Chapter Nine: Why Is Even This Not Allowed?

"Are you out of your mind? You’ve worked so hard to reach your current position. If you go to Country Y, what will happen to the Huangpu Group? Will you just hand it over to that woman, or to the man who caused your father’s death?"

Huangpu Shenqing’s grandmother, the only one who truly cared for him, passed away when he was five years old. A year later, his grandfather remarried, bringing home a son a few years younger than Shenqing’s father—no one had expected the old man to have been unfaithful during his marriage.

His father spent his days managing the Huangpu Group. His mother and father were bound together in a business alliance, with not a trace of affection between them.

That year, Huangpu Shenqing was kidnapped. The abductors demanded a ransom of over a million, and when his father arrived to rescue him with his men, the police turned up as well. No one knew who had alerted the authorities, but the kidnappers, believing a family member had called the police, threatened to kill him.

Worse yet, the kidnappers were armed. In the chaos, Shenqing’s father shielded him from a bullet. Though rushed to the hospital, he could not be saved.

Shenqing was only eight years old.

With no one left to protect him, he could barely survive in the Huangpu family. Hunger, cold, and bullying became his daily life.

At twelve, he left the country. Only in recent years did he return, and no one could imagine what he had endured over those two decades.

He seized control of the Huangpu Group with an iron fist, sidelining the old patriarch. He demoted Huangpu Rong from vice president to a meaningless title as general manager.

Later, they began investigating the truth behind that fateful day. It turned out to be a meticulously planned kidnapping, even the firearms had been procured through underground channels.

But when their first plan failed, they tried another—calling the police themselves, which tipped off the kidnappers that they were mere pawns in someone else’s game. Before anything could be uncovered, the kidnappers were silenced for good.

He still remembered meeting him at the airport, finding him shrouded in gloom—a child, all alone, leaving the country.

He never knew why, but seeing him by himself, he walked over. That was how their friendship began.

The boy said, "Since we’re friends now, help me find someone. I’ll repay you."

Such a small child, yet his words were startlingly mature. He only asked him to search for a five- or six-year-old mixed-blood girl.

He described her: blue eyes, ash-blonde curls, wearing a princess dress, afraid of pain, quite spoiled. So he helped search, and Huangpu never stopped looking—for sixteen years.

"But if it hadn’t been for her back then, would I be where I am today? I just want to know she’s alright—is that too much to ask? Why... why can’t I even have that?" Huangpu Shenqing drank furiously, empty bottles already littering the table.

He remembered the first time he met her—he was eleven, she must have been four or five. So small, adorable, and delicate.

That summer was unbearably hot. Fleeing from his pursuers, he ran until he was gasping for breath.

Eventually, he collapsed from exhaustion.

When his pursuers caught up, they beat him mercilessly. His body was a patchwork of wounds, old injuries aggravated by new ones.

He had nothing—no way to see a doctor. That woman wanted him dead, so her son and grandson could claim the Huangpu family for themselves.

Just as he thought he would die, the little girl appeared.

She ran over, trying to stop them. "How can you hit someone? Stop it right now!" Her voice was sweet and childish, soft and gentle. She wore a pink princess dress, the skirt flaring as she moved, revealing her little legs.

Her white shoes had lace-trimmed socks, but what left the deepest impression were her blue eyes—enough to melt anyone’s heart.

Her long ash-blonde hair bounced with each step.

"Well, look at this—a mixed-blood kid. We’re in luck, boys," one of the men sneered, reaching for her.

She backed away, then darted to the fallen boy’s side, her childish voice tinged with worry and innocence, carrying a milky scent. "Big brother, what’s wrong? Does it hurt? You’re bleeding! Why did they hit you?"

He hurt so much it felt like he might die, but he forced his eyes open.

No one had cared for him since his father died.

"Boss, I hear mixed-blood kids fetch a good price. Maybe we should..."

"Yeah, boss, there’s no one around anyway. If we sell her, we’ll have money for travel."

The little girl didn’t understand their words, but she knew they were bad people. She tried with all her might to help the boy up, wanting to take him home to play with her.

But the boy tried his best to push her away. He wanted her to run, or she would be caught too.

He had no strength left—not even to speak or move.

"Take her away," the leader ordered.

They rushed forward and seized the little girl, trying to carry her off.

She was terrified. "What are you doing? Let me go! Brother, brother..."

She clung to the boy’s hand, holding on with all her might.

"Boss, what about this boy?"

"Leave him. No one’s coming to save him—he won’t survive anyway."

They forced the girl’s hand free.

"Ouch, that hurts! Let me go... wuwuwu..."

Carrying her, they drove away.