Chapter 292: This Burden, I, Lu Qingshan, Dare to Take!

Three hundred million.

U. S. dollars.

When those three words came out of Old Chen's mouth, each one felt like an invisible mountain, thundering down onto Lu Qingshan's heart.

The fragrance of the old plum tree in the courtyard seemed to freeze at that moment. The howling north wind, as if its throat were clamped by this invisible force, fell instantly into mute silence.

Lu Qingshan could hear his own heart beating like a drum, thump after thump, heavy enough to tear his chest. A chill ran through his fingertips, and memories from his past life—fighting over a few cents until his head bled, rummaging every pocket to buy his daughter a single candy—flashed through his mind like lightning. The humility and desperation of then, contrasted with the echo of "three hundred million U. S. dollars" now ringing in his ears, formed the most absurd and cruel juxtaposition in the world.

This is not money.

It is a Dragon‑slaying Blade, handed to him by a nation that has emptied its coffers, wagered its destiny, and offered it to him still unsharpened.

Old Chen's eyes, which seemed to pierce the world, stared at him quietly, his gaze bearing the hopes of a billion people and the century‑long resentment of this ancient nation.

"This burden, this trust—do you… dare to take it?"

Lu Qingshan exhaled slowly, a long breath of white vapor that swirled and rose in the cold air before fading away. He felt the mountain pressing on his heart not disappear, but turn into the hardest bone in his spine.

He hesitated not a moment, met the elder's gaze, straightened his back, and spoke in a voice that was modest yet each word rang like metal striking stone.

"Old Chen, the nation trusts me; I dare to accept."

"Good!" A flash of brilliance burst from Old Chen's cloudy eyes as he slammed his palm hard onto the stone table, "Exactly the vigor I need!"

He rose, stepped before Lu Qingshan, and with a gaunt hand gave his shoulder a firm pat. "Remember, you are our sword, but a sword needs a sheath. I'll speak to your father's side myself and get you the finest sheath. Stay alive, and you can win."

Inside the red‑flag limousine on the return trip, the atmosphere remained heavy.

Wang Shanghong's voice was low and swift: "The funds will pass through several special overseas channels, disguised as various trade payments, and be deposited in batches into the highest‑security account you opened at the Swiss Bank. The whole process will last a month, and every trace will be erased. Externally, this money has no connection to us; it belongs solely to you, Lu Qingshan."

Lu Qingshan closed his eyes, silently committing every detail to memory. The weight of three hundred million pressed silently on his heart. What he thought of was no longer the astronomical wealth, but Old Chen's final words, "Stay alive, and you can win." He knew that once this Dragon‑slaying Blade was unsheathed, it would face the most ferocious backlash of imperialism. Behind him were the wife and daughters he must protect with his life, and the impenetrable barrier he intended to build with this money.

The car didn't drive straight back to the Lu Family compound; it stopped at the mouth of an alley.

"The road ahead is too narrow for the car; I'll drop you here," Wang Shanghong said. "Everyone at home is waiting for you—hurry back."

Lu Qingshan pushed the door open and stepped out; a familiar scent mingling coal smoke and stir‑fry aromas hit him, instantly easing the crushing pressure in his chest and reviving his spirit. This was the taste of the mortal world, the scent of home.

"Bureau Chief, please thank Old Chen for me."

Wang Shanghong nodded, watched Lu Qingshan's hurried figure vanish into the depths of the alley, started the car, and turned away.

After nine o'clock at night, the Lu Family's courtyard at Wangfu Street was brightly lit.

As Lu Qingshan pushed the courtyard gate open, a dark silhouette swooped in with a "whoosh," rubbing enthusiastically against his leg, its tail spinning like a wind‑mill.

It was Jin Hu.

"Dad!"

A crisp, soft‑voiced child's shout, like a candy, instantly melted every icy block in Lu Qingshan's heart.

Xiao Xue, bundled in a thick little padded coat, looked like a round little cannonball as she burst from the main hall, clutched his thigh, her small face tilted up, eyes sparkling.

Lin Yue'e followed out, standing in the porch light, her eyes rimmed red as she looked at him. She said nothing, but her gaze held longing, worry, and the relief of seeing him return safely.

Lu Qingshan scooped his daughter into his arms, pressed a firm kiss to her cool little cheek, the soft touch and baby‑like call making him feel alive again. He strode swiftly to his wife, extended his other arm, and pulled both mother and daughter close into his embrace.

"I'm home."

Lin Yue'e buried her face against his chest, feeling his steady heartbeat, inhaling his familiar scent tinged with dust, and felt the lingering worry settle. She reached out, gently patted the frost on his back, and in a voice only the two of them could hear, with a hint of sobbing, whispered, "You've gotten thin."

Back home, the lively atmosphere instantly dispelled all the chill.

Eldest brother Lu Qingyuan, elder sister Lu Hong and brother‑in‑law Zhang A Yu, third brother Lu Qinghe who had rushed back overnight from Zhengding, younger sister Lu Xiaoyu studying at university in Capital City, together with their parents and Lu Qingjun, filled the huge restaurant to the brim with over a dozen people.

On the round banquet table, steaming dishes were already piled high: golden, fragrant Guo Bao Rou, richly sauced braised fish, a massive bowl of pickled cabbage stewed pork belly and vermicelli bubbling invitingly, and a plate of glossy tomato‑egg stir‑fry prepared especially for Xiao Xue and Zhang Xiao of the elder sister's family.

Mother Wang Guilan, seeing her son return, immediately called the kitchen for two more hot dishes, muttering, "Quick, sit down and eat; you can't eat well out there—look how skinny you've become!"

At the table, Lu Qingjun had already embellished his Hong Kong Island experiences, mentioning "Starry River Mansion," the "acquisition of Wilson," and the "Governor's Office giving the green light," causing the family to gasp at times and fall silent at others.

"Second brother, the 'Victoria Far East Opportunity Fund' you mentioned—how are its risk assessment and legal framework designed? I'm currently taking a course in international financial law," younger sister Lu Xiaoyu asked, eyes shining with admiration.

Third brother Lu Qinghe, who served as Agriculture Bureau Chief in Zhengding, was far more composed. He poured Lu Qingshan a drink and said gravely, "Second brother, the hearts of people on Hong Kong Island are complicated. You've taken the foreigners' cake; they won't dare act openly, but covert tactics are inevitable. Keep your guard up in everything."

Lu Qingshan smiled and responded to each point; everyone's gaze toward him was filled with inexpressible emotion and pride.

Father Lu Hua, who had been silently drinking, suddenly set his cup down. He looked at his accomplished son, his eyes complex and deep, containing both the scrutiny of an old revolutionary soldier and genuine pride.

"Qing Shan," he said steadily, "I heard from Qingjun that you're on Hong Kong Island, fighting those foreigners in a war without gunpowder. In my lifetime I fought them on the battlefield with rifles; the principle is the same."

He lifted his cup, his gaze blazing.

"Remember, the Lu Family's lineage must not have a bent spine! Your father and uncles straightened the Chinese spine with blood back then; now it's your turn to use your skill so it never bends again. Don't let them flatten us with money again!"

Having finished, he raised his cup to Lu Qingshan and downed it in one gulp.

Lu Qingshan's eyes welled, and he lifted his cup and drank.

This cup of wine symbolized the inheritance between father and son, and the deepest pledge of two generations on different battlefields to this nation.