The director had barely finished explaining the rules when the studio doors suddenly opened.

The noisy recording area fell strangely quiet.

Several executives entered first.

Then came the man walking behind them.

Pho Tu Nien.

Khuong Niem’s fingers tightened around her son’s hand.

For three years, she had imagined what would happen if she saw him again.

Anger.

Hatred.

Maybe humiliation.

But when that moment actually arrived, she felt almost nothing.

Only exhaustion.

Beside her, Khuong Du Chau lifted his head.

The five-year-old boy stared calmly at the stranger approaching them.

Pho Tu Nien stopped walking.

For one terrible second, the entire studio seemed to disappear from his sight.

There was only the child.

Yesterday, he had watched that face through a screen.

Now the boy stood less than ten meters away.

Same eyebrows.

Same eyes.

Even the slight frown when observing strangers was painfully familiar.

His son.

The possibility struck harder in person.

“President Pho!”

Ms. Luu immediately smiled and stepped forward.

“I didn’t know you would personally visit today.”

Others quickly greeted him.

Pho Tu Nien answered with a faint nod.

But his eyes never left Khuong Du Chau.

The director sensed something unusual but dared not ask.

Instead, he forced a laugh.

“Since President Pho is here, perhaps you can watch today’s challenge.”

Pho Tu Nien finally spoke.

“Continue.”

One word.

Cold and emotionless.

Yet Khuong Niem knew him too well.

His right thumb was pressing against his index finger.

An old habit.

He only did that when desperately suppressing his emotions.

The children received their envelopes containing one hundred yuan.

One after another, they left for the temporary market constructed by the production team.

Du Chau opened his envelope.

He counted the money once.

Then he looked at his mother.

“Mom.”

“Yes?”

“What do you want for lunch?”

Khuong Niem smiled.

“Anything you buy.”

Du Chau nodded seriously.

“Then wait for me.”

He walked away carrying the small shopping basket.

Pho Tu Nien’s gaze followed him.

Khuong Niem turned around.

She deliberately ignored the man standing only several steps away.

But suddenly—

“Khuong Niem.”

His voice came from behind her.

Three years.

It had been three years since anyone had heard Pho Tu Nien say that name publicly.

Several parents nearby immediately became silent.

Khuong Niem slowly turned around.

“President Pho.”

The polite title made his expression darken.

He approached.

“Five years old?”

She knew exactly what he was asking.

“Yes.”

“When is his birthday?”

Khuong Niem looked directly into his eyes.

“That has nothing to do with today’s program.”

Pho Tu Nien’s jaw tightened.

“It has something to do with me.”

She almost laughed.

Three years ago, this man had destroyed every path she could take.

Now he stood before her demanding answers as though he had never been absent.

Before she could respond, excited voices suddenly erupted from the monitor area.

“Director!”

“Look at number six!”

Everyone turned toward the screens.

Du Chau had reached the vegetable section.

While the other children were buying ingredients one by one, he had done something completely different.

He approached a vegetable seller and pointed toward several slightly damaged tomatoes.

“These cannot be sold at full price tonight, right?”

The seller blinked.

“Probably.”

“I’ll buy all of them for eight yuan.”

“They’re worth twenty.”

“But tomorrow they may be worth zero.”

The seller stared at him.

The crew burst into laughter.

Eventually, the seller agreed.

Du Chau selected only the usable tomatoes.

Then he repeated the method at two more stalls.

He bought vegetables nearing the end of their selling period at huge discounts.

With forty-three yuan remaining, he purchased eggs and tofu.

But he still wasn’t finished.

At a fruit stall, he noticed another child desperately wanting strawberries but lacking enough money.

Du Chau bought the larger discounted box.

Then divided it.

The other child paid him half.

Du Chau recovered most of his cost while keeping enough strawberries for lunch.

The studio gradually became silent.

Even the director stared at the screen.

“This kid…”

Someone whispered.

“He’s calculating margins.”

Pho Tu Nien said nothing.

Because he remembered something.

When he was five, his grandfather had taken him to a traditional market.

He had done almost exactly the same thing.

That afternoon had become a famous story inside the Pho family.

His grandfather had laughed for years afterward.

“Tu Nien was born knowing how to negotiate.”

Pho Tu Nien’s breathing became heavier.

Meanwhile, Ms. Luu’s expression became increasingly ugly.

Her daughter, Doa Doa, had already spent eighty yuan on imported beef and snacks.

When all the children returned, Du Chau placed his purchases on the table.

Vegetables.

Eggs.

Tofu.

Fish.

Fruit.

And seventeen yuan remained.

The nutritionist calculated the result.

“Family number six has the most balanced ingredients.”

The director announced immediately:

“First place—Khuong Du Chau!”

Applause erupted.

Du Chau showed almost no excitement.

He simply carried the basket back to his mother.

“Mom.”

“I saved seventeen yuan.”

Khuong Niem crouched and wiped sweat from his forehead.

“You did well.”

Pho Tu Nien watched them.

Something unfamiliar twisted painfully inside his chest.

Five years.

If this child truly belonged to him…

He had missed five entire years.

His first word.

His first steps.

His first day of kindergarten.

Everything.

Suddenly, Ms. Luu laughed.

“Children nowadays really are impressive.”

Then she added casually:

“Although sometimes adults teach them beforehand so they can look clever on camera.”

The atmosphere immediately changed.

Khuong Niem raised her eyes.

Ms. Luu smiled innocently.

“I’m only saying the audience might misunderstand.”

Before Khuong Niem could answer, Du Chau spoke.

“Auntie.”

Everyone froze.

The boy looked at Ms. Luu calmly.

“If my mother taught me the market prices beforehand, how would she know which vegetables would be damaged today?”

Ms. Luu’s smile stiffened.

Du Chau continued:

“And if the program team told us the stalls beforehand, wouldn’t that mean the program cheated?”

The director nearly choked.

Several crew members covered their mouths to hide their laughter.

Ms. Luu’s face turned red.

“You—”

“Enough.”

Pho Tu Nien’s voice cut through the studio.

Nobody dared speak again.

His gaze rested coldly on Ms. Luu.

“The child won according to the rules.”

“If someone questions the fairness of the program, investigate the production team.”

The director immediately shook his head.

“No problem! Absolutely no problem!”

Khuong Niem stared at Pho Tu Nien.

Once, she had desperately wished he would defend her with the same certainty.

He never had.

Now he was defending her son.

Too late.

Far too late.

Filming paused for lunch.

Khuong Niem took Du Chau toward the dressing room.

But before she reached the corridor, Ha Than approached.

“Miss Khuong.”

“President Pho would like to speak with you.”

“No.”

Ha Than looked embarrassed.

“He said it concerns Du Chau.”

Her footsteps stopped.

A few minutes later, she entered an empty meeting room.

Pho Tu Nien stood beside the window.

On the table was a thin document.

He turned around.

“I want a paternity test.”

Khuong Niem’s expression remained calm.

“No.”

His eyes darkened.

“Khuong Niem.”

“You have no right.”

“If he is my son—”

She interrupted him.

“What changes?”

The question silenced him.

Khuong Niem stepped closer.

“When he had a fever at two in the morning, where were you?”

“When I carried him to the hospital alone, where were you?”

“When I couldn’t find work because your companies had blocked every production team willing to hire me, where were you?”

Pho Tu Nien’s face slowly lost color.

She smiled faintly.

“You spent three years making sure I could never return.”

“And now you see a child who resembles you…”

“So suddenly you want to become his father?”

He stared at her.

For the first time, something resembling confusion appeared in those usually unreadable eyes.

“I never ordered anyone to block you for three years.”

Khuong Niem froze.

“What?”

Pho Tu Nien immediately turned toward Ha Than.

“Bring me the original Feng Sha order.”

Ha Than hesitated.

“Deputy General…”

“Now.”

Ten minutes later, a digital archive appeared on the screen.

Pho Tu Nien opened the document.

Then stopped.

The order carried his electronic authorization.

But beneath it was another instruction.

An extension.

Renewed every six months.

For three consecutive years.

Pho Tu Nien had never seen it.

The authorization account belonged to someone with executive access to his office.

Ha Than’s face changed.

“There were only three people authorized to use this account at that time.”

Pho Tu Nien’s voice became dangerously quiet.

“Who?”

Ha Than swallowed.

“You.”

“Me.”

“And…”

Before he could finish, the meeting-room door suddenly opened.

A soft female voice came from outside.

“Tu Nien?”

Everyone turned.

Wen Tam Duyet stood at the doorway.

Perfect makeup.

Elegant dress.

A gentle smile that disappeared the instant she saw Khuong Niem.

Then her gaze fell on the document displayed on the screen.

For the first time, panic flashed across her face.

Khuong Niem saw it.

So did Pho Tu Nien.

But before anyone spoke, another voice came from behind Wen Tam Duyet.

“Mom?”

Du Chau stood in the corridor.

He looked from Khuong Niem to Pho Tu Nien.

Then at Wen Tam Duyet.

His small eyebrows slowly tightened.

Suddenly, he pointed at the woman.

“I know her.”

Khuong Niem’s heart dropped.

Wen Tam Duyet turned pale.

Du Chau calmly took out the old phone he used for educational games.

“Three years ago, someone sent Mom threatening messages from an anonymous account.”

“I saved the backup.”

His dark eyes fixed on Wen Tam Duyet.

“The profile picture was deleted.”

“But the original file still has location metadata.”

The room became completely silent.

Du Chau lifted the screen.

“And the location…”

He paused.

“…was your house.”

Pho Tu Nien slowly turned toward Wen Tam Duyet.

And this time, there was no warmth left in his eyes.