The Cannon Fodder Alpha Who Made the Heroine Pregnant - Chapter 66

66:

Zhou Lan chatted with Sang Xia for about ten minutes.

Sang Xia didn’t want her best friend to remain forever trapped in the past, unable to move forward. Childhood experiences could impact a lifetime, but the Chu family had already fallen, and Chu Zhao had vented her anger. People should always look forward.

If Chu Zhao didn’t like Zhou Lan, Sang Xia wouldn’t have said a word.

But since Chu Zhao did like her, Sang Xia didn’t want her friend to miss out. Some opportunities, once missed, were too late to make up for.

Chu Zhao’s mother felt regret and guilt over her daughter’s childhood, and her illness had lingered without cure.

Chu Zhao thought about having a child to give her mother a chance to make amends.

But what about the regrets in Chu Zhao’s own heart? They might not be fully resolved, but at least they could prevent the same regrets from haunting her future.

Sang Xia was the closest person to Chu Zhao besides her mother. With her mother ill and often in a daze, Sang Xia was the only one who could plan for Chu Zhao’s future.

Zhou Lan felt an indescribable sadness in her heart but could only manage a quiet “Thank you.”

“No need to thank me,” Sang Xia replied. “Just treat Chu Zhao well.”

“Let’s go, it’s about time.”

Sang Xia stood up after saying this. Sang Yu had sent her a message, saying she was already on her way.

Zhou Lan nodded and walked to the counter, finding the dessert the server had given her earlier and paying for it.

The server looked puzzled. “That was a gift for you.”

Zhou Lan smiled and thanked her. “Thank you, I appreciate the gesture.”

She couldn’t let someone else bear the cost of their kindness, after all.

Sang Xia gave her a curious glance before heading out first.

When they returned to the hospital room, Chu Zhao had just woken up from her nap.

After getting pregnant, a proper nap was good for her health. Chu Zhao, a workaholic, had no choice but to follow the doctor’s advice and start taking naps after deciding to keep the baby.

Meal times, milk times, fruit times, sleep times, exercise times—everything was strictly scheduled, with precise timing and portions.

Whether for herself or the child, Chu Zhao adhered to these rules diligently.

Since she’d decided to have this child, she would take responsibility for it.

But the thought of not being able to tell Zhou Lan about the child’s existence weighed heavily on her.

Sang Xia was right, she should find a chance to tell Zhou Lan the truth.

No matter what Zhou Lan’s decision would be, they needed to sit down and talk honestly.

Chu Zhao wasn’t usually so hesitant, but she didn’t know why she’d become so indecisive, constantly overthinking.

Thankfully, Sang Xia’s guidance helped. After being honest about her feelings, she felt less concerned about whether she would tell Zhou Lan.

The first time was always the hardest. The second time wouldn’t be as difficult.

Overthinking was useless, better to lay it all out.

Having thought it through, she slept well during her nap. But Zhou Lan, who said she was just grabbing a coffee, still hadn’t returned after so long. Where had she gone?

It was almost time for their meeting with Sang Yu, and she still wasn’t back.

Chu Zhao picked up her phone to call when Sang Xia and Zhou Lan walked in together.

Sang Xia grinned as she entered. “How’s it going, Old Chu? Haven’t seen you in days, miss me?”

“Not really.”

Chu Zhao’s breezy reply left Sang Xia half-choked.

“Fine, you don’t miss me, but I miss you, alright?”

Zhou Lan watched the two banter with a smile. Perhaps only with her one true friend could Chu Zhao be this relaxed.

She hoped one day Chu Zhao could be at ease with her too.

Chu Zhao had always been tightly wound. The Chu family had pressured her relentlessly—study hard before adulthood, knowing she couldn’t rely on the Chu family. To get ahead, she needed to get into a good university.

It wasn’t just about prestige—a good background meant a better starting point in society, not to mention access to hidden resources.

Yes, she’d been pragmatic from a young age. But who was born pragmatic?

She’d been naive once, but reality had long stripped that away.

Having read the novel, Zhou Lan understood this. Compared to naive, carefree people, she preferred someone like Chu Zhao—not just pragmatic, but grounded.

Honest pragmatism was sincerity; clever pragmatism was slandered.

Those who criticized didn’t care about the reasons behind it, they just wagged their tongues like reeds in the wind.

If she didn’t know Chu Zhao, Zhou Lan might have kept her distance from someone so aloof.

As they chatted, Sang Xia suddenly said, “The company’s been transferred to my name, but being a parachuted boss isn’t easy.”

It wasn’t that the employees were disobedient, who would dare defy the boss to keep their job? But Sang Xia, managing such a large company for the first time, felt completely lost.

Sang Qinzheng had not only given her an entertainment investment company worth nearly a billion but also three hundred million in cash to make her mark.

That was the life of a second-generation tycoon, a starting point others could never reach in a lifetime.

Chu Zhao didn’t say much about how Sang Xia should run the company. She only advised, “What the company Chairman Sang gave you is mature, with its own operational processes. You just need to oversee the final steps.”

“Some people might think you’re just a parachuted rich kid and try to fool you with shady projects. If you’re unsure, ask Sang Yu.”

Even if the company was now under Sang Xia’s name, it was still a Sang family matter. As a friend, Chu Zhao could only offer advice, not make decisions.

With Sang Yu watching closely, no subordinate could overstep and make decisions for the boss.

Zhou Lan agreed with Chu Zhao. If they interfered, it might provoke Sang Yu and lead to complications.

Instead, if Sang Xia sought Sang Yu’s guidance, she could access more Sang family resources and profit greatly by following her lead.

Sang Yu wasn’t ordinary, but Chu Zhao was even more impressive.

Sang Xia nodded, half-understanding. “What about football? How should we invest?”

“Invest? In what?”

The hospital room door was open, and Sang Yu, just arriving, overheard Sang Xia’s comment.

She hadn’t known her little sister was into football.

Seeing Sang Yu, Sang Xia shrank back slightly.

Zhou Lan, however, looked at Sang Yu with bright eyes. Sang Yu’s appearance exceeded her expectations.

She’d looked up Sang Yu out of curiosity before, finding some blurry photos and videos online. Seeing her in person, up close, was far from disappointing.

Shirt and suit—did all CEOs favor this look?

Compared to Chu Zhao’s varied stylish suits with brooches and other details, Sang Yu’s suit was more formal.

Aside from cufflinks, there were no standout features.

Her shirt was buttoned to the top, paired with a tie. Standing around 1.7 meters tall, her high heels added an imposing aura.

Sang Yu’s hair was a neat, mid-length cut—sharp and refreshing. Her simple outfit was meticulously polished, down to every strand of hair.

Her perfectly styled hair didn’t budge as she moved.

Frameless glasses and sultry makeup gave Sang Yu a mix of allure and sensuality, making her seem approachable.

In reality, her gaze held a trace of softness only for Sang Xia—otherwise, it was devoid of emotion.

Sang Yu’s words drew the attention of the three others in the room.

Chu Zhao spoke first. “President Sang, please sit.”

Thankfully, the guest area was large enough for all four of them.

Sang Yu had her assistant set down a gift and leave, saying, “I heard President Chu hasn’t been well. This is a small token from Xiaxia and me. Please accept it.”

Chu Zhao wasn’t interested in the gift on the table, glancing at it briefly. She noted that Sang Yu had said it was from both of them.

Given her relationship with Sang Xia, she understood Sang Yu was speaking on Sang Xia’s behalf.

Chu Zhao didn’t care about the gift. She chose to sit next to Zhou Lan among the three.

Then Sang Yu asked again, “Were you just talking about football investments?”

Sang Xia hadn’t mentioned this to Sang Yu, so she likely didn’t know.

Chu Zhao didn’t hide it. “Yes, we’re considering investing in the Women’s Asian Cup.”

“The Women’s Asian Cup?” Sang Yu was surprised. “Women’s football gets no attention, and it hasn’t achieved results in years. The Asian Cup is even less noticed.”

“Investing in it is like throwing money into the water, isn’t it?”

When it came to investments, especially involving Sang Xia, Sang Yu spoke bluntly, pointing out the flaws.

Sang Xia muttered discontentedly, “How do you know it’s a waste…”

Sang Yu paused. “The Women’s Asian Cup doesn’t cost much, a few hundred million would do. But I don’t agree with Xiaxia investing alone.”

The company was indeed under Sang Xia’s name, but if Sang Yu opposed it, Sang Xia would be stuck.

And Sang Yu didn’t trust anyone besides Sang Xia.

Zhou Lan had initially admired Sang Yu, but her overbearing attitude and lack of trust made her uncomfortable.

No wonder Sang Xia feared her—this patronizing, almost dictatorial demeanor made it understandable why Sang Xia avoided her.

They were all adults; no one wanted to be treated like a child.

Such treatment would only push Sang Xia further away.

Zhou Lan could sense it, and so could Chu Zhao. “What’s President Sang’s stance, then?”

Sang Yu was direct. “Investment is fine, but you all need to join Xiaxia.”

Given the Women’s Asian Cup’s lack of attention, letting Sang Xia invest alone either meant someone was trying to scam her or they genuinely believed in its commercial value.

But if they believed in it, they’d need to show where the money was going—not just talk.

Chu Zhao fell silent, glancing at Sang Xia. As expected, she saw dissatisfaction on her friend’s face. “Fine,” she said. “I’ll invest all my personal assets.”

As the boss of Chu Yue, she had a substantial salary. She’d planned to pool her money with Zhou Lan for the company, but now it seemed she had to invest.

She didn’t have much faith in football, but she trusted Zhou Lan. If Zhou Lan said the Women’s Asian Cup had commercial potential, then it did.

Zhou Lan’s thoughts wavered briefly. Did Chu Zhao trust her just based on her word?

She chose to stand with Chu Zhao. “Count me in.”

It was a sure profit, so if Sang Yu didn’t trust them, why not take a share?

Chu Zhao and Zhou Lan exchanged a glance, a sudden understanding passing between them.