The Beauty of Life

Thus, the atmosphere in the penthouse suite of the Royal Grand Hotel underwent a sudden transformation.

The once-formidable business queen had become an eager apprentice.

Her latest subject of study was flower arrangement.

Lu Chenyuan had arranged for the finest instructional materials and the freshest flowers to be delivered.

Mo Qingli pored over the books as if scrutinizing a critical project contract.

She absorbed theories about negative space, artistic conception, and the trinity of heaven, earth, and humanity with utmost seriousness.

Then, she began her first attempt.

The initial result was somewhat disastrous.

The elegant sword lilies, meant to exude refinement, ended up looking like a row of fence posts under her hands.

Lu Chenyuan stood nearby, barely suppressing his amusement.

"Qingli, the art of flower arrangement emphasizes 'effortlessness,'" he said, stepping forward and picking up a lily.

"Sometimes, the harder you try to control it, the more you lose its inherent beauty."

He didn’t directly fix her work.

Instead, he casually placed the lily in what seemed like an unplanned corner.

Instantly, the entire vase arrangement came to life.

Mo Qingli watched his movements, deep in thought.

She stood there for a long moment before removing all the flowers and starting anew.

Her learning ability was astonishing.

The next day, when Lu Chenyuan emerged from his study, he found a new arrangement on the living room coffee table.

A few lotus stems, several leaves—sparse yet evocative, like a breathing ink painting.

Mo Qingli stood nearby, carefully trimming the edge of a leaf with a small pair of scissors.

Sunlight spilled across her profile, casting a soft glow around her.

At that moment, Lu Chenyuan suddenly felt that this gilded cage had truly become their own utopia.

...

While Mo Qingli immersed herself in the aesthetics of daily life, Lu Chenyuan’s plans were quietly advancing.

The influence of the "Lighthouse" Foundation grew stronger within the Chinese diaspora community.

But it wasn’t enough.

His goal wasn’t just to create an isolated haven for the Chinese community.

He wanted them to truly integrate into this land—even shape it.

He needed a new leverage point, one that could facilitate direct dialogue with J Country’s mainstream society.

That day, through encrypted channels, he met with several influential Chinese entrepreneurs in J Country.

The location, as always, was Lu Jinlin’s "Serenity Teahouse."

These individuals were leaders in their respective industries, yet they had all maintained a low profile by unspoken agreement.

Lu Chenyuan didn’t mention Mo Qingli’s legal case at all.

Instead, he analyzed J Country’s future economic trajectory for them.

"J Country is resource-scarce. Its economic lifeline depends heavily on external factors."

"What A Country provides are orders—but also shackles."

"If A Country’s own economy falters, J Country will inevitably be dragged down."

"J Country needs a new growth engine, one it can control."

The entrepreneurs, all shrewd, immediately grasped his implication.

Entrepreneur Wu, who worked in agricultural trade, sighed.

"Mr. Lu, you’re absolutely right. But what can we do? J Country’s core tech sectors are dominated by European conglomerates. We can’t break in."

"Then we carve out a niche they’ve overlooked," Lu Chenyuan said, tapping the table lightly.

"Environmental technology, modern agriculture—for example."

He looked at Entrepreneur Wu.

"Mr. Wu, I’ve heard that industrial pollution has left much of J Country’s farmland with excessive heavy metal content. Their agricultural products are losing competitiveness internationally."

Entrepreneur Wu nodded, his expression grave.

"Exactly. It’s a fatal flaw in J Country’s agriculture."

"What if," Lu Chenyuan’s gaze swept across the room,

"there were a lab led by J Country’s top scientists, dedicated to soil remediation and soilless cultivation?"

"We’ll provide the funding."

"Through that offshore trust fund we registered in L Country."

"We won’t take equity or patents. The research will be shared freely with all J Country’s agricultural firms."

"Our only condition is that this lab genuinely benefits J Country’s land."

Silence filled the room.

Everyone was stunned by Lu Chenyuan’s seemingly selfless proposal.

They couldn’t fathom why this tech titan from China would invest heavily in something with no apparent return.

Lu Jinlin lifted his teacup and took a sip.

His eyes gleamed with approval as he studied Lu Chenyuan.

He alone immediately understood the strategy.

This move was about winning hearts—the hearts of J Country’s ordinary citizens.

While "Lighthouse" shielded the Chinese diaspora with legal protection,

this new venture would infuse J Country’s future with a revitalizing force.

Law and technology.

One visible, one unseen.

One internal, one external.

Step by step, Lu Chenyuan was reshaping the ecosystem of this land.

"I agree," Lu Jinlin said, setting down his cup and breaking the silence.

"I’ll take the lead in liaising with J Country’s Academy of Sciences."

With his endorsement, the other entrepreneurs nodded in turn.

They might not fully grasp Lu Chenyuan’s grand design,

but they trusted Lu Jinlin’s judgment.

And they believed in the young man’s vision—one that transcended personal gain.

...

A month later,

J Country’s mainstream media reported the establishment of a biotech lab called "Living Water" in the suburbs of Gedo.

The lab’s founders were several eminent academicians from J Country’s Academy of Sciences.

The funding came from an obscure overseas trust—

one with suspected ties to China.

In the press release, the lab’s director proudly announced:

"Living Water" will tackle J Country’s most pressing soil pollution issues. All research will be freely shared with society.

The news sparked widespread acclaim.

Citizens praised it as "goodwill from the East."

Environmental groups hailed the foundation as "the year’s most admirable investor."

No one connected it to the Chinese man under house arrest at the Royal Grand Hotel.

But J Country’s elite knew.

Ambassador Li Wenbo paid another visit.

This time, his expression was noticeably lighter.

"Mr. Lu, masterful maneuvering," he said bluntly as he sat down.

"I merely did what I could," Lu Chenyuan replied calmly, pouring tea.

"Two days ago, J Country’s prosecutors rejected the motion by A Country’s legal team to expedite Mrs. Lu’s case," Li Wenbo said meaningfully.

"Their stated reason: insufficient evidence, requiring further investigation."

The message was unmistakable.

J Country’s judicial scales had begun to tilt—quietly but surely.

Lu Chenyuan nodded, his composure unshaken.

Everything was under control.

After seeing off Ambassador Li Wenbo, Lu Chenyuan returned to the living room and found Mo Qingli sitting on the carpet.

Spread out before her was a thick book on classical garden art from Country J, alongside several sheets of paper covered in rough sketches.

She was so absorbed in her reading that she didn’t even notice him approaching.

“What are you studying?” Lu Chenyuan sat down beside her.

“I was thinking about how I could design the terrace for our hotel,” Mo Qingli explained enthusiastically, pointing to the lines on her sketches.

“Here, we could create a dry landscape garden.”

“Over there, we could place a stone lantern.”

“Oh, and we’d need a ‘shishi-odoshi’—you know, that bamboo tube that fills with water and tips over to make a soft knocking sound…”

She looked like a child who had just discovered her favorite toy, her eyes sparkling with creative excitement.

Lu Chenyuan listened quietly.

Watching her radiant expression, his heart swelled with an overwhelming tenderness.

Suddenly, winning or losing didn’t seem to matter anymore.

Seeing her smile like this was worth more than anything else in the world.

He reached out and pulled her into his arms.

“Alright,” he said softly.

“When we go home, we’ll buy a mountain for you to design.”

“The entire mountain will be yours—your new battlefield.”