Pei Rong: "Will this affect you?"
Since halting construction due to the discovery of an ancient tomb falls under "force majeure," there would be no compensation unless the delay was excessively long.
Lu Qin: "Yes."
But the impact was limited. After all, Lu Corporation had ample cash flow, and the plot of land wasn’t large—only around 3 billion. Aside from the initial purchase, there were hardly any other investments, so putting it on hold temporarily wasn’t a big deal. Once the archaeological team completed their emergency excavation and backfilled the site, construction could resume. Alternatively, if the tomb held significant historical value and the government decided to preserve it in situ, they would negotiate with Lu Corporation for a land swap or buyback.
The tomb’s peaceful slumber had been disturbed—unfortunate for its occupant—but running into a responsible developer was a stroke of luck. Some private developers might have chosen to cover it up, divvying up the unearthed artifacts and pretending nothing had happened.
Lu Qin, however, had held off on signing various contracts just so his son could play with the excavator a few more days. Truly, paternal love moved the heavens.
From another perspective, this meant he could afford to wait. If he could let Dundun play for a month, he could certainly let the archaeological team dig for half a year. He didn’t even need to take any action.
Lu Qin indulged in a little fantasy about the opening of a future archaeological documentary—
"A world-shocking archaeological discovery, behind which lay a poignant love story. On November 13, 202#, Lu Qin, then CEO of Lu Corporation, splurged on a plot of land to indulge his son’s fascination with excavators. Little did he know, this decision would..."
Pei Rong: "What are you thinking about?"
Lu Qin: "...If the tomb turns out to be significant enough for on-site preservation, and if they let me direct the documentary, I might consider a discounted buyback."
Such a bargain would surely be approved—maybe even with a commemorative plaque thrown in.
Pei Rong paused, momentarily speechless, before slowly saying, "Aren’t you embarrassed?"
The last thing he wanted was to appear in an archaeological documentary for anything other than his acting career.
Lu Qin kissed Pei Rong, deliberately exaggerating his plight: "The suspension has hit me hard. Don’t I deserve some comfort?"
The little rascal would be home soon. He wouldn’t mind letting Dundun dust off artifacts with a tiny brush, but the archaeologists might object.
Pei Rong studied Lu Qin intently. He had never seen the formidable CEO face setbacks in business before. It seemed even the most strategic tycoons weren’t immune to force majeure.
"How should I comfort you? Should I help raise funds?"
Lu Qin: "No need for anything that complicated."
...
The beauty had his own worries, yet here he was fretting over Lu Qin’s potential billions in losses. "Just how serious is the impact?"
Lu Qin: "It's ruining our couple time."
Pei Rong: "..."
Get out. Thanks.
***
Not long after, the construction site supervisor called to report: "President Lu, Dundun has been safely delivered home and handed over to Old Master Lu. The experts’ initial assessment suggests it’s an ancient tomb from the Two Jin Dynasties period. It should take about two months to backfill."
Lu Qin felt a slight regret—looks like they couldn’t build the museum on-site after all. A missed opportunity to have their name engraved on the museum stele. A documentary might still be possible, though. They could make an anonymous appearance.
He said solemnly, "Look into the documentary filming—"
The secretary waited, but no further instructions came. "President Lu?" Maybe this was a chance to promote the Lu Corporation as a responsible, conscientious developer?
Lu Qin replied calmly, "Never mind."
Pei Rong had somehow found a utility knife and was now flicking the blade open, its cold glint aimed at a critical spot.
Lu Qin hung up the phone and calmly confiscated the knife.
How could something as dangerous as a utility knife be allowed in the office?!
Pei Rong glared at him. Not using aversion therapy to cure him three years ago was the regret of a lifetime.
Lesson learned: Never leave a job half-finished. One failed treatment, and the condition came back worse—Lu Qin was now stronger and crazier.
From the night before last until today, he’d lost count of how many times they’d... He shouldn’t have agreed to sleep with him on their first date. Lack of restraint has its consequences.
If his mother were still alive, there’s no way she’d have let Lu Qin barge in and wreak havoc like this.
Lu Qin would’ve been forced to eat vegetarian for eight hundred years back in his hometown.
Pei Rong paused, realizing he could now think of his mother with calm acceptance, no longer overwhelmed by grief and regret.
***
When Madame Jiang heard that Pei Dundun had led the construction crew to dig a fish pond and accidentally unearthed an ancient tomb, she decided to take Dundun to the temple to burn incense.
It wasn’t that she was superstitious—just that she held a reverence for those who came before in the long river of history. The tomb’s occupant lived during the Two Jin Dynasties, a time of turmoil when many turned to Buddhism for solace.
Having monks chant scriptures would tie up this karmic thread.
When Lu Qin heard, he cheerfully offered, "I can drive."
He retook the written driving test and got his license, just in time for the new points cycle to begin—leaving him with a generous surplus of points.
Pei Rong felt it would be improper to stay home alone, so he forced himself to get in the car as well.
Besides, ever since Pei Dundun had been "laid off," he had clung to his long-absent father, insisting that Pei Rong come along to the temple—no excuses allowed.
For most people, this centuries-old temple was little more than a scenic tourist spot.
Here, one could admire the poetic beauty of "an ancient path leading to secluded tranquility, a Zen courtyard nestled among blossoms and trees." Whether or not visitors chose to burn incense hardly mattered.
With a baseball cap, mask, and non-prescription glasses, Pei Rong blended seamlessly into the bustling crowd.
For Pei Dundun, this was his first trip out with both fathers. Bouncing excitedly, he held one hand of each, but being so small and his dads both over 180 cm tall, they had to bend down awkwardly to reach him.
Pei Rong’s expression practically screamed "my back is killing me," and it looked like he was seconds away from taking his frustration out on the culprit.
Lu Qin swiftly scooped Dundun up with one arm. "Dundun, look—what’s that up ahead? Daddy can hold you so you see better."
Distracted by a spinning pinwheel in the distance, Dundun forgot his griping. Seizing the moment, Lu Qin subtly slid his other hand to massage Pei Rong’s lower back, murmuring with amused guilt, "My bad."
Pei Rong couldn’t even muster a reply.
Meanwhile, Madame Jiang, who had arranged in advance for the abbot to chant the Lotus Sutra in prayer, headed straight for a side hall.
Beneath the statue of the Buddha, several meditation cushions were laid out. The white-bearded abbot, palms pressed together, recited scriptures with serene composure—utterly unfazed by the newcomers.
A monk nearby handed over a burlap sack full of gold ingots (paper offerings), exuding an air of lavish generosity.
Madame Jiang lit incense and, amid the rhythmic chanting, quietly burned the paper money and ingots for the departed.
Pei Dundun, ever restless, toddled over to the abbot on his short legs, tilting his head curiously. His dark, grape-like eyes sparkled with interest—he’d never been to a temple before.
The abbot’s chanting sounded oddly familiar. Grandma Zhao often recited similar words, and he’d memorized them by now.
Instantly, the little child felt right at home.
Watching intently, Dundun plopped down cross-legged on a cushion, mimicking the abbot’s posture. He pressed his tiny palms together, shut his eyes, and began chanting—echoing the abbot line by line, then boldly adding extra verses of his own.
On the surface, the scene was picturesque: the elderly monk and the toddler, as if frozen in time, embodying the cycle of destiny and the vastness of cosmic truth.
In reality? Pei Dundun was out-chanting him.
Three minutes later, the abbot—a lifelong devotee of scripture—found himself outmatched by a one-and-a-half-year-old and had to pause.
Absurd.
He never imagined in his life that he’d end up competing in scripture recitation with a little kid.
He opened his eyes and turned to see the tiny figure kneeling on a cushion—he’d expected a child, but not one this small. A flicker of shock passed through his gaze.
In recent years, it had become common for families to send their kids to temples—let them eat vegetarian food for a few days, snap some photos dressed as "adorable little monks," as if that alone could teach them discipline and enlightenment.
Most children couldn’t sit still during meditation, let alone chant sutras.
But this kid, who should barely be able to speak clearly at his age, was actually reciting the Lotus Sutra! And not just mindlessly mumbling—his expression was startlingly devout, radiating genuine conviction!
Could it be… the reincarnation of a Buddhist prodigy at just one and a half years old?
The abbot couldn’t suppress a surge of admiration—it’d be a shame not to pass on the teachings to such talent.
Pei Dundun blinked up at him. "Grandpa, why’d you stop?"
Was it because he couldn’t chant as fast as Dundun? Was he sad?
With a sigh of concession, the little boy said, "Okay, I’ll go slower."
The seventy-five-year-old abbot froze.
The last time someone had said that to him… was when his own master taught him to chant at age five.
Abbot: "Would you be interested in—"
Madame Jiang, burning paper offerings nearby, cut in hastily, "Dundun still has to attend kindergarten."
No ordaining.
"He could just be a lay disciple in name," the abbot offered warmly, slipping his precious prayer beads onto Dundun’s tiny wrist. "You chanted beautifully. A reward."
Pei Dundun turned to his dad: Can I take the old grandpa’s gift?
Elderly folks always showered him with treats, but Dad said some things shouldn’t be accepted—because they might be giving away their only possession.
The abbot’s gaze shifted too, lingering on Lu Qin and Pei Rong, silently seeking permission.
Pei Rong knew Aunt Zhao chanted sutras when missing her daughter—but he hadn’t realized Dundun had memorized them.
With icy detachment, he nudged Lu Qin forward. "The older one can take vows too."
Help him control his lust.
Lu Qin: "..."
***
The <Green Mountain Remains> crew began filming, with Pei Rong playing the role of a spoiled young master—carefree and idle in the early stages, only to disappear with his son after a family tragedy.
His scenes were scheduled earliest and had no overlap with the male and female leads' parts. So, before the two A-list stars joined the set, Pei Rong was practically the entire crew's focal point.
No one expected that his return to the public eye would be this low-key—taking on a supporting role with just three episodes of screen time, a mere stepping stone for the protagonists. The real meat of the drama lay in the leads' growth arcs, full of thrilling, high-energy moments, while Pei Rong's part was formulaic and dull by comparison.
Many couldn't help but sigh inwardly—the entertainment industry was cutthroat. Fall behind, and your spot gets snatched. It didn’t matter if you were once hailed as the most beautiful face in showbiz; coming back after years meant starting from an awkward, near-novice position.
But how could someone look even better after three years away? Was globe-trotting really that magical?
Crew members whispered among themselves, watching him closely.
Pei Rong, however, showed no trace of discomfort, carrying on with his scenes as usual.
The director had made it clear—no leaks about filming details or cast.
With his low-key approach, there was barely a ripple online. A relief, really.
He’d deliberately chosen this minor three-episode role. After such a long break, diving straight into something demanding would’ve been too much.
Pei Rong’s birthday fell on November 28th, coinciding with his final shoot.
Lu Qin had reserved a restaurant weeks in advance, repeatedly asking if the schedule would hold. "If you can’t wrap up on time, I’ll just go and ask the director for leave."
Pei Rong: "It’s a simple scene. No issues."
He was ready—but then his young co-star couldn’t get into character.
His on-screen son, the childhood version of the male lead… a three-year-old boy, likely too nervous, struggled with the crying scene. Even when tears came, the emotions were off.
The director scrambled to find a replacement.
Pei Rong checked the time. Dinner would be late.
Normally, the beauty would’ve been glad for the delay—an excuse to lounge somewhere and wait at his leisure.
But today, for some reason—maybe it was Lu Qin’s constant birthday talk—he found himself actually wanting this date, his patience wearing thin.
