The salty breeze carried their laughter as the shared vision settled between them. Anya's eyes sparkled with the thrill of ownership and purpose, but a practical question surfaced. "Okay, bossy brother," she nudged him, "so if I'm 50% owner of this... whatever we build... do I *have* to work the register? Stock shelves? Make coffee?"
Anze pushed off the weathered bench, starting a slow jog back towards the path. "Run and talk," he called over his shoulder. Anya fell into step beside him, their pace easy on the packed earth. "No," he clarified, breathing steadily. "You don't *have* to work there day-to-day. That's not the point. Be the owner. Be the *vision*. Decide what we build – supermarket, café, hybrid. Oversee the design, the feel, the core offerings. Hire a good local manager. You set the direction, ensure it serves the village and gives Mum and Dad ease, not burden. Your job is stewardship, not stacking cans."
The path wound past terraced fields glowing emerald in the late afternoon sun. "And the village itself," Anze continued, his gaze sweeping over the familiar landscape. "Let's make it truly comfortable. Not just the shop. The roads – properly paved, not just patched. Reliable water, running all day, clean. Stable electricity, no more flickering lights or worrying about the fridge. Modern sanitation, discreetly integrated. Everything." He looked at Anya, his expression serious. "All of it under Mum, Dad, Grandpa, and Grandma's name. Their legacy. Their gift back to the place that raised us."
Anya's breath hitched slightly. The scale of his generosity, the deep respect for their roots, was overwhelming. "That... that sounds perfect, brother," she managed, her voice thick with emotion. "Truly perfect." A thought struck her. "And... the shop? For the villagers?"
"Anything sold there," Anze stated firmly, matching her stride as the village houses came into view, "is free for anyone who lives here. No charge. Ever. Outsiders pay fair prices, but this village? This is home. They shouldn't pay for essentials under our family's roof."
Tears welled in Anya's eyes, but she blinked them back, nodding fiercely. "Yes. Exactly." She took a deep breath, shifting gears. "But... about Luminous. I still want to finish college. Just a few more months. Then... then I come work with you? For real?"
Anze slowed, turning to face her fully. "Yes. Finish. Get your degree. Then..." He paused, a familiar, slightly stern CEO look settling over his features. "Then you come to Luminous. And you start... at the bottom."
Anya skidded to a halt, her jaw dropping. "*What?!* Bottom?! Anze! I'm your sister! And a 50% owner of a beachfront empire-to-be! I should start as... as... your executive assistant! At least!"
Anze raised an eyebrow, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips. "You start where everyone starts who earns their place. Warehouse logistics. Customer service calls. Shadowing Yuhan's junior analysts. You learn the business from the ground up. That *is* fair. That's how you build real respect, real understanding. Nepotism," he stated flatly, "is bad business."
"That is *not* fair!" Anya stamped her foot, her earlier emotion replaced by indignant fury. "I'm telling Mom! You're being a tyrant!"
"Tell her," Anze shrugged, already starting to run again, his pace quickening. "Let's see who she thinks is right. Now, catch me if you can, *future intern*." With a burst of speed that surprised even Anya, he took off down the path towards home.
"HEY! CHEATER!" Anya yelled, scrambling after him. She pushed hard, her long legs pumping, fueled by righteous indignation, but Anze, with his runner's discipline and longer stride, reached the courtyard gate a good twenty seconds ahead of her, barely winded. He leaned against the gatepost, looking infuriatingly composed as she stumbled in, gasping for air.
"Mom!" Anya wheezed, pointing at Anze. "He says... when I graduate... he's making me... start in the *warehouse*!"
Li Meiling, shelling peas with Grandmother, looked up calmly. "Did he now? And why does he say that, Anya?"
"Because he's mean! And unfair! I'm his sister!"
Li Meiling set down her bowl. "Your brother," she said gently but firmly, "wants you to earn your place beside him, not have it handed to you because of your name. That *is* fair. That is how your father built his respect."
Anya opened her mouth to protest, but Grandmother patted the stool beside her. "Anya, child. Come." Anya sat, still fuming. The old woman took her hand. "Your brother gives you wings. But wings must be strong. Starting at the bottom is not shame. It is building strength. Trust his path. He wants you to be *worthy*." She squeezed Anya's hand. "Be patient. Be humble. Learn. Then fly."
The quiet wisdom dissolved Anya's frustration. She sighed, leaning her head briefly on Grandmother's shoulder. "Okay. Warehouse it is. But only for a *little* while!"
Dinner that night was a quieter affair than the previous day's welcome feast, but deeply comfortable. Steamed fish fresh from the village nets, stir-fried morning glory picked that afternoon, Grandmother's famous preserved egg and tofu salad, and simple rice. As they ate, Anze laid out the plans for the village.
"Paa," he began, nodding towards his father, "Maa, Grandmother... Anya and I spoke today. We want to make life here easier, better. Proper roads. Reliable water, all day. Stable electricity. Modern sanitation. All under your names – yours, Dad's, Mum's, Grandfather's legacy. A gift back to the village."
Li Weijun listened intently, a rare softness in his eyes. Li Meiling reached over and squeezed Anze's hand, her own eyes shining. Grandmother simply nodded, a silent benediction.
"And," Anya chimed in, her earlier pique replaced by enthusiasm, "we decided on the shop! It'll be a supermarket – but a nice one! Clean, bright, with everything the village needs. *And*," she added with a flourish, "right inside, a little café corner! For Grandma's buns, Mum's pickles, good coffee... a place to sit and talk." She took a deep breath. "And we have a name. To honor Grandfather's hard work, his little store that started it all..." She paused for effect. "**Lao Li's Beacon**." (*Lǎo Lǐ de Dēngtǎ* - 老李的灯塔). "Because he lit the way for our family. And this place will be a light for the village."
The name settled over the table, met with approving murmurs. "Lao Li's Beacon," Li Weijun repeated, a touch of gruff emotion in his voice. "Good name. He would have liked that."
***
Dawn the next day broke soft and grey, the air holding a respectful hush. Grandfather's anniversary was a day of solemn remembrance. The rituals began at the family altar set up in the main room of the house. Grandmother, dressed in her best dark blue tunic, lit thick red candles and three sticks of fragrant sandalwood incense. The smoke curled upwards, carrying prayers and memories. Li Weijun carefully placed offerings before the ancestral tablet inscribed with Grandfather's name: a bowl of steaming white rice, perfectly round and symbolizing completeness; a cup of clear tea; slices of the braised pork belly he had loved; oranges for prosperity; and small cakes shaped like peaches for longevity in the afterlife.
One by one, the family approached the altar. First Grandmother, her movements slow and reverent, bowing deeply three times, her lips moving in silent communication with her departed husband. Then Li Weijun and Li Meiling, bowing with deep respect, their faces etched with quiet grief and enduring love. Anze followed, his usual stoicism replaced by a profound gravity as he bowed, remembering the stern but kind man who taught him to whittle wood by the river. Finally, Anya bowed, her earlier exuberance subdued by the weight of the ritual, feeling a connection to the grandfather she knew only through stories and the legacy he left.
Later, they gathered by the river Grandfather had fished in, a place he loved. Li Weijun unfolded carefully crafted paper replicas – not just traditional spirit money and paper clothes, but intricate paper models of a modern tractor (for easier farming in the afterlife), a comfortable armchair, and, at Anya's whispered suggestion, a sleek paper Tesla ("Grandpa would get a kick out of it!"). These were placed respectfully into a small, controlled fire. As the flames consumed the offerings, transforming them into smoke meant to reach the spirit world, the family stood in silent contemplation. The only sounds were the crackle of the fire, the gentle rush of the river, and the distant call of a waterbird. They remembered his laughter, his quiet strength, his dedication to his family and his village.
The formal remembrance concluded with a simple family meal back at the house – the food offered to the ancestors now shared amongst the living, a connection sustained. The mood remained quiet, reflective, but no longer heavy with grief. It was a day of honoring roots, of feeling the enduring presence of the past, and of silently dedicating the luminous future they were building to the man whose own small light had guided them. Anze looked around the table at his family – his strong father, his nurturing mother, his wise grandmother, his spirited sister – grounded in this place, in this tradition. The skyscrapers of Shanghai and Seoul felt distant galaxies away. Here, by the river, under the watchful gaze of ancestors, he was simply Anze, grandson of Lao Li. And in that simplicity, amidst the quiet hum of belonging, lay a profound strength.