great-warnovel Chapter 174 Today we'll make it spin, no matter how high or low we go.
Chapter 174 Today we'll make it spin, no matter how high or low we go.
Behind the counter, Su Chen's gaze pierced through the crowd.
His gaze remained fixed on Su Ang's pale face.
As he looked at it, Su Chen's hands, which had been gripping the edge of the wooden cabinet with white knuckles, finally relaxed somewhat weakly.
The aroma of garlic and loach in Su Chen's nasal cavity began to fade and his mind went blank for a moment.
That was a bygone era, buried deep within the Su family mansion, unknown even to the old master of the Su family.
That year, Su Chen was probably only four or five years old, thin and small, and could barely reach the edge of the wooden table.
The Su Group in that area was in the midst of its most explosive and brutal period of capital expansion.
Su Chen's memories of his parents were always just vague outlines that existed only in financial newspapers and the headlights of luxury cars late at night.
The house was empty. In the more than 200 square meter solid wood hall, apart from the extremely disciplined and rigid footsteps of the nanny, there were only sporadic sounds of the two brothers running around in the empty corridor, relying on each other for survival.
Back then, Su Ang wasn't the cold-blooded young master who now roams the business world with impunity and capital flows.
He hadn't yet been taken by the old man to those unapproachable private banquets hosted by the board of directors to broaden his horizons.
His clear eyes had not yet been completely blackened by the dense array of interests, models, and scheming methods.
At that time, Su Ang was just an older brother who was only a few years older than Su Chen and they were always inseparable.
Su Chen still remembers it very clearly; it was an afternoon with a torrential downpour.
In the back garden of the Su family mansion, five-year-old Su Chen cried with his face covered in mud and tears.
He was clutching a pile of old bamboo strips that had been soaked and rotten by the rain. It was a very simple "windmill" that he had spent most of the day trying to make, imitating the one in the magazine.
Because the process was too rough, and because his small hands had no strength at all, the windmill was shredded into several pieces of wood chips with a loud bang when it was exposed to a strong wind.
"I'm not doing it anymore!! I'm not doing it anymore!!"
Xiao Su Chen, in a fit of childish tantrum, smashed the pile of scrap bamboo strips hard onto the muddy ground.
His eyes were swollen from crying, like ripe peaches, and his voice sounded particularly aggrieved and helpless in the pattering rain.
"No matter what I do, it just won't spin!! It simply won't spin!! There's no point in making this thing!! I'm never touching it again!!"
Just as Xiao Su Chen was bending over with her butt sticking out, completely losing her composure, and preparing to run back to the hall to go on a hunger strike and vent her anger.
A pair of hands, still somewhat immature but extremely steady, reached out from behind and gently placed on his small shoulder.
"Xiao Chen, don't cry. A real man shouldn't shed tears over such a small thing; it'll only make him a laughingstock."
Seven-year-old Su Ang was wearing a proper white shirt.
He nonchalantly plopped down on the muddy grass, his handsome face calm and serene.
But the resilience and responsibility of the eldest brother in a wealthy family were fully displayed in that moment.
Little Su'ang picked up the rotten bamboo strips from the mud, carefully wiped off the dirt with his sleeve, then turned to look at his crying younger brother with bright eyes:
"Having something you want to do, having a beautiful idea of seeing it twirl in the wind, that is the most wonderful thing in the world."
No one can laugh at you. What does failure matter?
It was just a minor incident.
Xiao Suang looked at his younger brother's swollen eyes with heartache, sighed softly, and continued:
"The old man's business negotiations are not going well. Last night, I overheard him smashing more than a dozen expensive teapots in his study on the second floor because of a contract, and he was cursing very badly."
But this morning, doesn't he still have to get in the car and go out to sign contracts with people?
This principle applies to doing business, and it also applies to making windmills.
Little Su'ang gently pinched the edge of the bamboo strip with his small hands, his clear, childlike voice sounding steady and unhurried in the wind and rain:
"In this world, if the process is even slightly wrong, the outcome will be completely different."
Failure is very common. It's not just you, me, and this old man; everyone who does things in the world has to stumble and fall in the mud many times.
But most importantly, no matter what setbacks you encounter, if you give up like that, you'll never see a windmill turning in the wind in your lifetime.
"If we fall, we get up and rearrange the broken bamboo strips. If it doesn't turn after ten thousand tries, we try on the ten thousand and first try. If you shrink back every time you encounter a difficulty... then you will never succeed in your life."
The afterglow of the setting sun gently spilled down along the very edge of the rain curtain, casting the shadows of the two boys long, long across the grass.
At that moment, Su Ang, while speaking, gently wiped the mud off Su Chen's face with his hand, then pulled a brand-new small wooden knife from his pocket with one hand, and called out with a smile:
"Come on!! Brother will help you redo it!! Today we'll work on getting it spinning, no matter how high or low we go!!"
……
"Brother Su!! Brother Su!!"
A loud, rough shout instantly jolted Su Chen awake from that "afterglow of the past".
"Huh?! What's wrong?!"
Su Chen suddenly shivered, and his vacant eyes quickly refocused.
At table number ten, a young man with a crew cut was tapping his bowl with wooden chopsticks. His chubby face was flushed red from the spicy braised loach with red peppers, and he was shouting loudly:
"Brother Su, stop spacing out! I've already shoveled my third bowl of rice down my throat! It's so delicious, give me more rice! A ton of it!!"
"Okay, okay!! Coming right away!!"
Su Chen's voice clearly carried a hint of barely perceptible unease.
He was just about to turn around to serve the other person more rice.
"Slap slap—"
Footsteps came from the kitchen.
Wearing a gray apron, Chen Feng had somehow managed to place a bucket of steaming rice steadily onto the counter.
He glanced at the complex and awkward expression that hadn't yet faded from Su Chen's face.
While he was in the kitchen, he noticed the situation inside the Mercedes-Benz, following Su Chen's gaze.
Chen Feng could roughly guess who Su Chen was looking at, what he was thinking, or what he was worried about.
By this time, the long queue at the "Human Fireworks" restaurant was no longer a problem; only a few tables were being finished up, and there wasn't much left to do on the stove.
Here, the battle is over, and no one needs to worry anymore.
"Go."
"It's not too busy here right now. I can handle the extra rice for the remaining customers. I'll keep an eye on things."
Chen Feng tilted his head:
"Su Chen, since you can't let it go... then let it go. Some things need to be said face to face."
Su Chen looked at Chen Feng, her lips trembling slightly, her brows furrowed tightly, her heart filled with extreme turmoil.
He hesitated, he was conflicted, and he was even a little afraid to see Su Ang's face, which was riddled with the scars of defeat.
But when he looked up, he saw that the Mercedes-Benz was still completely still.
Su Chen gritted his teeth, a hint of determination flashing across his face.
"Brother Chen... thank you."
Su Chen uttered this whisper, deftly ripped off his apron, and piled it on the counter.
He stepped out of the hustle and bustle of the world, stepping on the colorful ribbons scattered on the ground, and ran wildly towards the desolate Mercedes-Benz.