Looking for relatives: I acquired my mother’s billion-dollar enterprise

Within the tranquil sanctity of Villa No. 1, shadows stretched long under the amber hues of the setting sun.

Qin Yuan emerged from the study, his composure as serene as a windless sea.

“Boss, Dajiang Technology has transferred this year’s dividends—1.2 billion yuan—to the Blue Foundation under your name,” reported the poised female secretary, her tone crisp and professional, yet tinged with deference.

“Mm,” he murmured, a faint nod acknowledging her words. His sharp, dark eyes betrayed no flicker of emotion.

Then, lifting a single, imperious eyebrow, he spoke with a languid indifference, “I’ve decided to withdraw from the capital market. Issue the directive—no disruptions to my peace henceforth.”

Peace. A word that carried the weight of longing.

For a year now, Qin Yuan had led a quiet life in Ninghai, blending into the mundane world. An ordinary job, unremarkable routines—this was his refuge, his chosen disguise. No one, not even those who brushed shoulders with him daily, could fathom the truth: this unassuming man was a phantom of finance, a colossus who had once shaken global markets.

“But…” The secretary hesitated, a flicker of incredulity breaking through her calm. “But, sir, the Foundation has its sights on a new target.”

“Is it urgent?” Qin Yuan asked lazily, a faint smirk curling his lips as though mocking the ever-present hunger of the world for profit.

“The Foundation is preparing to acquire the Gezhi Group, the titan of China’s electrical appliance industry,” she replied with restrained excitement. “Their current market valuation stands at 200 billion yuan. If the acquisition succeeds, profits could soar past 30 billion!”

She studied him—the man who, in the eyes of Wall Street elites and global magnates, was a master of alchemy, turning opportunities into gold. Could he truly abandon this throne of power?

“It’s insignificant,” Qin Yuan remarked, his voice as calm as a lake undisturbed by storms. “The world clamors for wealth, yet I’ve amassed enough to last a hundred lifetimes. Even in my absence, the Azure Foundation will thrive under Vivian and Matt. I trust them completely.”

His dismissal was gentle but final, a subtle wave sending her away.

The antique clock chimed softly, marking six o’clock. It was the weekend—a rare respite in his otherwise meticulously quiet life.

Qin Yuan strode into the dining room, where the butler had laid out a feast fit for royalty. Delicate slices of Joselito ham, aged to perfection, gleamed like rubies beside a bottle of 2000 Petrus red wine. The earthy aroma of wild mushroom stew, freshly sourced from Yunnan’s misty forests, mingled with the briny freshness of air-shipped French Belon oysters.

The opulence was undeniable, yet as he settled at the vast, empty table, an ache stirred within him.

His gaze lingered on the vacant chairs that flanked the polished oak surface.

What’s the point of building an empire if there’s no family to share its joys? he thought, the quiet pang of loneliness cutting deeper than he cared to admit.

On the 66th floor, within the gleaming headquarters of Gezhi Group, Song Yazhi leaned back in her chair, her temples throbbing after a grueling day. The dim light of her office softened the lines of her face, a visage that bore both the grace of age and the authority of a ruler.

Though in her fifties, Song Yazhi’s figure remained elegant, her sharp eyes brimming with intelligence and resolve. She was no ordinary woman but a force of nature—the founder and chairwoman of Gezhi Electric, and the ninth richest woman in China according to Forbes.

Ding-a-ling.

The piercing ring of her phone shattered the silence. Picking it up, she heard a voice, steady yet charged with urgency.

“Madam, we’ve found him.”

Her breath caught. “What did you say?” she demanded, her voice quivering with a mix of disbelief and hope.

“It’s true,” the voice insisted. “After coordinating with relevant institutions, we’ve identified a match from the genetic database updated two years ago. There’s a 90% probability he’s your biological son—the child you’ve been searching for these past thirty years!”

The phone slipped slightly in her grasp as a flood of emotions surged. Her impeccably maintained façade crumbled, revealing a raw, vulnerable core.

“Where… where is he now?” she whispered, her voice trembling.

“In Ninghai,” the voice replied. “Efforts are underway to establish contact. A reunion is within reach.”

As the line went dead, Song Yazhi sank into her chair, tears streaming freely. Her hands covered her face, but the sobs came unabated, heavy with decades of yearning.

“My child…” she whispered, her voice breaking with emotion.

Minutes later, she composed herself, though her tear-streaked cheeks betrayed the storm within. Her secretary handed over a file containing everything about the man who might be her son.

“Qin Yuan,” she murmured, her fingers tracing his photograph as tears welled anew.

“Mom, why are you crying?”

The door swung open, revealing two stunning young women, twin sisters whose beauty seemed otherworldly.