Zhou You hadn't originally planned on this. An ordinary person might go their whole life without ever dealing with such things.
But the cost of dealing with them just once was too high—at best, physical injury, at worst, complete disappearance from the world.
Sometimes, when he saw news online, Zhou You even felt a bit scared.
A person vanishes for over a decade, only to be found buried underground.
Tell me, isn't that terrifying!
Keep a low profile, absolutely keep a low profile. Never show up in public. Just be a wealthy recluse.
Supporting a few people—that he could manage.
Think of it as buying insurance. Best if it's never needed in a lifetime.
The true hermit hides in the city. Anyway, he would never stand out, and the companies he'd invested in were still far from going public.
......
The first thing Zhou You did when he got back was treat everyone to a meal. Not liking the fuss, he simply booked a whole hall at the Emerald Lake Guesthouse.
When the crowd arrived that evening, he realized almost all of them were sturdy, tough men.
Only a few female swim coaches were there.
It looked perfectly safe.
Even the waitstaff entered cautiously—after all, who wouldn't be intimidated by so many people radiating such fierce energy?
Zhou You knew most of them.
They often trained together at the gym; many had even been his sparring partners. They were all very close.
There were quite a few new faces from the swimming pool—those from Emerald Lake he knew, but the ones from other venues he didn't. This was a good chance to get acquainted.
The team wasn't big now, fewer than fifty people.
Two large connected tables were packed full.
The liquor was Moutai, the dishes were lavish, and the people were refined.
These were essentially the ones closest to Zhou You—all bound by shared interests, people who relied on him for their livelihood.
Troops are valued for quality, not quantity. This was enough. As long as he had a few trusted ones, it was more than sufficient.
In ancient battles, generals had their personal retinues, also called retainers. How many were there? In an army of thousands, having a few dozen was already good. In battle, they were the ones who charged forward. If they broke through, the battle was won.
If they couldn't, they'd protect the general and break out of the encirclement.
Amid the crowd's cheers, Zhou You stood up. Everyone fell silent, all eyes on him.
Zhou You swept his gaze across the room, meeting each person's eyes:
"Since fate has brought us together, let's enjoy ourselves. Many of you I met through shared hobbies, and we came together because of common interests. But hobbies can't put food on the table!"
"I like you all, and I hope you can rely on your own efforts to support your families, then get rich!"
"That's why I reformed the share system—to bind us together. When there's money, we all share. One person eating well isn't good enough; everyone must eat well!"
At this, the crowd couldn't help but cheer and applaud.
Zhou You pressed his hand down, and the room quieted again.
"I won't say much today. I won't hold up your meal. Let me wish you an early New Year, and later, come to me for your red envelopes!"
Zhou You really didn't say much. After all, the promises were already being fulfilled; he didn't need to paint a picture.
This time, the red envelopes had to be given by Zhou You personally. The significance was different.
Dividends were distributed that day, based on shares and contributions. Everyone was beaming. Even those who had just joined this year were captivated by the atmosphere.
They came over one after another to toast him. Zhou You took only a sip with each person. When everyone had finished, he stood up again:
"I don't have the ability to drink a thousand cups without getting drunk. If I drank every toast from each of you, I'd be done for. You've all toasted me; now let me return the gesture with one cup!" With that, he raised his glass and downed it in one gulp.
Everyone below stood up, raised their glasses, and drank it all in one go. The atmosphere grew even more intense.
Sometimes, Zhou You couldn't help but marvel—eating meat in big chunks and drinking wine in big bowls—that was true happiness.
Living freely and carefree. Tonight, he was happy. No one was going home sober.
In the end, they all returned dead drunk.
Almost everyone was tipsy. A few people gathered around Zhou You, sobbing uncontrollably.
"Brother You, we're happy. These are tears of joy," they even managed to string together a phrase.
Li Houliang cried the hardest.
When he was young, he only knew how to train, believing that wealth and honor were won with his fists.
Only when he grew older did he realize: in literature, there's no number one; in martial arts, there's no number two.
His talent was limited; he could only go so far.
Then came the trials of society—from the glory of winning a gold medal to the gradual decline, until he was almost pushed to the edge. He had been thoroughly beaten down by society. A man of iron had been battered until he didn't know which way was up.
It wasn't until he met Zhou You that he saw a ray of light in his life.
Wang Ping was there too, crying in Li Houliang's arms. The older ones among them all felt the same.
Life isn't easy.
As the ancients said: three parts skill, six parts luck, one part a benefactor's support.
Among these, a benefactor's support is the most important. Without it, a person might languish in obscurity their whole life.
Zhou You said nothing, watching the two of them, each clinging to one of his legs, venting their emotions. Men don't easily shed tears—only when they've reached the depths of sorrow.
Zhou You himself had once drunk heavily and wept loudly, releasing his pent-up frustrations.
The next day, he'd be a tough guy again.
Those two were luckier than him—they had met him. He hadn't met anyone like that.
Thinking about it, a wave of sadness washed over him.
He almost envied them. They were the real protagonists, weren't they? He was just a tool, sent back to save them.
They returned home dead drunk, the table a mess of cups and dishes, leaning on each other, stumbling along—a life of unrestrained joy.
Zhou You and Wang Fangfang walked back together, to sober up.
Looking up at the bright moon in the sky, Zhou You couldn't help but sigh: "Life is really just a dream. Who knows what's real, what's fake?"
Wang Fangfang watched him ramble, unfazed. Every so often, Zhou You got a bit strange. She'd find a way to bring him back to normal soon enough.
The bright moon hung overhead, a beauty by his side.
Zhou You decided to take a walk around the lake. Wang Fangfang held his arm.
"Fangfang, what do you think people live for?"
"Brother You, right now I just want to work hard, run the swimming pool well for you, learn a few things. Compared to my teammates, I'm so much luckier. Today, I feel that even more deeply!"
Wang Fangfang was deeply moved by the raw emotions these people revealed after drinking, especially Li Houliang and Wang Ping. One was always serious, the other always joking—who would have thought they both carried so much pain inside?
Zhou You stopped and gently touched Wang Fangfang's face. "I don't know if this is good or bad for you. Some say fate has already set a price for everything. You're with me, and I can't guarantee you'll always be happy."
"Brother You, what about the price for all those ordinary people? They'd sell if they could, but no one's buying. Being with you is my choice. I know you're doing big things, and I know you have your worries. But you're genuinely good to me, good to my family. That's enough. Don't blame yourself. Don't worry about the future." Wang Fangfang saw things very clearly.
As the saying goes: only the supremely wise and the utterly foolish are unshakable.
One has abundant knowledge and information, able to enrich their wisdom.
The other has an empty mind, seeing only what's in front of them, believing only what's immediate.
Only those pitiable middle-class people, neither high nor low, drift through life, living out a prearranged existence. They lack the courage to fight and have no way to rise higher.
They can only serve as a buffer for contradictions, bearing the pressure from above and below, never at rest.
Sometimes, looking back, they're not as free and clear-headed as those who've given up.
A lifetime of busyness, never living for themselves.
Is that tragic, or is it just tragic?