The Billionaire Businesswoman Searches for Her Lost Son: I acquire my mother’s billion-dollar enterprise

Half an hour passed, and the conversation in the living room had shifted into a more intimate tone. The warmth of familial bonds enveloped the room, yet there was an underlying current of curiosity that both the sisters and Qin Yuan felt. Song Ziwei, with her trademark grace and composed demeanor, watched Qin Yuan thoughtfully before speaking, her voice soft yet heavy with unspoken thoughts. “Qin Yuan…” she began, her eyes searching his face for something, “It’s a blessing that you and Mom have finally found each other. I’m happy for both of you, really.”

Qin Yuan nodded, sensing the deeper layers behind her words. But while Song Caifu had been quick to embrace him, the ever-reserved Song Ziwei was different, cautious in her new relationship with him, as was her nature. This hesitation, Qin Yuan understood, was born not of dislike but of the careful calculation that defined Song Ziwei’s every move.

Song Ziwei’s eyes softened as she continued, though the complexity of her words was palpable. “But… you should also be prepared,” she said, almost as though bracing herself for the impact of her own words. “Our mother is the richest woman in Ninghai, but being her son… isn’t as simple as it sounds.”

Qin Yuan tilted his head slightly, sensing the gravity in her tone. “What do you mean?” he asked, though he already had an inkling of where the conversation was heading.

Song Ziwei’s gaze turned inward, her voice steady but firm. “Our mother is a businesswoman—no, an icon. She’s known as the ‘Iron Lady’ for a reason. She’s built Gezhi Group with her own hands, carried the hopes and dreams of tens of thousands of employees on her shoulders. And she has no room for failure. She’s worked tirelessly to create something lasting. To be her son… will come with expectations, pressures you might not even be prepared for.”

Qin Yuan listened intently, his mind racing through the implications. “I understand,” he said quietly, feeling the weight of her words. He had lived a life of financial independence, of making his own way, but now, standing in the shadow of his mother’s empire, he felt the stirrings of something new—an unknown future.

Song Caifu, unable to contain her impatience, interrupted with a laugh, her voice light and teasing. “Sister, you’re scaring him! Stop being so serious!” She turned to Qin Yuan, her eyes softening. “Brother, don’t listen to her. Mom will always be here for you. We’ll always be here. And you—you don’t have to worry about all that heavy stuff!”

Song Ziwei shot her sister a look, a mix of exasperation and fondness in her eyes, but said nothing. She knew better than to argue when Song Caifu was in one of her moods.

Qin Yuan chuckled lightly at their dynamic, grateful for their concern but feeling oddly at ease. “Don’t worry, I won’t cause any trouble for the family,” he said, a mischievous smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“You…” Song Ziwei raised an eyebrow, her lips curling slightly. “Little girl?” she repeated, a flicker of surprise crossing her face.

Qin Yuan laughed inwardly at the unintended slip, amused by the sudden turn in their playful conversation. He was still learning to navigate this strange new world, but there was something comforting about the way the sisters interacted. Even though he was a man accustomed to wealth and power, their ease with him made it all feel more… human.

Just then, Song Yazhi walked in from the kitchen, her face alight with happiness, wearing an apron that had somehow become a symbol of her newfound joy. She beamed when she saw her children seated together, their laughter filling the room. “Xiao Yuan, Ziwei, Caifu, dinner is ready!” she called, her voice full of warmth.

The meal was a reflection of Song Yazhi’s love and pride. It had been years since she’d cooked for anyone, but today, for the first time in thirty years, she made a feast for her son. Braised pork, prawns in their shells, steamed grouper—the aroma was intoxicating. The dishes, each one a carefully prepared signature of hers, filled the room with a sense of homecoming.

“Wow, Mom, we’ve missed your cooking!” Song Caifu exclaimed, her eyes wide with excitement. She turned to Qin Yuan with a playful grin. “Brother, today’s all thanks to you!”

Song Yazhi, clearly pleased, smiled warmly. “Silly girl, from now on, I’ll cook for you every day,” she said, her heart brimming with joy as she began serving Qin Yuan his meal.

Qin Yuan felt a lump form in his throat, moved by the simple yet profound gesture. He could see the pride in Song Yazhi’s eyes, a pride that had long been buried under the weight of years spent searching and grieving. “You’ve worked hard,” he said, standing to show his respect, his voice thick with emotion.

Song Yazhi smiled through the tears that welled up in her eyes, her hands trembling as she placed a piece of braised pork in his bowl. “Eat, Xiao Yuan. It’s all for you.”

Qin Yuan took a bite, the flavors rich and comforting. He hadn’t realized how much he had missed the simple act of sharing a meal with family, of eating food made with love. His appetite, once cold from years of loneliness, now felt insatiable. He ate in great, satisfied mouthfuls, unaware of the tears that glistened in his mother’s eyes.

After a while, the table fell silent, the only sounds the clinking of chopsticks and the occasional murmurs of comfort. Song Yazhi, her face glistening with tears, wiped them away, embarrassed. “I’m sorry, I got too emotional…”

“Mom, don’t cry,” Song Ziwei said gently, wiping her own eyes. “You’ve waited thirty years for this moment. We understand.”

“Yes,” Song Caifu added, her voice softer than usual. “From now on, I’ll make sure Brother comes home every day to eat your cooking!”

Qin Yuan felt his heart swell with gratitude as he watched the three of them. There was no other word for it—family. In a world where he had once been an island, now he was surrounded by love, and it was more overwhelming than he had ever imagined.

After dinner, they all settled back on the sofa, the weight of the day finally sinking in. Song Caifu, ever the playful one, offered to massage her mother’s back. “Let me help you relax, Mom,” she said, her voice cheerful as she moved behind Song Yazhi.

Song Ziwei, ever the pragmatic one, brought her mother some medicine. “Mom has high blood pressure. She needs to take her medicine every day,” she explained, her eyes meeting Qin Yuan’s with a quiet understanding.

Qin Yuan nodded, feeling the weight of his new responsibilities, yet also a growing sense of belonging.

Suddenly, Song Caifu, scrolling through her phone, let out an exasperated cry. “This is too much!” she yelled, her fingers swiping furiously. “How can they say that about Big Brother?”

Song Yazhi looked alarmed. “What’s happened, Caifu?” she asked, her brow furrowing.

With a frown, Song Caifu handed over her phone, clearly upset. “Mom, please don’t get angry. But look at this.”

Qin Yuan leaned over to see the screen, reading the headline that appeared on the video website: “The richest woman recognizes her biological son! She finds the son she lost thirty years ago. This lucky man is named Qin Yuan!”

He blinked, surprised at how quickly the news had spread. “What is this?” he asked, baffled.

“It’s all over the internet already?” Song Yazhi muttered, furious. Her face flushed with anger as she read the comments. “How can they say such things about Xiao Yuan?”

Qin Yuan laughed softly, amused by the spectacle. “Oh, so I’m now the ‘expert in reincarnation,’ am I? That’s my new title?”

The thought made him chuckle. Here he was, a man who had spent years shaping his empire from the shadows, now thrust into the public eye as a symbol of luck and fate. Yet, even with the media storm raging around him, he couldn’t help but smile at the absurdity of it all.

The national internet was ablaze with comments, some in awe, some in envy, and some full of biting sarcasm. And yet, in the midst of it all, Qin Yuan felt oddly at peace. He had finally found his place—both in the family and in a world that had long since cast him as an outsider.

But amid the buzzing headlines, one reply caught his attention. It was from an unexpected source, a comment that struck with an edge of arrogance: “Sicong, are you worthy? You think you and him are both second-generation rich, but you don’t even know that Qin Yuan is a first-generation entrepreneur.”

The words were a subtle challenge, but Qin Yuan couldn’t help but smile again. It seemed the world was ready to draw lines in the sand, but he was prepared for whatever came next.