Looking for relatives: I acquired my mother’s billion-dollar enterprise Chapter 20

When Qin Yuan returned to the private dining box, an undercurrent of strangeness lingered in the air. His mother, Song Yazhi, appeared as composed as ever, her elegance unmarred, but Song Ziwei, her radiant beauty tinged with an unusual shyness, flushed red when their eyes briefly t before she looked away. anwhile, Caifu, playful as always, exuded a teasing energy so coquettish it even unsettled Qin Yuan—a man who had seen countless won in his thirty years.

Fortunately, the al began, and the awkwardness dissipated under the allure of culinary artistry. The dishes at Yuzhilan were nothing short of masterpieces, creations born of the renowned chef Lan Guijun’s genius. A luminary in Chengdu’s culinary scene, his legacy spanned international awards, the hosting of state guests, and a reputation as the unparalleled maestro of Sichuan cuisine. Yet, unlike the fiery, oil-drenched flavors often associated with the region, Lan Guijun’s dishes embodied a refined elegance that paid homage to the sophisticated traditions of old Chengdu.

Each dish was a revelation. The al comnced with the “Panda Box,” an appetizer featuring six delicacies that showcased the essence of Sichuan flavors: red oil, spicy, numbing pepper, hot and sour, and sauce-based delights. Every bite was a sensory journey, a delicate balance of taste that encapsulated the depth of Sichuan cuisine.

Next ca the fad multicolored noodles, a testant to both tradition and innovation, followed by the Golden Silk Noodles and the Seafood Hot and Sour Noodles—legendary items from Yuzhilan’s culinary repertoire. The vibrant noodles, infused with natural vegetable and fruit juices, were coated in a signature sauce crafted from an intricate blend of seasonings. The dish captured every taste on the spectrum: salty, sweet, spicy, sour, aromatic, and fresh.

To complent the dishes, a delicate soup was served, embodying the saying, “A chef’s soup is like an opera singer’s voice.” Made from premium ingredients like three-year-old chickens, ducks, lean black pork, and aged Jinhua ham, the broth simred for hours, filtered ticulously to a luminous golden clarity. A single sip was pure poetry—a warm embrace of flavor that lingered on the palate.

More dishes followed in a procession of culinary opulence: Wagyu beef paired with silky mapo tofu, tender fish with bamboo shoots, fragrant eggplant, vegetarian pine mushroom pots, and glistening golden abalone. Despite having tasted the world’s finest cuisines, Qin Yuan found himself marveling. Only two words remained in his mind: absolutely exquisite.

By the al’s end, Song Caifu leaned back in her chair, rubbing her rounded belly with unabashed satisfaction. “That was incredible!” she exclaid, her voice brimming with contentnt.

Song Yazhi dabbed her lips with a napkin, turning to Qin Yuan with a radiant smile. “Son, did you enjoy it?”

“Absolutely,” Qin Yuan replied earnestly, his words infused with genuine admiration. “I’ve dabbled in the culinary world myself, and this is truly exceptional. Chef Lan Guijun’s craftsmanship is remarkable.”

Song Yazhi’s eyes sparkled with delight, her heart ward by her son’s appreciation. Without hesitation, she summoned Lan Guijun to their table, her resolve as unyielding as her smile.

“Master Lan,” she began with a serene yet commanding tone, “my son enjoys your food imnsely, and as a mother, I hope you’ll understand my feelings. I’d like to purchase Yuzhilan. Not only will you continue to run the restaurant, but I’d also like you to occasionally cook for my family.”

Her words left Lan Guijun montarily stunned. Even Qin Yuan was caught off guard, his expression a blend of amusent and disbelief. The twins, however, remained nonchalant, accustod to their mother’s commanding aura and decisive actions.

Song Yazhi offered a sum so generous that Lan Guijun could hardly refuse. The deal was sealed: Yuzhilan now bore the Song na, and Lan Guijun would periodically cater to the family. It was an acquisition born not of business but of maternal love. To Song Yazhi, her son’s casual praise was reason enough to secure this culinary gem.

“Mom, was that really necessary?” Qin Yuan asked, torn between amusent and exasperation.

“It’s nothing,” Song Yazhi replied with a serene smile. “Besides, I ca into so extra funds recently—might as well spend it on my family.”

Curiosity flickered across Qin Yuan’s face. “Extra funds?”

Song Caifu, eager to spill the details, chid in, her voice brimming with excitent. She recounted the tale of Lei Bushi’s lost billion-dollar bet, which had ended in a fortuitous windfall for the family.

“Oh, so he’s already paid up,” Qin Yuan remarked, a faint smile playing on his lips. Smart move, Lei Bushi, he mused. The man clearly knew better than to renege on a debt.

After the al, Caifu suggested a shopping trip, and Song Yazhi eagerly agreed. The family made their way to the IFC Mall, a luxurious haven of high-end brands.

Song Yazhi led Qin Yuan into a series of designer stores, her intent clear: to upgrade her son’s wardrobe. “Clothes make the man,” she declared. “You’re my son—you must look the part.”

The spree began at Louis Vuitton, then moved on to Montblanc and Hermès. A single shirt priced at three hundred thousand yuan was bought without hesitation. Shoes costing six hundred and sixty thousand yuan followed suit. By the end of the expedition, Song Yazhi had spent millions, assembling a wardrobe of more than a dozen bespoke outfits for her son.

Qin Yuan, though touched, couldn’t help but chuckle inwardly. The truth was, his unassuming clothes were hand-tailored by the finest artisans, unavailable even to those with deep pockets. Yet, he let his mother have her way, savoring the warmth of her love.

The final stop was a luxury watch boutique. Six million yuan later, Qin Yuan left with an array of tipieces from brands like Rolex and Patek Philippe.

“Xiao Yuan, wear these according to your mood,” Song Yazhi said cheerfully. “If you want more, just let know. We’ll buy them all.”

Her joy was infectious, her pride in her son unmistakable. To her, Qin Yuan was perfection incarnate. His deanor, his confidence—everything about him radiated elegance and charm.

As they returned ho to Tan Palace, Qin Yuan found himself deeply moved. Song Yazhi’s gestures were extravagant, yes, but they spoke of a profound, unconditional love. For the first ti, he truly felt what it ant to be cherished.

This, he realized, was a mother’s way of pampering her son: not rely with money, but with a heart full of devotion.

In the days that followed, the bond between Qin Yuan and Song Yazhi deepened. Simultaneously, Song Ziwei’s skillful handling of dia narratives reshaped public perception. The world now saw Qin Yuan not as a gold-digger but as a talented, accomplished man—a worthy heir to the Iron Lady’s legacy.

And while Qin Yuan basked in his family’s love, one person couldn’t hide their resentnt. Lei Bushi, scrolling through the glowing headlines, smirked slyly. Ti for a new ga, he thought, tagging Song Yazhi in a provocative Weibo post:

“Congratulations on finding such an outstanding son, Sister Song. But tell … care to make another wager?”