"Alright."
"You go eat too; don't stay here. Don't keep Mrs. Lin waiting."
"Got it!"
After Uncle Lin left, Grandpa cheerfully picked up Jiang Cheng's bowl from the side of the table.
While ladling soup, he said to Jiang Cheng, "Here, I simmered this myself today. Light, but very fresh—snow-pine mushrooms from Changbai Mountain."
Jiang Cheng smiled, accepted it with both hands. "Thanks, Grandpa. You eat too."
Compared with the lavish feasts outside, this table was honestly low-key.
Yet it was the first New-Year's-Eve dinner the family had ever shared, and a different kind of warmth rose in Jiang Cheng's chest.
He lifted the ebony serving chopsticks and placed a dumpling in Great-Grandfather's bowl.
Then he served one to Second Grandfather, his father, and his mother.
At that moment everyone on moments was posting photos of banquets and group selfies.
Jiang Cheng joined the fun.
Of course he wouldn't photograph Great-Grandfather or Second Grandfather.
He certainly wouldn't show Mom and Dad either.
From now on his father was the sort who might need 404-ing at any moment.
Quietly he raised his phone, snapped the spread, and posted: "A simple reunion meal."
Before each person lay three pairs: ebony serving chopsticks, rosewood personal ones, and gold-washed longevity pair.
Jiang Chenghong eyed the gilt pair. "The kid sent these last year, right?"
Great-Grandfather nodded. "He's only just taken over, yet after one tour, China's reputation abroad has improved quite a bit."
"Impressive, truly," Jiang Chenghong agreed.
Great-Grandfather lifted his glass. "First reunion dinner—no shop talk, only family chatter."
Second Grandfather laughed. "Fine, then, Big Brother, you start—tell us about that time the press caught you."
The old man glared. "Always picking at scars!"
The whole table roared; even the guards at the side bit back laughter.
Halfway through, after a few cups, Jiang Jianmin's spirits rose.
He started them off, and the whole family began humming "Unforgettable Tonight."
Mid-song,
Grandpa beat time with his fingers, gaze sweeping the group photo on the wall.
Then he smiled again,
corners of his eyes crinkling like any contented grandfather.
After dinner, eight o'clock.
The family settled in front of the TV for the Spring-Festival Gala.
Grandpa asked, "Grandson, want to watch it live? You young folks like celebrities; I can have someone take you."
Jiang Cheng waved hurriedly. "No need, Grandpa."
Sitting there for hours of awkward skits couldn't compare to tea, chat, and scrolling his phone.
After only a few offline hours, he checked.
Messages poured in with New-Year wishes.
His post had already topped a hundred likes.
He sighed once more:
once you're rich, friends are everywhere.
He opened the likes list.
Under his simple-reunion-meal photo, comments packed the screen.
Wang Congcong: "Why do your plates have that emblem? Patriotism? Gonna get myself a set tomorrow."
Qin Fen replied: "Grab me one too."
Wang Zheng: "Nice dishes—where'd you order those plates?"
Chen Hao: "Are you guys being abstract? Feels deeper than it looks."
Qi Yuan replied to Wang Congcong: "Dad says he ate off those exact ones at state banquets in the Great Hall."
TikTok's Zhang Yiming: "Modest fare, yet every dish served on crested porcelain—solemn and dignified."
Zhou Zhiyun: "When are you back in Chengdu?"
Li Xudong: "That table looks pricey."
Sequoia's Shen Nanpeng: "Low-key, luxe, meaningful."
Sina's Li Songbo: "Could be state-guest-island cuisine, though the table doesn't match."
Richest Man Wang replied to Wang Congcong: "You blind? Those plates aren't for sale."
High-school Chinese teacher: "Happy New-Year's Eve!"
Zhou Ying: "Darling, your plates are so special!"
Qiao Yinyin: "Drooling here…"
She added: "I mean saliva…"
Wang Congcong replied to Qi Yuan: "Whoa…"
Then to Richest Man Wang: "Well, I learned from the best—my dad."
Qin Fen replied to Qi Yuan: "I take it back—suddenly I'm trending…"
Wang Zheng: "Retracting too."
Chen Hao: "Withdrew a message."
He Youjun: "What? First time seeing those plates."
Zheng Zhigang replied to He Youjun: "Huo Qigang's wife says they're Great-Hall or state-banquet ware—ordinary folks can't buy them."
He Youjun: "Mind blown! Looks delicious and refined."
Pinduoduo's Huang Zheng: "Chairman Jiang, if Starlight joins us, can we license those plates? Haha!"
CMB's Xu Lei: "Chairman Jiang, honored by your support this past year. May business thrive and family reunite in happiness!"
He stopped scrolling.
He swore he hadn't meant to flash wealth—never noticed the crested plates.
What surprised him was Huang Zheng's joke.
Since Starlight had approached Pinduoduo, they'd added each other on wechat,
but the round hadn't closed.
Huang had been waiting.
Now the playful comment meant the D-round—$1.3 billion—was locked.
Suddenly he felt cash-strapped again:
Jolins's lithography gear was loosening.
The new year would gulp money.
Without replying, he browsed other posts.
After a round of likes he exited.
Not every private message got an answer;
routine greetings he simply skipped.