Chapter 509: Homeward Dumplings

The aircraft touched down at the Capital City Airport just after noon.

In the northern winter, sunlight was as thin as diluted wine, casting a cool white glow over the concrete apron. The wind was a bit harsh, stinging the face, but Lu Qingshan took a deep breath and felt the dusty scent in the air put him at ease.

There was no red carpet, no flowers, and no line of officials waiting to report and bow. Only a black Hongqi sedan with a civilian license plate sat quietly at the edge of the apron, like a silent old comrade.

Lu Qingshan declined the high‑spec welcome banquet proposed by Minister Zhang of the Ministry of Foreign Trade and Director Wang of the Foreign Exchange Bureau. He had had enough of being the fearsome "Eastern Caesar" abroad, whose word could topple a nation's exchange rate. Now, with his feet on the soil of the Capital City, he just wanted to shed his blood‑stained armor and be an ordinary mortal, a husband who returns home for a hot meal.

The car skillfully drove along Chang'an Avenue and turned into Fuqiang Hutong.

Early winter in the Capital City filled the air with a dry, sharp coal‑smoke smell, a ten‑thousand‑fold more pleasant than London's damp, musty odor. The locust‑tree leaves at the hutong entrance had long since fallen, the bare branches swayed in the wind as if waving to the returning ones. A few fearless sparrows chattered and hopped, rummaging under the wall base for stray grains of rice.

He pushed open the thick, vermilion wooden door of Fuqiang Hutong 23 Courtyard, and with a "creak" it seemed to open onto two worlds.

A rush of warm air hit his face.

The courtyard didn't grow those ostentatiously luxurious flowers and plants; instead, in the corner, neatly piled over two hundred jin of freshly stored winter cabbage, covered with an old cotton blanket for warmth, looked solid. Under the windowsill, a few pieces of honeycomb coal lay scattered; this is the Capital City's winter "Dinghai Needle".

The thick cotton curtain of the main hall was pulled aside from inside, releasing a scent of fermenting white flour.

Lin Yue'e was wearing that faded, floral apron, both hands dusted with flour, a smudge of white on her forehead, vigorously rolling dumpling skins on the countertop. Her movements were swift, exuding the competence of a head of household.

Next to her, Lu Xiaoxue, a little over five, was riding on Jin Hu, a dog as sturdy as a calf. This Oroqen hunting dog, which usually can wrestle wild boars in the forest, was now as docile as a big cat, lying on the ground with its tongue out, looking forlorn yet too scared to move.

The little girl waved a white scallion stalk, taken from the pile of green onions, like a horsewhip in her hand, her face flushed, her voice baby‑like as she shouted, "Charge! Charge! Big tiger, go! Catch the bad guys! Catch the big villain who snatched Daddy!"

Jin Hu let out a helpless whine; when he saw Lu Qingshan come in, his dog eyes lit up as if seeing a savior, ready to spring up to greet his male master, but a sudden sway of his back scared the little one.

"Ah!" Lu Xiaoxue cried, turned her head, and saw the person standing at the doorway.

In that instant, the little girl's eyes shone like two black grapes; she tossed the "horsewhip" and, rolling and crawling, slid down from the dog's back, charging like a red little cannonball.

"Dad—!"

The shout, cloyingly sweet, melted the last shards of ice in Lu Qingshan's heart.

Lu Qingshan tossed the briefcase, which held asset documents worth hundreds of billions of US dollars, to Lin Yueqiang behind him as if discarding trash, then dropped to one knee, spreading his arms.

"Boom—" the little girl crashed into his arms.

Lu Qingshan scooped his daughter up, lifted her high over his head, spun her twice in the air, provoking the little girl to shriek repeatedly.

"Oh dear, she's heavier! Our Xiao Xue has grown taller! Did she sneak some good food while Dad was away?"

"Not at all! I think I missed Dad so much I've become skinny!" Lu Xiaoxue clung to Lu Qingshan's neck, her little face rubbing against his stubbly cheek, "Dad, your beard is prickly! Hehe…"

The laughter rang clear as silver bells, echoing over the courtyard.

Lin Yue'e quickly wiped her hands on her apron and came over. She looked at her husband, her eyes a little red, but her face full of that bone‑deep tenderness. She didn't ask how business went, or how much was earned; she simply reached out to smooth the wind‑ruffled collar of Lu Qingshan's coat.

"You're back? The water's just boiled, the dumplings are ready to go into the pot. Pork with scallions—I know you crave that, so I added extra sesame oil, and the meat is the fattest pork belly I picked at the market this morning."

Lu Qingshan looked at his wife.

She managed all this at home, fine lines now at the corners of her eyes, yet that gentle, virtuous strength was ten thousand times more beautiful than any glittering socialite he had ever seen in the circles of fame and wealth.

At this moment, the battles of London Financial City, the bloodshed of Tokyo Ginza, the kneeling of conglomerates—all seemed especially distant, like an unreal dream. Only the house‑filled scent of flour, scallion aroma, and the faint snow‑flake ointment scent on his wife felt real.

This is what being alive feels like.

"I'll go wash my hands," Lu Qingshan set his daughter down, stripped off the black overcoat that would make Western conglomerates quake, tossed it on a coat rack, rolled up his white shirt sleeves, and shouted to the still‑dazed Lin Yueqiang, "Yueqiang, don't just stand there! Put the box inside, wash your hands and peel the garlic! Tonight we need a drink—bring out that good liquor you've hidden under the bed, don't be stingy!"

"Got it! Brother‑in‑law, just wait!" Lin Yueqiang set his luggage down, chuckled, and slipped into the kitchen for the garlic mortar, "Tonight I'll definitely knock you flat; I've been aging that wine for two years!"

Steaming hot dumplings were placed on the table, each with thin skin and generous filling, packed on the plate like gold ingots. The dipping sauce was vinegar infused with Laba garlic, a bright green, accompanied by two homemade pickles.

Lu Qingshan picked up a dumpling, unafraid of the heat, bit into it. Scalding oil dripped down his mouth corners, the pork's fresh aroma mingling with the scallion's sharpness, exploding instantly in his mouth.

So fragrant.

This flavor, not even mountains of gold and silver could trade for.

……

Night fell, the hutong was silent, occasional distant barks of a guard dog echoed, deepening the darkness.

Lin Yue'e soothed the day‑long noisy child to sleep, then retired to her room. Lu Qingshan slipped on an old cotton coat, carried a Yixing teapot in his hand, and went alone to the study.

He twisted on the desk lamp; the dim yellow glow spread over the rosewood desk.

Lu Qingshan walked to the bookshelf, pressed lightly on a thick copy of "Capital", and a mechanism behind the shelf clicked softly, a faint "clack", and the secret room door slid open silently.

He stepped inside; there was no heating, a chill in the air, but the cold sharpened his mind.

The massive world map on the wall was densely marked, like a huge net ensnaring half the planet's wealth. His gaze passed over the prosperous Europe, whose blood he had already drained; over the turbulent Moscow, now undergoing its final dismemberment under his control; over the affluent Japan and Korea, now his cash‑cow.

Finally, his eyes rested on a point across the Pacific.

United States, California, San Francisco Bay Area.

There it remains an orchard and scattered labs, the name "Silicon Valley" not yet known worldwide. Yet in Lu Qingshan's eyes, it glitters with golden light—a future gold mine, the heart of humanity's next century of technology.

The computer screen lit up, its eerie blue glow falling on his face, looking somewhat uncanny.

An encrypted email popped up, the sender being Ye Ning, far away in New York.

It contained only a few short lines:

【Boss, the net is set.】

1. Cisco's Series A term sheet has been signed; we secured 40% preferred shares. The founding couple are fretting over money, grateful for our arrival.

2. That young man named Bill Gates is anxious lately; Microsoft's IPO plans are stalled, and our capital is an irresistible bait for him.

3. Additionally, I've gotten in touch with the Jobs who was driven out by Apple's board. He's now down on his luck, working on a company called NeXT; his temper is sour, but I hear someone is willing to invest, so his attitude has softened.

4. The two Oracle guys who work on databases just received our check and are cheering inside the company.

Lu Qingshan stared at the screen, his fingers lightly tapping the desk in a brisk rhythm, as if playing a symphony of fate.

He has the real‑world industry, the financial hegemony, and the energy resources.

The next era is the era of information. The era of data computation.

Whoever controls the data controls the human brain. Whoever controls the network becomes the god of the new world.

"Those arrogant Americans think they won the Cold War, yet they don't know their future already belongs to me."

Lu Qingshan muttered to himself, a cold grin curling his mouth like a hunter's when the prey is caught. The domestic man's warmth faded in that instant, replaced by a chilling lust for control.

Enough rest.

Lu Qingshan picked up the red-and-blue pencil on the table and, at the spot of San Francisco, heavily drew a red circle.

It's time to harvest the future.