I will give you an explanation.

After school in the afternoon, Zhong Yun went straight home.

As he stepped into the front yard, he noticed the lights in the house were on. A surge of joy filled his heart—his parents had been so busy lately, it had been over a week since they last came home.

He opened the door and, just as he hoped, found both his parents sitting on the sofa. He was about to greet them when he suddenly sensed something unusual in their expressions.

“Dad, Mom, you’re back,” Zhong Yun said, a little anxious—his first thought was that they had discovered the pile of equipment in the guest room.

Zhong Pingjiang sat upright in his chair, his face stern. Yun Rong wore a worried look, glancing at her husband and then at her son, as if wanting to speak but hesitant.

“What’s wrong?” Zhong Yun could only feign ignorance.

Zhong Pingjiang sighed softly and spoke in a calm tone, “Come and sit.”

Zhong Yun was a bit surprised. In his memory, his father was a strict disciplinarian—when he was a child, any mistake would be met with harsh lessons.

His most vivid memory was when, as a little boy, he had gone with his parents to visit friends. Mischievously, he broke a beautiful Jialan sculpture at their house. When they returned home, Zhong Pingjiang gave him a severe whipping. The pain from that day was unforgettable.

When did he become so gentle? With a complicated expression, Zhong Yun sat to the side, casting a questioning look at his mother. This time, she didn’t come to his aid, only shook her head.

He held his breath, bracing himself for the storm he expected was coming.

“Xiaoyun, you’re seventeen this year, aren’t you?”

Zhong Pingjiang spoke at last, unexpectedly calm. There was a touch of weary reflection in his voice, shaped by the passing years.

Zhong Yun nodded dumbly. In that instant, he seemed to return to Earth, to the night before his accident. In a similar room, with his father, and a conversation that began just like this…

His father’s booming voice echoed in his ears, words laced with stern concern and deep expectation.

In a haze, the man from his memories and the man before him overlapped.

“Time passes so quickly. In three more years, you’ll be an adult.”

Zhong Yun suddenly noticed several new wrinkles at the corner of his father’s eyes.

“You’ve grown up, you’re able to handle things on your own now…”

His father’s eye bags were swollen—he must have pulled several all-nighters.

“A man must have responsibility. Whatever you do, you must be brave enough to bear the consequences.”

He looked so exhausted—was the burden of the family weighing him down?

“You…”

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

“Xiaoyun…” Yun Rong looked at her son, tears streaming uncontrollably.

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

Zhong Yun faced his parents calmly. “All that equipment—I bought it myself. And the money, I earned it myself.”

Zhong Pingjiang kept his composure, waiting for his son to continue.

“I know it’s hard to believe, but it’s true. I can prove it to you—please wait a moment.” With that, Zhong Yun ran to the backyard.

“Do you believe what he’s saying?” Yun Rong asked anxiously. She was very concerned her son might have gone astray. She worked for a company dealing with equipment and knew how expensive those machines were. An ordinary seventeen-year-old could never afford millions.

“I believe in my son,” Zhong Pingjiang replied with certainty.

In the backyard, Zhong Yun paused, then walked with lighter steps.

Watching their son carefully place a potted flower on the table, both parents were surprised.

When they got a good look at the flower, their eyes were transfixed. Yun Rong sighed, “It’s beautiful.”

The flower had ten blooms in total—nine smaller golden ones surrounding a larger, pale red blossom at the center like stars encircling the moon. The red petals were as thin as a cicada’s wings, almost transparent, delicate and enchanting.

Yet every fold radiated a vibrant vitality, an energy that made its lushness palpable. The fragility and tenacity of life formed a strange contradiction, drawing one in.

A gentle fragrance filled the room, subtle and refreshing.

“Did you buy this?” Yun Rong asked joyfully—women can never resist beautiful things.

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

Yun Rong was curious that her son could do such a thing, but she didn’t give it much thought—she wasn’t interested in gardening and had no idea of the flower’s true value.

Zhong Pingjiang knew a bit more—he realized it was worth a considerable sum. His boss was a flower enthusiast, so he often researched such information to please him, accumulating some knowledge.

Still, he didn’t know the flower’s actual worth, figuring it might fetch tens of thousands at most.

With that in mind, he frowned, “Are you saying you earned your money by growing flowers?”

“That’s right,” Zhong Yun nodded.

Yun Rong couldn’t help but doubt, “How much could this flower possibly be worth?”

Zhong Yun was exasperated—was this just an ordinary flower? If he took it to the flower market, the entire Mingzhou, even Davao, would go mad.

“How much could it be worth?” Zhong Yun raised his voice, feeling like he was talking to a wall. He seemed to forget that just a month ago, he too was clueless.

“If I told you, you wouldn’t believe me. Just ask around. This flower is called ‘Nine Stars with the Moon,’ the one and only ‘Nine Stars with the Moon.’” His tone brimmed with pride.

With that, he carried the flower back to his room, leaving his parents in the living room exchanging puzzled glances. Yun Rong whispered, “Judging by Xiaoyun’s tone, that flower really might be valuable.”

Zhong Pingjiang recalled, “I remember the manager once said a flower sold for eighty million a few years ago.”

Yun Rong was startled, “A little plant like that could be so valuable?” She couldn’t imagine it.

Zhong Pingjiang laughed, “Didn’t you spend two hundred thousand for a replica of Van’a?”

“That’s different,” Yun Rong pouted.

No matter how vivid their imagination, they couldn’t fathom how much this flower was truly worth.

Suddenly, Yun Rong asked, “Why did Xiaoyun buy so much equipment? He’s still a high school student—those machines would be plenty for college students.”

Zhong Pingjiang shook his head; he couldn’t understand it either.

“But the equipment is safe. Let him tinker as he likes, as long as he hasn’t gone down the wrong path,” Yun Rong concluded.

“We’ll need to confirm this. Isn’t your cousin a flower collector? Ask him; I’ll ask my boss.”

“Mm.”

Back in his room, Zhong Yun began his work. The floor was strewn with parts dismantled from the chemical equipment. With professional tools, taking them apart was no trouble.

The real challenge was assembling them. Fortunately, Zero hadn’t given him blueprints but demonstration videos, though even then it took him an entire night.

Yawning, Zhong Yun looked over the odd contraption on the floor—because it was patched together from various parts, it looked abstract, the most eye-catching feature being two metal bowl-shaped objects on top.

He was very curious—what was the purpose of this thing? This junk had cost him millions, and the thought still stung.

But Zero wouldn’t have him do something pointless. Anything from Zero was always revolutionary. That thought made him feel a little anticipation.

PS: Tomorrow is my birthday. I’ve decided to post four chapters—ten thousand words. Get ready with your recommendations.