Chapter 19 Part 1

—Shen Yuze was coming to their home as a guest!

This news hit Lu Ping like the first massive thunderclap of the Awakening of Insects, catching him completely off guard and leaving him dizzy and disoriented.

With this weighing on his mind, even the rest of the parent-teacher conference left Lu Ping utterly distracted. He had no thoughts for his grades, his class ranking, or his failed English exam. His mind spun with just one idea: Would Shen Yuze come? Would he really come?

The Lu family lived modestly. His parents peddled snacks from a tricycle cart, earning just enough to feed a family of four while saving up to open a proper shop. There were his little sister’s hobby classes, Lu Ping’s tutoring fees, and his dad’s surgery bills… It all added up to endless expenses.

The Lu family house had been built the year his parents married, and now, twenty years later, the decor was long outdated. Though Lu Dad and Lu Mom always kept it spotless, it still felt worn and old.

Lu Ping had always been proud of his family. Even wearing knockoff sneakers to school, he could stand tall with his head held high.

—But Shen Yuze was different.

Though Lu Ping didn’t know what the Shen family did for a living, Shen Yuze was filthy rich. He arrived in luxury cars, got a private hospital room for a mere allergy, and had his own housekeeper, personal driver, and bodyguards! His hobbies included horseback riding; his feet had trod the continent of Antarctica. Rumor had it he’d gone skydiving in New Zealand and skiing in the Alps…

Lu Ping anxiously chewed on his pinky nail: This wasn’t “inviting a classmate over”—this was “the tycoon inspecting the slums”!!!

Once that thought formed, a wave of immense shame drowned him.

He felt ashamed of his family’s poverty—and even more ashamed of feeling ashamed about it.

After the parent-teacher conference ended, Lu Ping sat shoulder-to-shoulder with his mom on the rickety bus. As it crossed the Jiaojiang Bridge, Lu Ping turned his head to gaze at the rushing river waters outside the window, his worried expression reflected back at him in the glass.

“Pingping,” Lu Mom suddenly asked, “are you upset with Mom for being nosy and inviting Little Shen over to play?”

“Huh?” Lu Ping hadn’t expected that. He shook his head vigorously. “No way!”

But a mother’s understanding of her child ran deep. Lu Ping’s troubled look had been plain as day for hours, and Lu Mom knew exactly what was on his mind.

Lu Mom thought for a moment, then spoke slowly. “Pingping, Mom knows what you’re worried about, but I’d like to share my thoughts first, okay?”

“Mom invited Little Shen for three reasons. Don’t laugh at the first one: He’s great at English, and you’re… not so much. I thought if you two hung out more, you could pick up some study tips from him and improve your grades. The second reason is simple: He invited you to the Library Tower last time. You should return the courtesy and invite him out too—can’t always wait for him to take the lead.”

“As for the third… that’s Mom’s selfish reason—Pingping, I wanted to thank him.”

“…Thank him?”

Lu Mom reached out and gently placed her hand on the back of her son’s. Ever since Lu Ping started high school and hit puberty, he’d shot up tall, his shoulders broadening, muscles starting to show… Lu Mom had gone from looking down at him, to eye-level, to now craning her neck up… It felt like overnight, he’d transformed from a clueless sapling into a straight, sturdy young pine.

He would keep growing. From sapling to towering tree, from boy to man—he’d leave his parents one day, leave the North Shore, leave home.

Realizing Lu Ping was already “half an adult,” Lu Mom had cut back on overly intimate gestures with her son. But today, she held his hand once more.

Her hands, constantly working with glutinous rice and cakes, were incredibly soft but always looked oily, no matter how much she scrubbed. In winter, they cracked with chilblains that kept her awake at night in pain.

Lu Mom held Lu Ping’s hand, her voice gentle. “Pingping, you never said it, but I could tell—you weren’t happy at school. You never mentioned classmates, never made weekend plans with friends, didn’t game or chat online like other kids. Every day, watching you head to school alone and come home alone… it broke my heart.

“But starting about half a month ago, you changed. You went out on weekends, even brought glutinous cake to school, and smiled more… Do you know? You’ve mentioned your ‘deskmate’ several times at home. Your dad and I thought it was a girl at first—we worried you might be dating too young. It wasn’t until we saw Little Shen today that we realized your deskmate was a handsome boy.”

“Mom…” Lu Ping was speechless. In front of his parents, words were often unnecessary. A look, a hesitant pause—that was enough for them to read his heart.

“I can tell Little Shen is a good kid. His presence has made you happier and happier. Mom supports your friendship not because he’s so outstanding, but because I’m a selfish mother. More than anyone, I want my son to stay this happy forever.”

Lu Mom reached up and ruffled her son’s head—short, stiff, fuzzy hair that felt like a burr chestnut, not the softest touch.

“Pingping, you’ve always been such a sensible kid. You do so much without me even asking. But sometimes, I wish you’d be a bit more willful—make friends with whoever you want, without overthinking it.”

Lu Ping could barely speak, his chest tight with a warm, heavy feeling. He nodded frantically, then shook his head. “I really do want to be friends with him, but…” he murmured, “…but Shen Yuze is really rich.”

Saying it out loud made his face burn.

Lu Mom smiled. “Pingping, the first rule of friendship is trust. Trust their character, trust your own judgment… Why not trust Little Shen boldly this once? I think he’ll surprise you.”

…

Meanwhile, what was the “trusted” Little Shen up to?

Shen Yuze stood in his spacious, luxurious walk-in closet, selecting clothes for tomorrow’s visit.

This wasn’t his first time visiting a classmate’s home. He’d always attended elite international private schools, where his classmates were all children of dignitaries and tycoons—friends from families like his own.

Visiting their homes was like moving from one castle to another. Identical gardens, swimming pools, media rooms, playgrounds… But this time was different. Shen Yuze classified this outing as “going among the people” and “traveling incognito.”

He rummaged through his wardrobe. Luckily, he favored simple, clean styles—no flashy logos like some spoiled heirs. He quickly picked out a gray hoodie—generous cut, no visible branding.

As he tried it on, the female housekeeper knocked on the closet door and stood respectfully outside, head bowed.

“Young Master, I’ve bought the gifts you requested.”

At Shen Yuze’s signal, she clapped her hands. The bodyguards promptly lined up at the door, each holding a gift.

Shen Yuze knew the Lu family had four members and didn’t want to arrive empty-handed. He’d instructed the housekeeper to prepare something thoughtful for each, mindful of their modest means. Flashy gifts like famous paintings or fine wines would only embarrass everyone, so he’d kept things practical and heartfelt.

For Lu Dad and Lu Mom: Lifetime physical exam cards from a private hospital—they’d need regular checkups as they aged. For little An An: Five authentic princess dresses, complete with sparkling crowns and crystal shoes. She’d be the most popular girl in her grade. As for Lu Ping’s gift…

Shen Yuze’s gaze fell on the last bodyguard.

The burly man was hunched over, struggling under the weight—he cradled a stack of English textbooks half his height, each thicker than a standing coin!

Recalling the study aids Lu Ping had asked him to buy last time, Shen Yuze returned the favor in kind. Lu Ping would surely be thrilled.

Just imagining the little mouse’s delighted face made Shen Yuze look forward to tomorrow even more.

…

Weekends at the North Shore were always busier than usual.

Every Saturday, the embankment along the Jiaojiang North Shore filled with stalls packed side by side. This was the weekly “North Shore Grand Market,” drawing even folks from distant counties and villages.

The market stretched for miles from east to west, selling everything: vegetables and fruits, poultry and eggs, needles and thread, daily sundries. Of course, families like the Lus came too, peddling snacks from electric tricycles.

They’d arrived late today. Lu Mom set up her glutinous cake stall between veggie and corn vendors. Lu Dad’s crispy shrimp ball stall was farther off in an obscure corner, yet to open.

Lu Ping helped his dad unload the propane tank, wiped sweat from his brow, then busied himself pouring oil and heating the wok.

Lu Dad felt bad seeing this. “What are you doing here? I can handle it alone. Besides, isn’t your classmate coming? Go home and rest.”

“He’s not coming till afternoon.” Lu Ping shrugged. “Besides, school encourages us to get real-world experience now. This counts as social practice!”

Lu Dad, with little formal education himself, took his son’s word as gospel.

Just then, a pair of sisters-in-law—A’jias—passed arm-in-arm. The younger complained of skipping breakfast; the older promised green bean noodles up ahead.

Lu Ping perked up, hopping off the tricycle. “Ladies! Crispy shrimp balls here—fresh-fried! Look at this meat, shrimp peeled this morning. Get some!”

The boy had a sweet mouth, flashed a winning smile, and his ingredients looked pristine. The women exchanged glances and stopped.

“Young boss, how much each?”

“Pure meat: five yuan. With shrimp: seven.”

“One pure meat, one with shrimp.”

As they spoke, Lu Ping got to work with practiced speed.

Crispy shrimp balls weren’t really “bubbly” or shrimp-based—they were like fried patties. He ladled thin batter onto a special rectangular spatula, topped it with meat mince and green onions, drizzled more batter to seal it, then flung it into the boiling oil beside him.

Oil splattered wildly. Lu Ping wore a free “Mrs. Dash” apron from a seasoning buy. With a long-handled ladle, he stirred expertly, his young face taking on the air of a master chef.

He monitored the heat while stirring—too hot, and it’d burn outside before cooking through; too cool, and it’d lack that crisp, numbing crunch.

A few ladles of hot oil over the top, and in under a minute, the shrimp ball was done. The pale batter rose slowly from the pot’s bottom, fried to an irresistible golden hue—the joy of deep-fried calories was humanity’s eternal weakness!