As Summer gently closed the piano lid, she was met with a round of applause from the doorway. She turned, surprised to see a familiar face—Zhang Ju, someone she had seen in meetings before. He was a self-made entrepreneur, quite different from the typical second-generation wealthy individuals like Kang. Their paths had crossed only a few times, as their worlds didn't overlap much.

Kang’s eyes narrowed as he recognized Zhang. He remembered hearing about Zhang’s business success and his unique approach to marriage—staying unmarried until his company went public, even though he and his wife had been partners for ten years. It was a move often praised as a way to avoid complications over assets if their relationship soured, but Kang had never fully understood the logic behind it. It always seemed a bit cold and strategic, unlike the genuine bond he had hoped for in his own relationships.

But now, as his gaze shifted between Zhang and the woman beside him, his thoughts began to shift. The woman—who had seemed so ordinary at first glance, with her surgically enhanced features and lack of apparent artistic talent—was the very same one who had been so eager to flaunt her connection with Kang's expensive piano. Kang had initially pegged her as just another gold-digger, but now, seeing her interact with Zhang, something didn’t quite add up.

"Wait," Kang thought to himself. "Could she really be someone more than what I first assumed?"

Zhang walked over to his wife, gently kissed her cheek, and asked with a soft, affectionate tone, “Have you eaten yet?” His warmth was evident as he leaned in, making Summer feel like an outsider for just a moment.

“There’s someone here,” Zhang’s wife replied with a slight blush, suddenly a bit shy.

Zhang smiled, his demeanor gentle yet confident, and replied, “I’m just kissing my wife. I asked Zhang Jie, and she said you hadn’t eaten yet.”

“Well, not yet,” Zhang’s wife said, turning to Summer with a smile, “I just got back from the arts center. Let me introduce you—this is my husband, Zhang Ju.”

Zhang turned to Summer, giving her a polite, respectful smile. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Summer.” He then turned to his wife, teasing her in a familiar, affectionate tone, “And you, calling yourself someone with no artistic talent? You’re practically obsessed with music!”

Summer smiled softly, appreciating the playful exchange between them. It was clear they were very much in love.

Zhang’s wife continued, "Summer, you should stay for dinner! Let me know if there’s anything you don’t eat; I’ll have the kitchen prepare something special for you.”

“Thank you for the kind offer,” Summer said with a smile, “But I really need to head back to prepare for my afternoon class.”

At that, Zhang’s wife pressed on, bringing up the idea again, “Summer, you could be my personal piano teacher. It would save you all that running around, right?”

Zhang, always supportive of his wife, nodded in agreement. “That’s true. Our son is around the same age as yours, so you could bring him along too.”

Kang, who had been observing quietly, thought to himself with a mix of annoyance and admiration. "This guy knows how to make a deal. A little something for everyone, but still, it's all about his own interests." He couldn’t help but notice the contrast between Zhang’s willingness to offer small comforts and his cool calculation behind the scenes.

Summer, however, politely declined again. “I’m really happy with the work at the arts center. It provides stability, and to be honest, my son’s situation is a bit special. I prefer to keep things balanced.”

Zhang’s wife, clearly not one to give up easily, then brought up the topic of compensation. “What about the payment for tuning? Can we send it to the arts center?”

Summer nodded, her decision firm. “That works for me. Just send it through the center, please.”

As the conversation wound down, Kang couldn’t help but feel a little more respect for Summer. Despite her delicate demeanor, she knew how to handle these situations with grace, never giving in to temptation or pushing boundaries for personal gain.

As they were leaving, Zhang’s wife offered to give Summer a ride home. "It's difficult to get a taxi in this neighborhood," she said.

“Thank you, but my driver will take us back,” Zhang intervened, his tone carrying a sense of concern for his wife. “You haven’t eaten yet, you should focus on your own health. Stop worrying about everyone else.”

Zhang then turned to his wife and gave a nod, signaling for their driver, Li Shu, to take care of the rest. “Li Shu, please take Summer back.”

Summer, polite as ever, didn’t object to the ride, understanding the logistics of the situation. The neighborhood was large, and it would take a while to get a taxi, not to mention finding her way out.

Kang, still in his car seat, continued to stew over the missed opportunity. "Just think," he mused, "Summer could easily start a small adult piano class for a few students. Charging just 100 per class, teaching two classes a day, she could easily make a thousand a day. In a month, that’s 30 grand, plus income from tuning and repairing pianos. And the best part? No middleman taking a cut."

He felt a pang of frustration, thinking of the money Summer could be earning and how little she seemed to realize the potential of her abilities. "She could be making so much more than she is now," he thought, resentfully eyeing her calm demeanor.

The ride back was silent, with Summer lost in her thoughts. Kang tried to read her mood, but it was difficult. "She probably feels out of place," he guessed. "After all, how could she not, seeing the vast difference between the lives of the rich and the poor?"

He knew she only had a modest piano at home, and it seemed even more painful to see someone who didn't understand the value of the expensive instruments they had around them.

Kang couldn't help but feel the difference in how they were living their lives, even if Summer had never explicitly said anything about it. He suspected it might be hard for her to accept, but he couldn’t fully understand what was going on in her mind.

Kang found himself stifling a sense of frustration, particularly because the piano in question once belonged to him.

When Xia Sheng fell silent, she indeed exuded the melancholic aura of an artist.

The driver dropped them off outside their neighborhood, and Xia Sheng, holding her son’s hand, walked home as she had done countless times before.

However, when she opened the door, the quiet, contemplative artist with a touch of sorrow vanished entirely, and in her place stood an entirely different person.

"Ahhhh!"

"Baby, this is the finest piano I've ever played!"

"I play so beautifully, don't you feel it? Mom really is a genius!"

"How could such a marvelous piano exist in this world! I’m so moved, I could cry."

In an instant, a wave of black lines appeared on Kang's forehead, as the artist’s demeanor evaporated into thin air.

The poised, mature young mother had transformed into a childish girl, on the verge of dancing with joy.

Xia Sheng was genuinely elated, as though a swordsman had finally encountered the legendary, unparalleled blade. She had heard of it before, but now, not only had she seen it, she was able to wield it herself.

Even if it was just a brief moment of play, it was enough to fill her with uncontainable joy.

Kang watched the young mother, so absorbed in her bliss that the entire living room seemed too small to contain it. She moved into the study and, unable to resist, played another piece.

Kang found himself deeply admiring this quality. Despite their poverty, this young couple maintained a remarkably optimistic outlook.

Take his so-called "cheap mother" as an example—after playing a piano worth over six million, she could come home and play a piano worth only twenty thousand, yet she remained completely at ease, unaffected by the disparity.

As Kang watched her, he began to feel as though a new world had opened up before him.

His previous life had been simple and straightforward, with everyone around him—friends, housekeepers, and servants—labeled in a way that left no room for complexity.

His friends were righteous and humorous, the housekeeper was kind-hearted and dependable, and the servants were little more than faceless symbols, quietly maintaining the household.

Everyone revolved around him, each person defined by a singular, uncomplicated role.

No one had ever been as intricate as this young couple.

Yes, they were complicated—so much so that they resembled an onion, with layer after layer to peel away.

At first, he had perceived the young mother as a fragile woman, one who feared cockroaches and bugs. His label for her had been "the delicate woman."

But then, he discovered the strength behind her façade—a secret enforcer of sorts, and he began to think her previous fragility was merely an act. He assumed she was a woman with hidden motives, burdened by deep secrets, so he tore away his previous label, convinced she was only pretending.

And now, he realized her joy was so simple and pure. From Kang’s old perspective, she was simply a mother, and her happiness seemed to revolve around her child and husband. This fit with his conventional views, as it was commonly believed that a mother’s greatest joy came from her child.

Yet today, he had discovered something new: her happiness was hers alone, derived from playing a piece of music on a piano worth over six million.

What struck him as even more peculiar was that, typically, such joy over a six-million-yuan piano would seem vulgar and unrefined.

Yet, instead of feeling repulsed, Kang found her authenticity to be endearing.

There was even an inexplicable sense of affection, a strange impulse to give that piano to her.

"Baby, I’ll go see what Daddy’s prepared for us to eat."

Kang looked up as the young mother, with the carefree joy of a little girl, bounced into the kitchen to check on the ingredients her husband had prepared for their meal.

The tough, burly man, it seemed, had been quietly saving money to buy his wife a piano, and was capable of spending over twenty thousand in a single moment, while simultaneously feeling guilty when the braised pork wasn’t cooked perfectly.

Every morning, before leaving, he made sure to slice the vegetables for his wife’s lunch and left them in the fridge as a surprise.

"Daddy made meatballs for us, baby. We’re having meatball soup for lunch," the young mother’s voice floated from the kitchen.

At the mention of meatballs, Kang's interest was piqued.

It felt rather embarrassing, but Kang realized, to his surprise, that the thought of eating meat made him genuinely happy. At least no one else knew about it.

Kang sat on the foam mat, idly playing with the small toy car his "cheap father" had bought for him, when his "cheap mother" poked her head out of the kitchen.

"Baby, I miss Daddy. Don’t you miss Daddy?"

Kang continued to fiddle with the toy car, unmoved. "No, I don’t."

"You’re definitely thinking about Daddy too, right? After lunch, we can go wait for Daddy at his office and see him when he gets off work."

What?

The toy car in Kang's hands suddenly skittered across the floor.

Did his so-called "cheap mom" just say they were going where?