with Chen Anbang, lost three rounds, and was penalized three large cups.

Li Ping'an sat on the sofa, holding the ice‑cold tea, watching it all.

Lin Xueqing sat down beside him.

"What are you thinking?"

Li Ping'an shook his head.

"I'm not thinking anything," he said, "just looking."

Look at his children. Look at his old subordinates. Look at this home he has struggled for a lifetime.

"Xueqing," he suddenly said, "thank you."

Lin Xueqing was startled for a moment.

"Thank me for what?"

Li Ping'an looked at the people filling the house.

"Thank you for giving birth to these three children," he said. "Thank you for being with me for forty years. Thank you today, for helping them trick me out."

Lin Xueqing smiled.

"No thanks," she said, "it's only natural."

At nine p. m., the guests gradually left.

He Yuzhu and Ma Dongmei left first; the elderly couple had to go back to take care of their grandson. Zheng Guodong, holding his sleeping grandson, also left, glancing back once before departing.

Zhang Wei and Xu Jiaming were the last to leave; the two were still arguing about Pangu 6.0 when He Xiao slipped a piece of cake to one of them, and they finally went out.

The living room fell silent.

Li Yaozong cleared the dishes, Li Nuanqing wiped the table, Li Yaoyang put the unfinished food into the refrigerator. Zhang Xiufen helped Lin Xueqing tidy the kitchen, and Su Jingming collected ribbons in the yard.

Li Ping'an sat alone on the sofa, staring at the floor lamp that was still lit.

Li Yaozong walked over and sat beside him.

"Dad."

"Mm."

"Happy birthday."

Li Ping'an looked at his son.

The 32‑year‑old chairman of Wanxiang Group, his eyebrows and eyes already resembled his younger self. Yet he is more patient than him, understands delegation better than him, and unites people more effectively than him.

"Yaozong," Li Ping'an said, "the group is in your hands; I'm at ease."

Li Yaozong was silent for a few seconds.

"Dad, rest assured, I won't disappoint you."

Li Ping'an nodded.

"It's not about not disappointing me," he said, "it's about not disappointing yourself."

Li Yaozong looked at his father.

"I will remember."

Night grew deep.

Li Ping'an stood alone on the balcony, gazing at Shenzhen in the distance.

Ten Battalion Commander lit up, stars scattered like a board game. The city slept and yet did not. In those illuminated windows, people were still working overtime, striving, dreaming.

He was seventy years old.

From fleeing famine in Henan in 1942 to celebrating longevity in Shenzhen in 2000.

Fifty‑eight years.

He survived famine, turmoil, entrepreneurship, business wars, and financial crises.

He went from an antique shop to a multinational corporation with over a hundred thousand employees.

He rose from a ten‑year‑old orphan to an old man with children and grandchildren filling his home.

The wind came from the sea, carrying a salty, damp scent, stirring his graying hair.

A soft footstep sounded behind him.

Lin Xueqing came over and draped a coat over his shoulders.

"Not sleeping yet?"

Li Ping'an shook his head.

"Just a little longer," he said.

Lin Xueqing stood beside him, keeping him company as they watched the distance.

After a long while, Li Ping'an suddenly spoke.

"Xueqing."

"Mm."

Two hands, scarred by years, clasped together.

Like forty years ago, when they first shook hands on the Korean battlefield.

Like after every storm, they supported each other to stand up.

Like now, in the deep night of his seventieth birthday, they stand together, watching the city they built together.

Midnight bells rang from a distant clock tower.

It was March 12th.

Li Ping'an's seventieth birthday had passed.

He turned, looking at his wife.

"Let's go, let's sleep."

Lin Xueqing nodded.

The two supported each other, slowly walking back inside.

The balcony door closed gently.

The potted orchid was still there, quietly blooming in the moonlight.