Damn, this is so blatantly biased They're not even pretending

Tai Shan soon left the house as well—he had no time to waste on idle chatter.

After everyone had gone,

Tang Xin also went back to put the child to sleep.

Cao Cheng sat alone in the courtyard, sipping tea.

Truth be told...

By now, Cao Cheng had pieced together many things. Today's conversation had been quite enlightening.

He’d understood many of these principles before, but never with such depth.

After the talk, he slowly reflected on the fragments of Tai Shan’s words, combining them with the century’s worth of experience from his dreams. Many new realizations emerged.

This was truly the tide of the times.

It wouldn’t change just because of one person—not even with a system, unless that system was shamelessly overpowered, granting godlike advantages.

Otherwise, everyone would simply be swept along by the wheels of the era, moving forward... or backward.

For example,

Cao Cheng could spend all his emotional points now, ignoring medicinal herbs and instead pouring everything into unlocking tech-related loot boxes.

In less than two years, he’d likely have cutting-edge—or even black—technology in his hands, far surpassing the current era.

But then what?

Would it make a difference?

Maybe, but not in any transformative way.

At least on the surface, nothing would change in the short term. Progress would still come step by step.

When discipline was needed, discipline would prevail.

It wasn’t like a few sudden technological leaps would turn everything upside down, making him invincible or arrogant.

That just wasn’t how things worked.

At most, the tech would let him move a little faster in the shadows, stand a little firmer, and feel a bit more confident.

It all echoed Tai Shan’s advice: Stay steady!

A massive ship, whether accelerating, dropping anchor, or changing course, must do so steadily—no rushing.

And before leaving, Tai Shan had added one more thing: "Don’t be in such a hurry to commercialize new inventions in the future."

Cao Cheng had agreed.

From now on, he’d let Tai Shan review any breakthroughs first.

......

Mid-January.

As usual, Cao Cheng was ambushed by reporters outside the national broadcaster’s headquarters.

A swarm of journalists instantly surrounded the young mogul.

Plenty of familiar faces.

"Mr. Cao, what are your thoughts on this season’s ‘The Voice’ mentors and contestants?"

"Mr. Cao, when will Miracle Medical’s cancer treatment drugs officially hit the market? What’s the expected price range? Will they be covered by insurance?"

"Mr. Cao, what brings you here today? Any new collaborations?"

"Mr. Cao, you—"

The barrage of questions came from all directions.

Same scene every year.

But by now, they were practically old acquaintances.

Cao Cheng raised a hand, and the crowd gradually quieted. "Alright, folks, we’re all friends here. No need to bombard me all at once—give me some breathing room. I’ll take questions one by one. Also, coffee’s on me. It’s freezing out here, and with the New Year approaching, I know it’s tough. Stay warm."

An old tradition.

Small gestures won hearts best.

......

Soon,

bodyguards and drivers arrived with armfuls of hot drinks.

Cao Cheng had ordered them in advance, anticipating this very scenario.

Whenever dress rehearsals began, reporters were inevitable, always hunting for headline-worthy scoops.

The questions that followed were predictable—topics the public cared about.

Why was ‘The Voice’ being sold? What did he think about its strong start and gradual decline? How much did it go for?

And then there was cancer.

Months ago, Miracle had announced breakthroughs, followed by final Phase IV trials at major hospitals. Now, nearly half a year later,

the last trial was winding down.

Results were likely in.

Though Miracle BioMedicine hadn’t released official data, ‘leaks’ from partner hospitals hinted at outstanding efficacy, with no issues in the final phase.

Patients had shown varying degrees of recovery.

Some early-stage trial participants were already cured and back home, flooding the internet with gratitude for Cao Cheng.

But

none of this came from Miracle itself—just scattered, unverified chatter.

Addressing the topic,

Cao Cheng smiled and didn’t hold back. "This year, several of these drugs will be available."

His words confirmed the rumors.

Reporters pounced. "Mr. Cao, what about pricing? Will they be covered by insurance?"

"Insurance depends on negotiations with the authorities," Cao Cheng said. "As for pricing, we’re still working on it. What I can say is this: I’ll do everything to ensure our own people get the best possible deal. Our own people, you know?"

The crowd blinked.

One reporter frowned. "What do you mean by ‘our own people’?"

Cao Cheng casually pulled out his ID card and waved it. "Our own people!"

"......"

"......"

Silence.

Damn. That was... blunt.

No pretense at all?

Cao Cheng shrugged and leaned into the act. "Sometimes, I regret this. I know countless people worldwide need these drugs. But the formulas are precious, and some ingredients are extremely rare."

"We’re working on cultivation, but that takes time."

"And with so many in our own village, I’m not even sure we can meet every patient’s needs here first."

"So,"

"for now, my priority is taking care of our own. Once we’re in a better position, we’ll think about saving the world."

"To those who might miss out, I apologize in advance. But I stand by this." He flicked his ID card again.

For emotional points,

Cao Cheng would say or do anything.

Like right now.

But...

this wasn’t just about emotional points—or at least, not entirely. It was also about future markups.

Exactly.

Sky-high prices.

After all, Miracle BioMedicine faced shortages of rare ingredients. They could only prioritize their own—fellow villagers. Outsiders? Neighbors from other towns? No quotas for now.

Fair, right?

No one could argue otherwise.

But if you paid...

Well!

Shell out dozens or hundreds of times the price, and maybe, just maybe, we could spare some for you.

Either you had the right ID, or you had the cash. One or the other.

Not discrimination—

just scarcity!

Such a headache, really.

The reporters buzzed with excitement.

Every time they cornered Cao Cheng, he delivered.

Just the image of him waving his ID, declaring "I stand by this," was guaranteed to trend.

Today’s work was done.

Worth the wait.

Plus, free coffee—though damn, it was hot. And bitter...

Ugh. Great guy, but his bodyguards? Couldn’t even bring sugar and cream?

No wonder they’re just bodyguards.

Nearby, a bodyguard suddenly felt a chill.

Something was off.

An assassin?

Instinctively, his hand slid inside his jacket, gripping the handle of his gun.

Yes.

A real gun.

Licensed and legal.

This isn't about special treatment—the application criteria are clearly stated. Just go ahead and apply.

Then,

a few more trivial questions were asked.

Cao Cheng's answers always managed to stir up some conversation.

Soon,

Cao Cheng stopped entertaining the interview—it was endless.

With a wave of his hand, he said, "I'm off to see my little sister. Everyone, stay warm."

Though many still had questions, they obediently made way. After all, Boss Cao wasn’t a celebrity, and mutual respect mattered.

Otherwise, good luck getting another interview.

Did they really think Young Master Cao couldn’t find a backdoor to slip past the reporters and into the rehearsal hall?

……

……

"Brother~~"

Lingling, who was resting, lit up with joy at the sight of Cao Cheng and rushed toward him.

But—

midway, as if remembering something, she abruptly halted in front of him, her radiant smile dimming by half.

Cao Cheng, however, pulled her into an embrace.

The window was already broken—no point pretending otherwise.

Back in the day, he’d been a hopeless romantic, yet he’d still painfully turned her down.

But later…

Ah.

Blame the mixed-blood beauties.

Blame Second Sister.

It wasn’t that he lacked purity—it’s just… those women were too stunning.

Given how things stood now, why should Lingling hold back?

Except, after rejecting her back then, he’d driven her to throw herself into her work, pushing her to become a renowned pianist through sheer determination.

Now, Cao Cheng couldn’t bring himself to outright say, "I accept you."

It’d feel too shameless.

Better to leave it unspoken and let things unfold naturally.

Anyway…

Huh.

A glance at the "mother-child lock" readings—her numbers were catching up to Fourth Sister, even surpassing Eldest Sister.

No surprise.

This girl had stayed devoted, never wavering.

Honestly,

it warmed Cao Cheng’s heart, almost making him feel like some blessed protagonist.

It also made him realize what a jerk he’d been—why had he ever rejected her?

He’d made her suffer for so long.

Last time they’d spent New Year’s back home, Lingling had forced smiles, noticeably thinner, her sadness plain to see.

……

Cao Cheng pulled her closer.

It looked like a casual buddy-style arm-around-the-shoulder, but Lingling stiffened, shooting him a puzzled look.

Cao Cheng rarely initiated physical contact.

This was… one of the rare exceptions.

"What’s wrong? Not used to it? Just worried you’re cold. Here, I brought you some hot coffee." Like a magician, he produced a cup.

Lingling beamed. "Thanks, Brother."

"Have you lost weight again?" Cao Cheng took a step back, giving her a once-over.

That dress suited her.

The indoor heating kept things warm enough.

But those legs—still slender, still pale.

Maybe she hadn’t lost weight.

But she hadn’t gained any either.

Not enough curves!

The girl was already tall, yet weighed less than a hundred pounds—something was missing.

Sure, it looked good on camera, but in real life, she was just too thin.

Not good.

This wasn’t healthy.

Cao Cheng shook his head. "Later, I’ll take you out for a proper meal. And I’ll give you some nourishing tea—drink it regularly. Don’t push yourself sick."

"Mhm~~"

Feeling his genuine concern, Lingling didn’t reply, just kept her sweet smile.

Cradling the coffee in both hands, she warmed her fingers while gazing at Cao Cheng with sparkling eyes.

Something about him felt different after this time apart.

She couldn’t pinpoint what.

But he wasn’t deliberately keeping his distance anymore.

After a moment, Lingling asked softly, "Brother, are you here for a business deal this time? A Spring Festival Gala ad?"

"Your brother doesn’t need ads anymore. I’m just here to see you—to visit during rehearsals."

"Really?"

"Absolutely. So, give it your all. Show me how much you’ve improved."

"Okay."

Lingling’s heart swelled with determination.