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

Qin Yuan ended the call with a faint, enigmatic smile curling his lips. His expression gave nothing away as he reentered the living room, his movements as unhurried and composed as ever. The room was alive with warmth, the soft glow of light reflecting off polished furniture and the faces of his newfound family. Song Yazhi immediately stepped forward, concern etched into her features.

“Xiao Yuan, was it something urgent? If you have business to attend to, don’t worry about us,” she said, her voice a mixture of care and understanding.

“No, nothing like that,” Qin Yuan replied, brushing off the question with a smile. “Just a friend calling to catch up.”

His eyes lingered briefly on his mother. Despite her elegance and carefully maintained appearance, the traces of time were undeniable—the faint silver threads hidden within her raven-black hair, the subtle weariness in her gaze. Song Yazhi had borne the weight of an empire and the grief of losing her son for three decades. Behind the facade of Ninghai’s wealthiest woman, there lay a heart that had suffered immeasurably.

Qin Yuan’s chest tightened, an ache spreading through him. He fought to keep his emotions in check, suppressing the urge to show just how deeply this realization cut him. “Don’t let the nonsense on the internet bother you,” he said softly, looking into her eyes with the sincerity of a son who finally understood his mother’s struggles. “None of it matters. Don’t waste your energy on such trivialities.”

Song Yazhi’s face softened, and she squeezed his hand. “You’re such a good boy, Xiao Yuan,” she said with a tremulous smile. “I’m lucky to have you back.”

“I’ll handle the slander, Mom,” Song Ziwei interjected, her tone resolute. “Those websites will hear from our lawyers soon enough. This kind of speculation about our family will stop.”

Song Yazhi nodded appreciatively, turning to Qin Yuan with a look of pride. “Ziwei graduated from Peking University’s law school and later studied at Cambridge. She’s my brightest star.”

“Impressive,” Qin Yuan said, offering her a genuine thumbs-up. “No wonder you handle everything so effortlessly.”

“Hehe, don’t forget about me!” Song Caifu piped up, bouncing slightly on the sofa like a child craving attention.

Song Yazhi laughed heartily. “Of course! Caifu graduated from Harvard Business School. She’s a brilliant girl, too.”

Qin Yuan’s eyebrows shot up. He had expected sophistication, but not this level of excellence. His sisters were both prodigies in their fields.

“Xiao Yuan,” Song Yazhi said, taking his hands into hers. “Having you here now is enough to make me happy. From now on, let Mom take care of you properly.”

The evening unfolded with the kind of intimacy only family could bring. Song Yazhi, in her excitement, asked Qin Yuan about his life, his childhood, and even his past girlfriends. Qin Yuan chose his words carefully, sharing only lighthearted stories to make her smile.

At one point, something stirred in his memory. “By the way, Mom,” he said, his tone suddenly contemplative, “when Ziwei and Caifu showed me around the house earlier, there was a room on the third floor…”

His words trailed off as he noticed the subtle change in Song Yazhi’s demeanor. Her smile faltered, and a shadow passed over her features. The lively energy in the room seemed to dim.

“Come with me,” she said quietly, rising from the sofa.

Qin Yuan followed her in silence, the air between them thick with unspoken emotion. Song Ziwei and Song Caifu exchanged glances but said nothing, their expressions mirroring a shared understanding.

On the third floor, Song Yazhi opened a door and led Qin Yuan inside. The room was modest, yet its contents spoke volumes. Rows of cabinets lined the walls, each holding black boxes, meticulously arranged as if guarding precious treasures.

“What is this?” Qin Yuan asked, his curiosity piqued.

Song Yazhi didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she walked to one of the cabinets, her fingers trembling slightly as she retrieved a box from the bottom shelf. She turned to Qin Yuan, her voice tender and tremulous. “Open it.”

Qin Yuan hesitated before unlatching the box. What lay inside stopped him in his tracks—a tiny pair of baby socks, carefully preserved, as though time itself had been unable to touch them.

“This,” Song Yazhi said, her voice thick with emotion, “was your first birthday present.”

Qin Yuan’s mind reeled.

His mother moved to another box, lifting it gently. “This sweater… I knitted it myself for your second birthday.”

Box after box, she shared the stories behind each gift—hand-carved toys from lean years, a gold bracelet for his seventh birthday when the factory had begun to thrive, even the keys to a motorcycle meant for his eighteenth birthday. Each item carried the weight of her love, her longing, and the milestones she had celebrated alone.

When they reached the final box, Song Yazhi’s tears flowed freely. “Last year, for your twenty-ninth birthday, I bought this plane ticket. I wanted to take you on a trip together, just the two of us. I’ve never traveled with my son…” Her voice broke as she clutched the box to her chest. “Xiao Yuan, I missed you so much.”

Qin Yuan couldn’t hold back any longer. Tears streamed down his face as he pulled his mother into a tight embrace. “Mom,” he said, his voice trembling with emotion. “I’m here now. I’m not going anywhere.”

For the first time in thirty years, Song Yazhi heard her son call her “Mom.” The sound of it broke through every wall she had built around her grief. She sobbed openly, laughing through her tears as she hugged him back with all the strength she could muster.

Much later, as they returned downstairs, Qin Yuan was still processing the depth of his mother’s devotion. In the living room, Song Yazhi seemed rejuvenated, her earlier fatigue replaced with a girlish energy. “Ziwei, bring out a bottle of wine from the cellar! I want to celebrate with my son tonight!”

Despite her protests, Ziwei obliged, retrieving a vintage bottle of 1990 Château Margaux. Soon, the family was seated around the table again, laughter and clinking glasses filling the room.

As the night wore on and the wine flowed freely, Song Yazhi’s cheeks flushed with a rosy hue. She leaned back against the sofa, her eyes glinting mischievously.

“Xiao Yuan,” she said, fixing her son with an uncharacteristically playful stare. “You’re getting older now, but you still haven’t brought home a wife to give me grandchildren.”

Qin Yuan froze, unsure how to respond.

But before he could say anything, Song Yazhi leaned closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Tell me, what do you think of your sisters?”

The question hit him like a bolt of lightning. “Mom, what are you talking about?” he stammered, his face flushed with a mix of embarrassment and shock.

Song Yazhi chuckled, clearly enjoying his reaction. “Ziwei and Caifu are both wonderful girls. I’ve raised them as your future wives since they were little. Now that you’re back, you’re not allowed to leave again. Pick one!”

Qin Yuan’s jaw dropped, words failing him as his mother’s laughter rang out like music. The night had taken an unexpected turn, and for once, the master of control found himself utterly at a loss.