Chapter 749

Even adults didn’t dare play in those areas during the day, much less kids. But kids were always the boldest—picking lotus pods, water chestnuts, fishing… they’d try anything.

Then there were the dams and reservoirs in the mountains—all extremely dangerous for children.

Even just next to Linhe Elementary, there was a pond about three or four meters deep, designed to irrigate the fields at the base of the mountain. It was less than 200 meters from the school. Mischievous fifth and sixth grade boys would climb over the walls while the teacher wasn’t watching, sneaking off to swim. It was incredibly dangerous. The school had to assign a teacher to stand guard there every day, stick in hand. The moment a boy tried to sneak off to swim? Whack! He’d get chased down for a good couple of li (kilometers).

And when parents saw that? They clapped and cheered, “Hit him!”

Father Jiang enrolled Jiang Yuanhao into the summer pre-school class at the village school.

Having lived his whole life on construction sites with no other children around, Jiang Yuanhao was amazed the moment he entered school.

Naturally lively by temperament, and raised on the construction site among adults, he acted like a tiny grown-up. Just like his father at that age, he quickly became the class leader—a true king of the kids. He thrived.

The old principal had long since retired. The new one was an old classmate of Father Jiang’s, from Xu Village. Every time he passed by Father Jiang’s house, he couldn’t help but grumble, “Your grandson is just like your son used to be! Slippery as a monkey.”

The teachers were at their wit’s end. They’d put up warning signs around the reservoir—“Deep Water, Keep Away”—but the little devils would just pull them down one by one.

Father Jiang had to spend his days wrangling his grandson, constantly playing mental chess with him—and honestly, it livened him up quite a bit.

Thankfully, even if Jiang Yuanhao was a bit reckless, he was also clever. He’d never learned to swim, and no matter how much others tried to egg him on, he’d never go into the water. Mischievous, yes—but cautious too.

At first, he’d cried for days after Jiang Song left him and his sister behind. But after one summer, he’d had so much fun in Linhe that he couldn’t even remember what his dad looked like.

As for Jiang Yuanyue, she was just like Jiang Ning when she was young—barely breastfed before being weaned.

But she was born during a time when Jiang Song still had money, so she’d never been without formula. She grew up chubby, fair, and incredibly cute. Though Jiang Song had left her with his parents, he’d at least sent her formula and baby cereal, all packed and brought home.

Maybe it’s true what they say—grandchildren were dearer. Back when Jiang Ning was little, Mother Jiang treated her like she was meant for someone else’s family, and hardly gave her any care. But now, when it came to her granddaughter, Mother Jiang was all doting affection. The woman who used to be so silent and gloomy now played with Yuanyue daily, teaching her to talk, making her laugh.

And Yuanyue was an easy child—laughing every time she played with her, cheerful and sweet. Mother Jiang’s heart melted for her entirely.

The villagers all clicked their tongues in amazement, “Back when Ning Ning was young, she never got a single smile from her.”

Mother Jiang would just smile quietly when she heard that, holding little Yuanyue’s tiny hand as they walked down the cement road. Speaking the local dialect, she pointed things out and taught her the words, “Lotus flower~”

“Wotus fwower~” (drooling)

“Lotus leaf~”

“Yeaf yeaf yeaf~”

“Goji berry~”

“Doggie~”

Every month, Father Jiang and Mother Jiang would call Jiang Song.

Jiang Song, to his credit, was good with kids. Back when he was raising Yuanhao and Yuanyue himself, since Xu Xuediao never lifted a finger, he had taken care of them on his own. But the moment he sent them back to his hometown, he tossed them out of mind. Ten days, half a month would go by without a word—it was always his parents calling him.

Still, the moment they got through on the phone, he’d speak to Yuanhao and Yuanyue with such warmth and affection, like he’d never even left.

At first, Yuanhao was mad and refused to talk to him—but Jiang Song knew just how to sweet-talk.

Father Jiang and Mother Jiang had originally thought that Jiang Song’s return home at the start of the millennium signaled a turning point—that from then on, he’d return home every year. Even if not annually, surely he would come back often.

That’s what the rest of the village thought too. After all, so many of them had lent money to Jiang Song. Over half the households in the village had a vested interest in his success, keeping a close eye on his progress in the outside world. People often dropped by the Jiang house to ask Father Jiang, “How’s Jiang Song doing with the projects? How much money has he made?”

Years later, the six apartments that would become Jiang Song’s greatest bragging rights in the village—keeping people from seeing him as a total failure—meant absolutely nothing to him at this point in time. Even the developer who gave them to him felt guilty about not being able to pay him properly and arranged a new project for him to take on.

Jiang Song had finally learned from his past mistakes. This time, he wasn’t naïve enough to believe all that “the brothers are tight on funds, let’s cover them for now” nonsense. Even if he wanted to front the money, he didn’t have enough to do so. What he’d raised from the villagers was partly handed over to the migrant workers under him, alongside big promises of future returns. Then he dove headfirst into the next project.

Luckily, he’d always been generous. When he had money, he made sure to treat his workers—eating, drinking, even playing together. He never shorted them. Although Jiang Song often acted on emotion and wasn’t always the most reliable, the smarter ones had already bailed, following those who had previously betrayed him. But those who weren’t farsighted and were moved by his “brotherhood” stuck around. They felt that working for Jiang Song meant they’d at least get paid. He had heart—they trusted him.

In those days, there were still many contractors and project managers who couldn’t collect payments, and the worst-hit were always the laborers. After a year of hard work, they might walk away with nothing.

With Jiang Song, at least when he had money, he never shortchanged them.

And those who had stabbed him in the back? Didn’t necessarily end up better off. For all his flaws, people higher up still preferred someone like Jiang Song—someone with honor and a sense of loyalty—over those who might cut corners or pull tricks on construction quality.

So once Jiang Song had funds again, he quickly landed another small project and got back to work.

As for the house back home? He really didn’t care.

To him, if he ever wanted to build a house in the village, he could get it done in a matter of minutes. And he said as much.

He did feel a little sour seeing how Father Jiang had built a bigger, more luxurious house for Jiang Bai. After all, his parents had always centered everything around him—and now, suddenly, it was the younger brother being put first. That faint discomfort? He quickly shrugged it off. He genuinely didn’t care. The things in that old home didn’t matter to him at all.

Every year, around year-end, Father Jiang would call him to remind him to come home for the tea field division. Every year, he couldn’t get Jiang Song to come back. Ask him why? He’d say he was too busy—couldn’t leave the worksite.

Father Jiang had worked on construction sites for years. Of course he knew it was just an excuse. But he couldn’t wake someone who’s pretending to sleep. Father Jiang and Mother Jiang were exactly the kind of people who knew the truth, yet still chose to believe the lie.

Sometimes Father Jiang would plead with him, “You really ought to bring your wife back at least once to pay respects to the ancestors, right?”

Both of Jiang Song’s children were born to Xu Xuedie. And just mentioning her gave Jiang Song a headache. No way he’d bring her back to the village.