Chapter 360: Chen Guobin: Huizhen, I was wrong—it

Chunshen, front entrance of Guobin Bookstore.

Chen Guobin carried a bucket of water, a car-washing towel draped over his shoulder, scrubbing a black BMW X5 until sweat steamed off his body.

“Brother Bin, you’ve got a two-million-yuan BMW—still wash it yourself?”

Wang the Bald, from the photo studio next door, sat munching sunflower seeds and chuckled teasingly.

“The car was bought by my son—I pay for the washing myself. Save where you can, spend where you must.”

Chen Guobin replied loudly with a smile.

“Brother Bin, I’m not saying this to be rude, but why save? To buy your son a house and a wife? Does he need it?”

Wang the Bald pressed with a grin.

Buy a house and a wife for Xiao Sen?

Chen Guobin froze, his hands stilling. A wave of inexplicable sorrow surged in his chest.

It wasn’t good having such a successful son—he’d made billions in two years, while Chen Yansen’s own bank account held barely enough for two tires.

Old Chen swallowed hard, choked suddenly, and burst into violent coughs, his face turning red.

Wang the Bald rushed over, patting his back, puzzled: “What’s wrong? Why so worked up?”

Over the past year, every agro-product processor in the surrounding villages had treated Chen Guobin like a “Supreme Emperor,” dropping by regularly with tea, cigarettes, rice, or rapeseed oil.

Farmers on Beishan brought whole crates of pears, grapes, apricots, and peaches during holidays.

You couldn’t refuse them!

They’d just drop it and run.

Chen Guobin couldn’t cook and couldn’t finish it all, so he gave it away to nearby shopkeepers.

That’s why Wang the Bald now called him “Brother Bin”—he’d once called him “Old Chen.”

“Nothing, just choked a bit,” Chen Guobin gasped, waving it off.

But he soon fell into confusion.

Chen Yansen had always been his greatest emotional anchor—when his son was young, he worked to buy formula; when he went to school, he saved for tuition; when he entered high school, he saved for a house.

All his life, besides Liang Huizhen, his son was his only purpose.

But Wang the Bald’s words jolted him—he suddenly realized: Chen Yansen didn’t need him anymore.

Keeping this bookstore now seemed meaningless.

At that moment, his mind held only one image: a girl in a linen dress, smiling brightly.

“Chen Guobin, we’re married!”

“Brother Bin, I’m pregnant—I’m scared, what do I do?”

“Let’s name our son Chen Yansen—easy to say, beautiful meaning.”

“Brother Bin, save me…”

As he remembered, two clear tears slid down Old Chen’s cheeks.

Huizhen!

Chen Guobin raised his arm, wiped his eyes, his lips drooping. He exhaled deeply, forcing back the sorrow deep inside.

Instantly, he lost all desire to keep washing the car.

He packed up, pulled down the bookstore’s roller shutter, and drove toward the salt company’s residential area.

“Brother Bin, not working today?” Wang the Bald called out, bewildered.

Back home, Chen Guobin picked up Liang Huizhen’s photo frame, packed a few clothes, opened the door, descended the stairs, and sped onto the highway.

Meanwhile.

Tang Lixin, upon hearing Chen Guobin had “run away,” frowned tightly, fearing he’d never return, his heart in turmoil.

“Boss, should I call Mr. Chen?” Assistant Zhao Siyuan suggested.

“Do it. No matter where he goes, have the Police Inspector follow him—safety first.”

Tang Lixin’s anxiety over Chen Guobin surpassed even his feelings for his own father.

Zhao Siyuan quickly pulled out his phone and dialed Chen Guobin.

“Duuu… duuu… duuu…”

The prolonged ringing made Tang Lixin increasingly agitated.

“Hello, Secretary Zhao? What’s up?” Chen Guobin asked casually, wearing a Bluetooth earpiece.

“Old Brother Chen, I brought two cans of fresh tea from Guniujiang, but your bookstore was closed.”

Zhao Siyuan lied outright, probing.

“Oh, Secretary Zhao, too kind—no need for tea. I’m traveling far today—to Xucity to see my son.”

Chen Guobin answered honestly.

See his son?

Tang Lixin’s tense nerves eased slightly.

He smiled faintly, returned to his rosewood desk, and resumed his calm, unshakable demeanor.

As long as he didn’t run, everything was fine.

Last year, with Chen Yansen’s support, Chunshen’s agro-products reached 3 billion in annual sales, creating nearly ten thousand new jobs countywide and raising farmers’ incomes on Beishan several-fold.

The county’s GDP rose 33.6% year-over-year!

Last week, at the city meeting, superiors specifically praised his 2012 achievements.

Having tasted the sweetness, he naturally clung tightly to Chen Yansen’s leg.

Meanwhile, Chen Yansen, squatting by the pond feeding fish, received a call from his security team.

“Understood. Just follow from behind. Thanks for your work,” Chen Yansen said, giving immediate orders.

Did Old Chen lose his mind?

At his age, playing spontaneous road trips?

After hanging up, he muttered inwardly.

But he was his biological father—Chen Yansen wasn’t as heartless as he sounded.

Secretly, he’d assigned a security team to watch over Old Chen.

An hour later, security confirmed Chen Guobin’s destination was likely Xucity.

Chen Yansen didn’t overthink it—let Old Chen come if he wanted. As a model twenty-first-century youth, he had no hidden vices to hide.

Thinking of this, he turned back to the living room and locked his Pikachu, Huludawa, Teletubbies, Hongmao, and Niuwang cosplay outfits into the safe on the third floor.

Now it was foolproof! Chen Yansen squinted, satisfied.

“Come to Sanjiaozhou.”

After finishing everything, Chen Yansen sent a message to Ye Qiuping.

Neither he nor Old Chen could cook—they needed a chef.

“Should I wear the Sixth Boy cosplay?” Ye Qiuping replied.

“Change the theme today. Buy a chef’s uniform—don’t forget the hat.”

Chen Yansen replied instantly.

“Chef? New scenario?” Ye Qiuping froze, her legs instinctively tightening as a teaching video flashed in her mind.

Kitchen? Would it be too rough?

She didn’t dare ask more. Passing Huamao Mall, she bought a pure white chef’s uniform.

At three p.m., a black X5 slowly entered the Sanjiaozhou villa district.

“Wow! This kid’s personality must’ve come from somewhere—he’s good at making money and even better at spending it.”

Following Gao De’s map, Chen Guobin took the exact route without a single detour, registered at the gate, then drove into the compound.

No. 108!

Three minutes later, Chen Guobin spotted a standalone villa with a numbered sign at the gate.

Chen Yansen heard the noise outside but didn’t rise—he lay on the soft couch beside the pond, idly scattering fish food.

The way he fed them looked like feeding pigs.

Song Yuncheng had warned him: Feed less—your koi are turning into koi-pigs!

Chen Yansen didn’t care—he loved plump fish.

“Tap-tap-tap—”

Old Chen knocked on the wooden door.

“Door’s unlocked,” Chen Yansen said, rolling over. His voice was soft but reached Old Chen’s ears with perfect clarity.

Chen Guobin, holding the photo frame, strode into the courtyard.

Chen Yansen glanced over casually, amused—he hadn’t expected Old Chen to bring his mother along.

Old Chen stepped in and saw Chen Yansen sprawled on the couch. He opened his mouth to say something, then thought better of it—what use would it be?

Before eighteen, Chen Yansen never listened to him; after eighteen, he never would.

So Old Chen said nothing, just carried Liang Huizhen around, smiling as he muttered: “Huizhen, your son bought this huge house—bigger than ours! Look, he’s even keeping pigs in the water…”

“Pah! Huizhen, I was wrong—it’s fish, not pigs! This brat feeds fish like pigs!”

“Oh, this living room’s huge—you’d love it…”

Chen Yansen lay on the couch, listening to Old Chen’s rambling, and smiled quietly.

As Old Chen wandered, he reached the kitchen door. The room was so large he mistook it for a guest room—he was about to step in when he collided with Ye Qiuping, who was just stepping out.

“Who are you?”

“I should be asking you that—who are you?” Ye Qiuping retorted.

She had just arrived when Chen Yansen shoved her into the kitchen instead of the bathroom.

Before she could even prepare, Chen Yansen said: “Five dishes and one soup will do. Don’t go to too much trouble—the ingredients are all in the fridge. Figure it out yourself.”

Ye Qiuping laughed bitterly. What? You really think I’m your cook?

“I’m Chen Yansen’s father. You’re the cook, right?” Chen Guobin thought the household chef before him seemed absurdly young, but maybe he was just exceptionally skilled.

Chen Yansen’s father?

Ye Qiuping studied Chen Guobin carefully. Their facial features did resemble each other by three or four tenths. Her heart leapt—but then she remembered her false identity and forced herself to say: “Mr. Chen, hello. I’m Mr. Chen’s personal chef.”

“Oh, then get to work.”

Chen Guobin showed no suspicion at all and led Liang Huizhen around for a tour.

To give Old Chen an immersive role-playing experience, Ye Qiuping had carefully chosen a set of highly professional chef’s attire—extremely convincing.

Thus, Chen Guobin noticed not the slightest anomaly.

Watching the old man’s muttering back, Ye Qiuping rushed into the courtyard and ran up to Mr. Chen. “Your dad’s here—why didn’t you warn me?”

“Why should I warn you?” Chen Yansen asked, genuinely curious.

“...” Ye Qiuping regretted it. Why hadn’t she bought more rat poison?

“My mom’s here too. Should I have told you about her too?” Chen Yansen added.

“My mom’s here too?” Ye Qiuping’s pupils shrank, her face stunned.

“Yeah. In my dad’s arms.” Chen Yansen spoke plainly.

“...” Ye Qiuping suddenly remembered the photo album in Chen Guobin’s arms, then rolled her eyes weakly.

She couldn’t outwit Chen Yansen at all!

She slumped off, dejected, to start cooking.

Soon after, Chen Guobin returned from his tour and said to Chen Yansen: “Call Meng Jie over. Let’s have dinner together—let your mom meet her.”

“Next time. You’re holding my mom—don’t scare the poor girl.” Chen Yansen refused outright.

“Hmm, fair point. Damn, I got too eager.” Chen Guobin pulled up a chair, sat beside the sink, and stared blankly at several fat, koi-like fish.

“Do you like this house?” Chen Yansen asked.

“Too big. Tiring to live in,” Chen Guobin evaluated.

Chen Yansen chuckled silently. He’d bought his father a 300-square-meter villa in Chunshen; this one was 500 square meters—definitely bigger.

“Should I buy you one? Let your mom have a new environment?” Chen Yansen asked again.

“No need. I’ll stay two days and go back.” Old Chen shook his head.

“What about Lunar New Year?” Chen Yansen frowned.

“I’ll stay with your mom back home,” Old Chen said firmly.

“Fine. Do as you like.” Chen Yansen patted his ass and turned into the kitchen.

Old Chen could do as he pleased; Chen Yansen wouldn’t interfere in his father’s life.

The next morning, Ge Yue, Apple’s Asia Regional Director General, arrived at Zhuxianzhuang Technology Park with seven or eight assistants.

First, to negotiate licensing for the Orange Z1 instruction set architecture; second, because online sales channels now accounted for a growing share of shipments, Pi Bei’s importance could not be ignored.

(End of Chapter)