Chapter 40: Reconciliation

After drinking two more cups of tea, they stopped. Dinner would be coming soon; filling their stomachs with water would leave no room for food.

"Uncle, I'll go check on Gu Jia. Let Ziyan show you around."

"Good, good. Don't make too much, Gu Jia—we're family, just a light meal will do."

Gu Jinghong naturally nodded in agreement; staying with Wang Yan made him uneasy.

After a few words, he picked up Xu Ziyan, who was watching cartoons.

Though they hadn't seen each other in a long time and Xu Ziyan missed his grandfather, he was exhausted and didn't want to move at all. But he had no choice—Wang Yan gave him one look and he obeyed instantly. He trudged around the house with Gu Jinghong, upstairs and down, occasionally offering a few explanations.

Such a fine house, and his daughter's, too—Gu Jinghong looked at it intently, occasionally interjecting with questions.

This gave Xu Ziyan the same feeling he had when boasting during the day; instantly revived, he felt no fatigue at all, chattering away enthusiastically with Gu Jinghong.

Wang Yan watched the garrulous Xu Ziyan and felt a quiet sense of accomplishment. This kid was now healthy, lively, expressive, and capable with his hands—most importantly, resilient and carefree. But Wang Yan couldn't tell whether it was Gu Jia's foundation that had shaped him, or his own skill as a mentor.

After tidying up the tea set, Wang Yan went to the kitchen.

Gu Jia, stirring vigorously in the wok, smiled when she saw him enter. "Why are you coming in? Go back out."

"I finished chatting with your dad. Came in to help you out."

"Wang Yan, my dad…"

Before she could finish, Wang Yan said: "Ah, it's fine. Elders are like that—I understand."

Seeing she still wanted to speak, he added: "Enough. Get cooking—Ziyan's been complaining for ages."

Gu Jia sighed helplessly. "Just go out. Two more dishes and we're done."

"I'll help. I know a few things myself. What's left?"

He pulled up his skill panel, found Cooking, LV1 Beginner—fine.

For years, Wang Yan had lived outside, eating out every meal, and had nearly vomited from the restaurants within two li around his building. Cooking something edible wasn't hard—when he felt like eating, he'd just follow a recipe slowly.

The problem was inconsistency—he'd sometimes nail a dish with a stroke of genius, absolutely perfect, but the second time, it'd fall flat, because he couldn't recapture that feeling.

Still, he himself thought it tasted delicious.

"Shrimp stir-fried in oil, and white-cut pork."

"Then I'll do the white-cut pork—it's simple."

This dish just required boiling pork belly, slicing it thin—the soul was in the sauce. Same ingredients, but how you mixed them was the challenge. It took constant trial, constant refinement, and practice to master.

Gu Jia had already cooked the meat and left it to cool.

Wang Yan got to work, slicing the meat thinly—the thinner, the better. His knife skills were decent—he'd learned them during martial training, after all, they went hand in hand. Slicing meat was similar: steady hands were enough. His control was good—he didn't go too fast, slicing slowly, one thin slice at a time.

He prepared several bowls of sauce, tasting each with chopsticks, finally choosing the one he thought tasted best and pouring it over. Done.

Gu Jia's version was maybe seven or eight out of ten, but Wang Yan spent twenty minutes on it. She'd finished long ago and stood watching him with tender eyes and a soft smile.

They carried the dishes to the dining table and called over the grandfather and grandson still wandering around.

Wang Yan opened a bottle of baijiu and poured only a small amount for Gu Jinghong.

"Uncle, I'm worried your health can't handle it—let's just have a sip each, just to show respect."

Gu Jinghong didn't object—he knew his own condition. For Gu Jia to let him drink at all was already generous.

Wang Yan raised his cup, clinked it with Gu Jinghong's, and took a small sip.

"Try the white-cut pork—what do you think?"

Everyone tasted it. Gu Jia and her father praised it enthusiastically, saying it was delicious, then added, "A bit less salt would be better."

Xu Ziyan, at least, gave it his due—he tasted it, smacked his lips, then grabbed another bite and mixed it into his rice, shoveling it in. His mouth full, he mumbled: "So good! Really good!"

After all, he was used to greasy and heavy flavors—he'd seasoned it to his own taste. It was natural they weren't used to it.

Xu Ziyan was probably genuinely exhausted, which was why he ate so heartily. Otherwise, this little guy might've struggled to accept it.

As they chatted casually, somehow—whether intentionally or not—Gu Jia steered the conversation toward the nursing home.

"Dad, are you still comfortable at the nursing home?"

"Very comfortable. Someone takes care of eating, drinking, toileting, and I've got a bunch of old friends to chat with and play chess with—it's great."

Gu Jia hummed in response, continuing to wipe rice grains from Xu Ziyan's face.

Wang Yan understood: Gu Jia was truly worried about Gu Jinghong and wanted to see what he thought.

After all, they'd only been living together for a few days. Gu Jia might've been too shy to bring it up directly, so she seized this chance to hint.

"Uncle, why not move in here? The house is big, plenty of space," Wang Yan picked up the thread.

"And the market, hospital—all nearby. Very convenient."

Hearing this, Gu Jia brightened and immediately urged: "Yes, Dad, come live with us—it'll ease my worries."

Gu Jinghong was tempted, but the thought vanished as soon as it arose. He still feared that living with them long-term would disrupt their lives, cause friction, and ruin their harmony. His daughter had just divorced—what if this wealthy man left because of him? How could he face the world then?

"No, I'm fine at the nursing home. I've gotten used to it. I won't come and trouble you."

Wang Yan said: "Then how about this—after a while, you move into Junyue Mansion. It's only a ten-minute walk, not far at all."

"That apartment only has one bathroom, inside the master bedroom. I've had someone working on adding another. Otherwise, hiring a nanny would be inconvenient."

He turned to Gu Jia. "What do you think?"

Gu Jia thought this was the best solution and agreed. Gu Jinghong stayed silent—his silence was acceptance. Of course he wanted to be close; at his age, that was all he longed for.

The matter was settled. The atmosphere returned to its earlier warmth.

After dinner, Gu Jia prepared a guest room for Gu Jinghong to stay in.

After putting Xu Ziyan to sleep, she returned to the bedroom and found Wang Yan leaning against the headboard, reading.

She closed the bedroom door, walked slowly to the bed, gently took the book from his hands, and straddled him.

Wang Yan couldn't resist her teasing. He lifted his hips slightly, pulled her close, and they kissed and whispered, hands exploring.

"Why so eager?"

"You did so much—I need to thank you properly," Gu Jia said, her voice full of emotion.

"We're legally married, why bring that up?" He rolled over and pinned Gu Jia beneath him.

"But some action is still needed."

A night of passion.

The next day, Gu Jia's "gratitude" was so intense she unusually didn't get up early to make breakfast.

Wang Yan went out for a run and bought breakfast for the whole family on the way back.

After the usual beautiful morning, Gu Jia dropped Xu Ziyan off at school and took Gu Jinghong back to the nursing home.

What remained was dealing with her tea factory—changing its name, changing its logo, settling all the previous mess.

Even without Wang Yan stepping in, just the name "Wang Mou" and that face were more than enough; the progress was far smoother than in the drama.

She wasn't short on money, so there was no need for any pathetic begging-for-investment act.

All those old ladies in the socialite circle knew Gu Jia was doing this; they just bought some gifts, even without their husbands' approval—they could handle it with a single phone call. Even Mrs. Li bought a batch to ease relations; everyone handled their part well.

Her company wasn't even fully sorted out yet, and orders were already piling up.

Wang Yan went to find a renovation company and had them finish the bathroom. Gu Jia had shown her gratitude so vigorously—he couldn't just ignore it.

After finishing those tasks, Wang Yan went to the company. Handling daily affairs, over twenty days had passed and the backlog was substantial; many matters required his personal intervention.

In truth, he had to step in only because his subordinates weren't qualified to hold proper conversations with others. Even though he'd delegated broad authority, many things were still beyond their capacity—they couldn't make decisions. So again, he was off drinking tea and boasting everywhere.

Soon a week passed; all matters requiring his attention were settled, and he was finally free again.

That day, Wang Yan received an unexpected call, inviting him to meet and chat.

He thought about it and didn't refuse—since he had nothing else to do, he might as well treat it as entertainment and drove to the meeting spot.

When he arrived, it was a high-end private club—ordinary people couldn't even get in.

Wang Yan had seen the world now; this kind of place meant little to him.

A dedicated attendant waited at the door; after he gave his name, Wang Yan was led to a lavishly decorated, dimly lit room.

The owner of this club—the one who invited him—Wei Zhijie, the very same bastard from the drama who later dragged Wang Manni back to Shanghai, stood up to greet him as he entered.

Wang Yan walked over with a smile and greeted him: "Director Wei, long time no see. Sit down, no need for formalities—what's this about?"

"Hahaha, Director Wang, please sit, please sit. That's not right—can't I just chat with you if I have nothing else to do?"

"Of course you can. Chatting with Director Wei always lifts my spirits."

This old bastard was the first wealthy man to come knocking when Wang Yan first rose to fame, eager to get rich. I have to admit, this bastard had good eyesight. Though he had plenty of professionals under him and his own abilities weren't bad—even could be called top-tier—otherwise he couldn't have amassed such a fortune.

But when it came to grasping international trends, understanding Europe and America's old rivals, his own realm and vision, and foresight into the future, he still fell far short of Wang Mou.

When he approached Wang Yan, he was extremely courteous. For anyone capable of making big money, this kind of man was always willing to swallow his pride. Wang Yan saw his attitude was decent and still gave him money, so he let him onto the ride.

Over this long period, he'd made a lot of money following Wang Yan.

The two sat down and exchanged endless flattery, each a worthy match for the other.

After talking for a long while, Wei Zhijie couldn't hold back any longer—everyone was busy; this much empty boasting was a waste of time.

He took a sip of tea, cleared his throat, and said: "To be honest, Director Wang, I did have a reason for calling you."

Wang Yan understood—who would waste time chatting with an old man for no reason?

He gestured for him to continue.

"It's like this: someone asked me to plead on their behalf, to act as a mediator, and ask you to ease up. Enemies are better resolved than prolonged; let's shake hands and make peace—name your terms."

Hearing this, Wang Yan understood immediately. Who it was went without saying—he'd only ever targeted the Liang family since arriving in this world.

That they'd found him as the mastermind wasn't surprising. Anything done leaves traces—even if hidden well. If the Liang family truly wanted to investigate, finding him was only natural.

Once they locked onto him, finding someone with enough influence who knew both sides? Even more natural.

Wang Yan asked: "The Liang family suffered such heavy losses—why aren't they trying to kill me, and instead sending you to mediate?"

He'd been busy handling previous matters and hadn't paid special attention to the Liang family.

For him, the thrill of being the shadowy mastermind lasted only a moment—after that, it was over. The Liang family? Just meat on the chopping block. The moment he struck, their fate was sealed.

More than half a month had passed; the Liang family was barely holding on, signs of collapse already showing—they were about to break. Of course, "about to" still took time; they wouldn't vanish overnight.

After the final investigation revealed the truth, the old patriarch nearly died of rage. Because of a woman trying to show off, they nearly lost the entire Liang family?

Naturally, he cursed Wang Yan out—was such a tiny matter worth going this far? Must it be life or death?

That was from his perspective—he'd never considered what happened to those the Liang Zhengxian had crushed. He'd allow himself to crush others, but not be crushed in return—such a spoiled habit.

Wang Yan wasn't avenging those poor souls Liang Zhengxian had tormented—they deserved it. If they hadn't rushed to compete for attention, they'd have just gotten a light kick and moved on. Didn't they kneel all the time anyway? What's wrong with enduring it? But no—they had to act superior, put on airs, then when they lost, who could they blame?

A lifetime of prestige, destroyed in a single day. The old patriarch, seized by youthful madness, swung his cane and beat Liang Zhengxian half-dead, then expelled him from the family.

That happened yesterday; his subordinates reported it to him—he knew.

Wei Zhijie said: "Director Wang, it's like this—the Liang family…"

He told Wang Yan some things that hadn't been uncovered, showing that the family still had depth. Though they'd been severely wounded by your strike, if you stopped now, they could still recover and rise again.

Wang Yan thought for a moment. The feud was already sealed—if you don't kill the snake, it'll strike back. Even assuming the best case—that they recovered and didn't seek revenge—Liang Zhengxian would still be Liang family blood. He wouldn't let his own kin starve or suffer; otherwise, it'd be a disgrace to their name.

So what was the point of all this? Just for the money scraped up so far, and their apology? And the future grudges and endless retaliation? Was he insane?

Knocking them down wouldn't bring more—crushing them outright, eliminating the threat of revenge—was far better.

Besides, even if what Wei Zhijie just said wasn't the full picture, what did it matter? They were still nearly broken.

"Director Wei, let me tell you this: this time, I didn't use just my own money—I don't have that much."

Saying this, Wang Yan held up one finger: "So far, you've made this much from me."

Wei Zhijie's eyes instantly widened—this was all real cash.

Wang Yan continued: "If we knock the Liang family down, plus what you just mentioned…"

The rest Wei Zhijie could imagine—he knew exactly how much money he had with Wang Yan, and instantly calculated a rough total.

His face lit up with a smile; he dropped the mediation topic entirely, stood up, and said: "Hahaha, Director Wang, haven't eaten yet? Come on, come on—I just hired a new master chef, his skills are unmatched. You help him improve, give him some pointers."

In wealth, there may be differences—but in rank, Wang Yan was unquestionably equal. They were all players at the same level; Wei Zhijie wasn't afraid of looking foolish before Wang Yan.

That was denying Wang Yan any chance at all.

He came over, grabbed Wang Yan by the arm and pulled him away: "I know Manager Wang adores baijiu—how lucky is this? Just two days ago, I got my hands on a fifty-year-aged vintage, specifically waiting for Manager Wang to taste it."

Wang Yan didn't even bother to speak further to Wei Zhijie. For all the pretentious airs the guy put on in the plot, with that dead-man's face, he'd twisted it into something ridiculous—like what, exactly? In truth, his face hid countless underhanded tricks, and his heart was black as ink.

Then the two of them ate and drank, chatting in hushed, cryptic tones for a long while.