Song Yao stared at the accounting book in the shop, her fingers tapping away at the calculator with relentless precision. The dwindling cash reserves gnawed at her nerves - though Old Man had casually mentioned he could lend them some money to tide over this period of financial difficulty, she resented even considering borrowing from parents. She believed in enduring hardships as long as possible; if they relied too much on extra funds, wouldn't Song Ziwén slacken his efforts chasing debts? And would they really have to repay it publicly with their younger brother present?

Luo Hongjuan watching her calculating anxiously suggested, "Still worried about money? I've kept some savings." After selling the old family house for property speculation in Beijing, she hadn't decided yet where to invest those funds. Seeing Song Yao's distress over factory finances triggered a sudden impulse.

Song Yao refused outright. When Han Tao and QiQi bought that American house they'd taken loans instead of her mother's help - even though QiQi had taken on extra translation work. "No thanks, Auntie Luo. Dad said he could lend me some..." She never finished the sentence because her phone rang urgently.

Two quick sentences into the call made her drop the receiver immediately. "Auntie Luo, something's come up at home. I need to leave right away." As she packed her bag, a chill ran through her. Song Ziwén had always insisted on her returning without delay for urgent consultation. Something was definitely wrong - earlier that morning he'd seemed perfectly normal, yet now this abrupt emergency? And why the insistence she return alone?

The tense atmosphere hit her as soon as she entered home. Uncle Wenbo and Old Man sat like statues while Aunt Wang Ma scowled at them both. QiQi sipped tea nonchalantly in a way that only deepened Song Yao's confusion.

"Uncle Wenbo?" She plopped onto the couch, grabbing the teacup from QiQi with a huff. "Cut the nonsense - what's this emergency about?"

Song Ziwén exchanged glances with Uncle Wenbo but said nothing. Old Man looked to QiQi who merely smiled and remained silent. Aunt Wang Ma didn't even deign them smiles.

When Song Yao noticed his evasive eye contact, her stomach twisted. He always avoided looking at someone after doing something wrong. "What's this about? Are you just going to stare at Mom and Dad all night?"

Desperate for help, Song Ziwén finally spilled out in one breath: "I want to start my own mechanical factory back home." The words hung in the air as relief turned quickly to dread.

Song Yao nearly flipped. Why was he suddenly replicating his brother-in-law's business model? Old Man had never offered to help with Gong Peixing's ventures despite his management experience and technical skills, yet here he was, volunteering assistance for Song Ziwén without even asking her opinion first?

The tension escalated until the moment QiQi nearly dropped a teacup. That was when Song Yao stormed out through the front door with such force it echoed.

"Let me catch up," QiQi muttered to herself as she chased after her sister. But Song Ziwén insisted on joining, convinced his presence would smooth things over.

"Sit down," Old Man ordered sharply. "Let QiQi handle this." He finally understood why his daughter was so furious - they'd treated it like an already-approved plan rather than a discussion.

Song Ziwén couldn't comprehend why even Old Man opposed him now. "But this is just common sense! I have my father's experience..."

"Your sister feels excluded," QiQi cut in, finding Song Yao hiding in the garden. They ended up sitting on the flowerbed as she explained the family dynamics and risks involved.

As they talked, Song Ziwén overheard their conversation from the shadows. His face paled - it wasn't about competition at all. It was about his careless disregard for her feelings.

"Maybe I did think too big," he admitted finally to Old Man, the realization hitting him like a cold shower.

Song Wenbo patted his son-in-law's shoulder, regret twisting in his gut. His daughter had made a fair point—he hadn't lifted a finger about Gong Peixing's factory as the father-in-law, yet had rushed to support this impulsive venture of the boy's with all the vigor of a bloodhound. How would their daughters see it? And was this countryside even wise territory for such an endeavor? The machinery could be obtained, laborers were plentiful here, but clients weren't things to conjure from thin air."Let's go home," he muttered. "We need to talk through this properly."

Song Ziwén grunted a few times, the sounds thick with resignation. "Home," he echoed. He'd have to apologize to his sister later—what kind of man was he that he lacked even basic tolerance? How many times had he assumed she only cared for herself when plainly...