Genius Little Genius: CEO Daddy, Bring It On

The glass facades of the skyscrapers reflected the glaring sunlight, while the traffic on the elevated highway formed a shimmering river of metal. Elena loosened her grip on her briefcase and wiped her palms against her beige slacks, leaving two barely noticeable sweat stains. The elevator mirror reflected her impeccably polished appearance: pearl stud earrings, chestnut hair pulled back into a bun, and nude lipstick that perfectly offset the weariness in her eyes. Only she knew that hidden in the inner pocket of her tailored suit was a dew-kissed tea leaf, releasing the crisp, refreshing fragrance unique to moonlight tea gardens. “Elena, welcome to New Edge Capital.” The HR director’s smile seemed permanently etched on his face. “Your resume is impressive.” The air conditioning in the conference room was cranked up high. Elena sat upright, listening to the investment strategy analysis, her fingertips unconsciously tracing a complex rune beneath the table. As the projector displayed the financial reports of a tech company, outside the floor-to-ceiling windows behind her, a cumulonimbus cloud was gathering and dissipating at a speed that defied meteorological laws—it was Leo practicing weather control in the Moonlight Tea Garden. “Regarding the edtech sector, I believe we should focus on the application of cognitive neuroscience,” she said, her voice as steady as a precision instrument. “The brain’s plasticity in children under five is severely underestimated.” The conference room suddenly fell silent. Several executives exchanged glances. Elena realized she had quoted an insight Leo had shared the previous night in the tea garden’s cabin, where the child had been using tea branches to work out fluid dynamics equations on the ground. “A perceptive observation,” the Chief Investment Officer broke the silence. “Elena’s child…” “He’s in Montessori preschool,” she cut him off, her smile flawless. Inside her briefcase, the celadon tea canister from Moonlight Tea Garden was slightly warm. The subway during the evening rush hour was packed like a can of sardines. Elena shielded her backpack as she squeezed into a corner; the moment she closed her eyes, her consciousness sank into that secret realm accessible only to her. Moonlight Tea Garden was forever frozen in twilight, with silvery-blue tea bushes spreading across the hillside to the horizon, and the stream glistening with sparks of light like scattered diamonds. Five-year-old Leo sat at the crystal tea table, his little legs dangling off the floor, with *The Complete Guide to Options and Futures* spread out before him. “Mom!” The boy rushed over, scattering tea flowers across the floor. “I built an arbitrage model using tea polyphenol conversion rates today! ” Elena scooped up her son, her nose brushing against his curly hair scented with tea. The sweat and clamor of the real world were filtered away entirely. “Didn’t we agree to read *The Little Prince* today?” “Financial derivatives are way more interesting.” Leo pointed at the floating screen above the tea table, where real-time global exchange rates flickered. “Look at the fluctuations in the yen—it’s clearly…” His words were interrupted by a strawberry cake that appeared out of nowhere. Elena produced a bone china plate from thin air as if by magic: “Even child prodigies need vitamins.” Under the moonlight, the tea trees rustled softly. Elena watched her son eat the cake with his cheeks puffed out, his eyelashes casting butterfly-wing-like shadows on his cheeks. Five years ago, when she fled the hospital, this premature baby was no bigger than the palm of her hand. It was the nectar from the everlasting camellia blossoms in the Moonlight Tea Garden—drop by drop—that nourished him into the lively child he was now. “There will be lots of other children at the new kindergarten,” she said, running her fingers through Leo’s hair. “Remember to…” “Pretend to be an ordinary human child.” The boy nodded solemnly. “No discussions about quantitative easing, no speaking seven languages, and show moderate excitement when I see building blocks.” Elena’s throat tightened. While other mothers worried about their children’s picky eating habits, she was teaching her son how to hide an IQ capable of mentally calculating celestial orbits. The Moonlight Tea Garden had bestowed extraordinary gifts upon Leo, yet it had also robbed him of an ordinary childhood. In the late-night apartment, the only sound was the rustling of pages. Elena brewed a cup of Moonlight Silver Needle tea, watching the leaves unfurl into translucent little boats within the cup. The parent group chat was open on her computer screen; the conversations about interview strategies for international kindergartens felt like they came from a parallel universe. She clicked on the encrypted folder, and a news headline from five years ago popped up: “Tycoon Heir Julian Vanderbilt Mysteriously Comatose After Car Accident.” The man in the photo lay in an ICU bed, stitches at his temple resembling a centipede perched along his perfect cheekbones. Elena closed the page, her fingertips unconsciously brushing her lower abdomen—where a C-section scar had been smoothed over by the Moonlight Tea Garden. A finance magazine on the coffee table suddenly fluttered open in the breeze. On the double-page spread, Julian stood on the deck of a yacht in a bespoke suit, his gaze as sharp as an eagle’s—not a trace of illness in sight. Elena snapped the magazine shut, causing the tea in her cup to slosh violently; a few drops splashed onto Leo’s kindergarten acceptance letter. “Mommy?” A drowsy call came from the children’s room. When she rushed into the room, moonlight was streaming through the gap in the curtains, falling on Leo’s face. The boy was rubbing his eyes; his curled eyelashes cast fan-shaped shadows beneath them, their curve identical to that of the man in the magazine ad. “Did you have a nightmare?” Elena patted his back gently. Leo shook his head, then suddenly reached out to touch the corner of her tear-stained cheek: “Was Daddy in your nightmare too?” The city lights outside the window suddenly blurred into a hazy glow. Elena buried her face in her son’s pajamas, which still carried the scent of milk, and the bitter-sweet aftertaste of the Moonlight Tea Garden spread across her tongue. Five years ago, she had fled to the tea plantation with her newborn baby and a body covered in scars. Now, to secure the right to a normal education for her prodigy son, she had personally torn open that seal once more. The cover of a magazine on the coffee table glowed faintly in the darkness; Julian Vanderbilt’s gaze pierced through the paper, locking precisely onto this single mother who held both moonlight and secrets.