Chapter Nineteen Acquaintance

To be honest, at the very beginning, Gu Mengyan’s parents didn’t have a particularly good impression of Chen Hao’s father. Influenced by preconceived notions, in their eyes, Chen Hao’s father was an elite, someone held in high esteem by others, a man of uncommon status in society. His background was worlds apart from that of Gu Mengyan’s parents, who were ordinary people from the middle class; the only possible connection between them might be that of superior and subordinate.

Of course, not having a good impression didn’t mean they were going to be hostile; at most, it simply meant they would not interact. That was exactly the attitude Gu Mengyan’s parents adopted at first: unlike some, they made no effort to initiate conversation with Chen Ding’an. While they could understand why others might do so, they regarded it with a trace of disdain, seeing it as no different from those girls who pursued Chen Hao simply because of his privileged background, hoping to elevate themselves by associating with the powerful.

In truth, Gu Mengyan’s parents never had grand ambitions or lofty goals. They were simply engaged in work they liked and found interesting, and were able to support themselves and their family by doing so. For many, the ability to combine one’s ideals, interests, and reality is already a great happiness.

Moreover, their current jobs provided a decent standard of living, much better than that of the average working family. Of course, the price was a lack of free time.

Yet, contrary to Gu Mengyan’s parents’ expectations, Chen Ding’an did not display the impatience or disdain they had anticipated when faced with the many people seeking to ingratiate themselves with him. Instead, he was patient and affable with everyone who approached, gladly exchanging a few words, and even engaging in enthusiastic conversation on topics that interested him.

People around Chen Ding’an had tried to keep others from disturbing him, but a single look from him put a stop to it. He seemed genuinely interested in these engineers who had come to Kestarl.

To Gu Mengyan’s parents, the expression on his face resembled that of a child encountering the world for the first time, eager to understand a world unfamiliar to him.

This discovery confirmed their suspicion: this man, surrounded by admirers, was simply a privileged young master come to this remote place for amusement. Yet what baffled them was why someone of his standing would choose to come to such a desolate backwater. With so many scenic places in the world to visit, why here?

Such questions, however, didn’t linger long. The treacherous mountain paths soon occupied everyone’s attention. Not only was the footing difficult, but the way ahead was blocked by dense branches, forcing everyone to hack a path through with their machetes. A moment’s carelessness could result in scratches, and the stifling forest air and swarming, biting insects made the journey miserable.

More than once, people asked the task organizer and nearby security staff why they were here at all. The security guards replied that they didn’t know; their duty was simply to keep everyone safe. The organizer, a silent, stone-faced man, responded to every question the same way: “When you reach the destination, someone will tell you. If you can’t go on, you’re free to turn back now.”

Turn back? What a joke! Without a guide, no one could possibly find their way out of this place. In such a dense forest, to leave alone was to risk getting lost at best, or at worst, losing one’s life.

The steep mountain trail could easily send someone tumbling if they lost their footing, and a single slip could mean plunging off the cliff into an abyss—survival would be a miracle.

Even if you avoided the cliff, there were other dangers, not least the countless insects of the primeval forest. These were not the ordinary mosquitoes of city apartments, but often venomous species. A single bite could bring disease if not treated promptly, and for those in poor health, even a mild case could mean malaria, vomiting, diarrhea, persistent fever, and weakness; in severe cases, even coma or shock.

As for wild animals, they were a constant threat. By rough estimate, the group had already trekked at least dozens of kilometers. Aside from a faint trail at the start, the rest of the way had no paths; every step forward was carved out with their own hands. At any moment, they could encounter the true natives of the land—wild beasts.

And it wasn’t just carnivores like lions and tigers; there were also omnivores and herbivores. People often underestimated these animals, thinking them harmless, but in the wild, even herbivores were far more aggressive than city-bred carnivores, for they lived under constant threat of predators and had developed sharp reflexes and a willingness to attack when threatened.

The engineers, city dwellers all, had no means to protect themselves. If attacked by wild animals, injury or death was the likely outcome.

So, being told to turn back was absurd—like an old man hanging himself, or carrying a lantern into an outhouse at night.

Of course, there was an even more important reason to press on: their jobs. Before setting out, the company had promised a generous bonus for those who completed the assignment—an amount equal to several years’ salary. Though the company didn’t specify what would happen if anyone refused, no one was foolish enough to quit now, after coming all the way to Kestarl.

Thus, after the leader spoke, everyone fell silent and continued on, hoping the destination was not much farther, lest someone collapse from exhaustion before they arrived.

What surprised Gu Mengyan’s parents was that the young master—Chen Ding’an—showed never a sign of fatigue, impatience, or discomfort.

On the contrary, Chen Ding’an’s physical stamina and mental state seemed far superior to those of the engineers, which somewhat improved Gu Mengyan’s parents’ opinion of him. It appeared he was not the spoiled, self-indulgent playboy they’d imagined. Perhaps they shouldn’t have judged him so harshly to begin with; after all, their initial dislike of him was probably just sour grapes.

Besides, among this group of mostly lower- and middle-class workers, Chen Ding’an alone stood out as a member of the elite. Such an incongruous, striking presence was bound to arouse envy and resentment, and from overheard conversations, Gu Mengyan’s parents realized many harbored ill feelings toward him.

But so what? They were here to work, not to look down on others. They’d likely have little to do with him anyway, so they could just treat him as another colleague.

With everyone harboring their own thoughts, after a brief rest, they pressed on under the leader’s guidance.

Not long after, a small mishap occurred that led to Gu Mengyan’s parents’ first real interaction with Chen Ding’an—a meeting that would eventually deepen into friendship.

As the group moved on, Gu Mengyan’s father—Gu Hu—walked on one side to look after his daughter, with his wife on the other, keeping Gu Mengyan in the middle. The path on the edge was slippery and loose, and he lost his footing, sliding down the slope.

By chance, the family of three—because of the child—were at the very back of the group, with Chen Ding’an’s party just behind them.

The moment was critical. Gu Mengyan’s mother had no time to react before Gu Hu slipped, but luckily, he caught hold of a tree at the last second, saving himself from falling to his death.

But the tree was only a small sapling growing at an angle from the cliff edge, its roots embedded in loose earth, and Gu Hu was in imminent danger of falling.

Just then, Chen Ding’an, who had been surrounded by his bodyguards, appeared at Gu Hu’s side with astonishing speed—so fast that even his bodyguards couldn’t react. Without a thought for the mud and dirt, he threw himself down and seized Gu Hu’s arm.

“Hold on tight! Don’t let go!” Chen Ding’an said, calm and composed.