Stepping into the front courtyard, Zhong Yun was immediately pleased to see that the house lights were on; his parents had been extremely busy lately and hadn't returned home for over a week.

He opened the door, and sure enough, both his parents were sitting on the sofa. Just as he was about to step forward and greet them, he suddenly noticed that their expressions were somehow amiss.

“Dad, Mom, you’re back,” Zhong Yun felt a knot of anxiety tighten in his chest. His first thought was that they had discovered the array of equipment piled up in the guest room.

Zhong Pingjiang sat rigidly in his chair, his face grave. Yun Rong looked worried, glancing at her husband before turning back to her son, her words caught in her throat.

“What’s wrong?” At this point, the only recourse for Zhong Yun was to feign ignorance.

Zhong Pingjiang let out a soft sigh, his tone remarkably calm. “Come and sit down.”

Zhong Yun was somewhat taken aback. In his memory, this father was a true disciplinarian; any mistake Zhong Yun made as a child resulted in stern lessons.

The most vivid memory involved a visit to a friend’s house where, due to his naughtiness, young Zhong Yun had knocked over and shattered a finely carved statue of Kalan. Upon returning home, he received a severe beating from Zhong Pingjiang, the pain of which remained fresh even now.

When did he become so gentle? Zhong Yun sat down stiffly, his expression peculiar, and cast a questioning look toward his mother. This time, his mother offered no help, merely shaking her head.

Holding his breath, he braced himself for the impending storm.

“Xiao Yun. You’re seventeen this year, aren’t you?”

Zhong Pingjiang spoke. His calmness was utterly unexpected. There was a weary reflection on the relentless passage of time in his voice.

Zhong Yun nodded dumbly. In that instant, he felt flung back to Earth—to the night before his incident, in a similar room, with the same father, and this exact opening exchange…

His father’s resonant voice echoed in his ears again, the stern phrasing masking a deep current of care and expectation.

In his reverie, the man from his memories overlapped with the man before him.

“Time flies. In another three years, you’ll be an adult.”

Zhong Yun suddenly noticed a few new lines etched around the corners of his father’s eyes.

“You’re grown now, capable of handling your own affairs…”

His eye bags were so swollen; he must have pulled several all-nighters.

“A man must bear responsibility; whatever you do, you must have the courage to own the consequences.”

He looked so exhausted—was the weight of the family crushing the breath out of him?

“You…”

“Dad, please stop.” Zhong Yun rubbed his stinging eyes and took a deep breath. “The reason I didn't tell you is because I was afraid you’d worry.”

“Xiao Yun…” Yun Rong watched her son, tears involuntarily spilling down her cheeks.

“Let him speak,” Zhong Pingjiang interrupted his wife.

Zhong Yun met his parents’ gaze calmly. “All that equipment—I bought it myself, and the money… I earned it myself.”

Zhong Pingjiang remained perfectly composed, refraining from interrupting, waiting for his son to continue.

“I know it’s hard to believe, but it’s true. I can prove it to you both, just give me a moment.” Having said that, Zhong Yun ran toward the backyard.

“Do you believe him?”

Yun Rong asked anxiously. She was deeply concerned her son had strayed onto the wrong path. The company she worked for dealt with high-tech instruments, and she was acutely aware of their cost. An ordinary seventeen-year-old couldn't possibly afford millions.

“I believe my son,” Zhong Pingjiang stated with absolute conviction.

In the backyard, Zhong Yun paused mid-stride, and when he resumed walking, his steps were noticeably lighter.

Watching their son carefully place a potted plant on the table, the couple exchanged looks of astonishment.

As they clearly saw the appearance of the flower, both their gazes were instantly captivated. Yun Rong sighed, “How beautiful.”

The flower bore ten blossoms: nine smaller, golden-yellow ones encircled a single, larger, pale-red bloom at the center, like stars adoring the moon. The pale-red petals were thin as a cicada’s wing, almost transparent, exquisitely enchanting.

Yet, every crease in its form radiated a taut tension of vitality, suggesting a vigorous life force. The fragility and the defiance of life combined to create a strange paradox that drew them deeper in.

A gentle fragrance spread through the room, faint yet instantly refreshing and uplifting.

“Did you buy this?” Yun Rong asked delightedly; women are rarely immune to things of true beauty.

“No,” Zhong Yun corrected. “I grew it.”

Although Yun Rong was curious about her son’s surprising talent, she didn't dwell on it. Lacking any interest in gardening, she had no idea what immense value the plant on the table actually held.

Zhong Pingjiang, possessing slightly more knowledge, understood that such an item was costly. This knowledge stemmed from a hobby-loving superior who often discussed rare flora; he had picked up some expertise by keeping up with these interests to please his boss.

However, even he didn't grasp the flower's true worth, vaguely thinking that perhaps it could fetch a mere hundred thousand at best.

With this thought, he frowned. “Are you saying all your money came from growing flowers?”

“That’s right,” Zhong Yun nodded.

Yun Rong couldn't help but voice her doubt. “How much could this single pot be worth?”

Zhong Yun felt utterly faint. Was this an ordinary flower? If this pot were displayed in the market, it would drive the entirety of Mingzhou, perhaps even Davao, into a frenzy.

“How much is it worth?” Zhong Yun’s tone rose; he felt it was like playing music to a cow, trying to explain this to two complete outsiders. Although, he seemed to forget that just a month ago, he too had been an ignorant layman.

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you. You can inquire around; this flower of mine is called ‘Nine Stars Embracing the Moon’—the one and only ‘Nine Stars Embracing the Moon’,” Zhong Yun declared with palpable pride.

With that, he carried the flower back to his room, leaving the couple staring at each other in the living room. Yun Rong whispered, “The way Xiao Yun said it, that flower sounds like it’s truly valuable.”

Zhong Pingjiang thought back. “I heard my manager mention that a few years ago, a single flower sold for the astronomical price of eighty million.”

Yun Rong gasped. “This tiny plant is worth that much?” She found it inconceivable.

Zhong Pingjiang chuckled. “Didn’t you willingly spend two hundred thousand on that replica of a Van Gogh?”

“That’s not the same thing,” Yun Rong retorted, pouting slightly.

Even with the wildest stretches of their imagination, they couldn't fathom the actual worth of this plant.

Yun Rong suddenly said, “Why did Xiao Yun buy so many instruments? He’s still just a middle schooler; those machines are enough for university students.”

Zhong Pingjiang shook his head; he couldn't figure it out either.

“But those instruments are safe; let him tinker all he wants, as long as he hasn't gone down a wicked path,” Yun Rong concluded finally.

“We need to confirm this with someone else. Doesn't your cousin like collecting flowers? Go ask him, and I’ll check with my supervisor.”

“Mmm.”

Back in his room, Zhong Yun began to work. Components salvaged from the chemical apparatus were spread across the floor. Using professional tools, dismantling them was not difficult.

The real challenge was assembling these parts. Fortunately, ZER had given him demonstration videos instead of mere blueprints; even so, the task consumed an entire night.

Letting out a long yawn, Zhong Yun surveyed the strange-looking contraption on the floor. Since it was cobbled together from disparate parts, its external appearance was abstract, dominated by two metallic bowl-like objects mounted on top.

Zhong Yun was intensely curious about its function. This damned thing had cost him several million; just thinking about it still caused a twinge of regret.

However, he reasoned that ZER wouldn't assign him meaningless tasks, and everything produced by ZER was invariably something epoch-making. Thinking this, a spark of anticipation ignited within him.

P: Tomorrow is my birthday, so I’ve decided on a burst update: four chapters, ten thousand words in total. I’m preparing for recommendation votes.