“A kind-hearted lottery ticket boy who shared half of his meal with a beggar ended up inheriting an entire corporation.”

Dong Hoa Market, a small bustling corner in a busy city, becomes crowded every early morning. Amid the hurried voices of the crowd, one figure is no longer unfamiliar: an old man dressed in tattered clothes, leaning on a cane, with white hair as messy as a bird’s nest, a sun-darkened face, and dull eyes. Occasionally, he would ask for a box of rice from the food stalls along the roadside.

People called him the “crazy old man,” a name lacking kindness, for he often muttered to himself, was grumpy, and had a strong odor. No one knew where he came from, only that for the past few months, he had appeared regularly at the market, sitting quietly in a shaded corner, picking up plastic bottles or waiting for someone’s generosity. But one morning, under the scorching sun and the clatter of vendors’ knives, something happened that stirred the entire market.

“Mister, give me back my lottery tickets! Mister!” A boy’s desperate cries rang out. Everyone turned toward the market gate. A boy, around 10 years old, thin, wearing faded clothes and barefoot, was frantically chasing a rough-looking man. The man held a stack of fresh lottery tickets, clearly just snatched from the boy’s hand.

“How dare you accuse me, kid!” the man barked, suddenly turning and slapping the boy hard in the face, sending him tumbling to the ground. No one intervened; people were afraid of trouble. The boy was too small, too weak, and too pitiful for anyone to care. Except for one person who suddenly stood up from the dark shade under a tree – the beggar.

“Hey, what do you think you’re doing?” The old man’s hoarse voice rang clearly among the crowd. The man flinched. Everyone held their breath. A ragged old man dared to step into a grown-up’s affair? The old man stepped forward. His eyes suddenly sharp, very different from the dazed look people usually saw. “I saw everything. You stole the boy’s lottery tickets,” he said, pointing at the man.

“Who the hell are you to interfere? Looking for a beating?” the man growled, raising his hand to shove the old man. But the old man stood firm, stepping in front of the crying boy. “You hit him, now hit me too,” he growled, gripping his cane tightly.

The man, enraged, shoved him forcefully to the ground. The whole market erupted in screams. The boy panicked, hugging the old man, as blood began to trickle from his forehead. But to everyone’s shock, the old man struggled to his feet, rushed toward the man, and snatched back the lottery tickets.

“I used to fight for rice during wartime. You think I’m scared of someone like you?” he panted, his face covered in blood, but still clutching the tickets and throwing them back to the boy. The man cursed and stormed off under the contemptuous stares of the market vendors. A few people ran to help the old man up. A porridge stall owner rushed to wipe the blood off him.

The boy sobbed, hugging the old man, stammering, “Sir, why did you help me? I’m just a lottery seller.” The old man breathed heavily, his eyes warm and gentle: “Because you didn’t deserve to be hit. Because no one should stay silent in the face of injustice.”

From that day on, the whole market viewed the old man differently. No longer was he chased away or mocked. The boy, named Nam, brought him food every day, sat under the tree with him to chat and share. Amidst poverty and hardship, a strange friendship blossomed between a beggar and an orphan surviving by selling lottery tickets.

No one knew that the look in the old man’s eyes that day, watching the man leave, wasn’t just anger. It was cold and piercing – the gaze of someone who had once stood at the height of power, who had faced countless liars and was still silently observing. He wasn’t just a beggar. He was searching for something.

Since that day, the market’s view of him changed. Though he still looked ragged, his hair messy and his gait unsteady, no one called him crazy anymore. Some vendors began quietly saving leftover meals for him. Shoppers no longer looked down on him; some even slipped him small bills.

Nam, in particular, had changed. Every morning after getting his lottery tickets from the agent, he would rush to find the old man. Under the old tamarind tree at the market entrance where the old man usually sat, the two would chat like grandfather and grandson. Though young, Nam was polite, smart, and respectful. He always brought two boxes of rice – one for himself, one for the old man. Though dirt poor, he always shared that meager meal with the man who once bled to protect him.

“Grandpa, how do you know how to fight?” Nam asked, eyes curious one day during lunch. The old man laughed with a hoarse, low voice. “I was a rascal when I was young too. But fighting isn’t for showing off – it’s to protect what deserves protecting.”

“Do you have any family?” Nam blinked and asked. The old man fell silent for a moment, then changed the subject. But from that day, Nam noticed the old man sometimes staring into the distance, eyes full of hidden memories. Nam was too young to understand it all, but something told him the old man wasn’t what he seemed.

One day, during a heavy downpour, Nam was soaking wet, but still struggled through the rain to the market, holding two bags of rice wrapped in plastic. The old man, sheltering under a fish stall’s awning, rushed to pull him in.

“Why come out in this weather?” he scolded, hands trembling as he helped wring the water from Nam’s shirt. “I promised to bring you food every day. Rain or not, I won’t let you go hungry,” Nam grinned, eyes sparkling through the rain.

The old man was silent for a long time. Finally, he turned away as if to hide the tears welling in his eyes. In the days that followed, he began teaching Nam things no one else would: mental math, how to judge a person by their words and eyes, even how to read old newspapers he collected from the corner store.

“This world is huge. You have to learn so you won’t be fooled anymore,” he said. Nam nodded eagerly. Each lesson under the tree excited him. He could even read out loud the names of big corporations, articles about the market and finance, as the old man explained them like a real teacher.

Market folks began to gossip. “Did you see? That beggar is teaching the kid to talk like a boss.” “Yeah, I heard him talking about stocks once. Creepy smart.” “Who would’ve thought a beggar knew those things?”

But the old man paid no mind. He kept picking up trash and sat quietly in his corner. Nam grew ever more fond of him, calling him Grandpa naturally. One scorching afternoon, when the market was nearly empty, the old man handed Nam a small box. “Take this. A reward for being such a good student.”

He said it. Nam opened it. Inside was an old wristwatch, its face scratched and the leather strap worn. But when Nam flipped the cover open, he froze. On the back was a tiny engraving: “TQT. The journey isn’t over.”

“Who is TQT, Grandpa?” Nam asked in confusion.
The old man only smiled, “Someone who once had everything and chose to lose it all… to find what truly matters.”

Nam didn’t fully understand, but he felt that this old man—despite being poor and wandering—carried the aura of someone who had seen great things, someone who once stood on a peak Nam could hardly imagine.

One afternoon, something happened that deepened Nam’s suspicion. While Nam was selling lottery tickets, a man in a suit stepped out of a luxury car and came over to buy. Seeing Nam so polite, the man asked,
“How long have you been doing this?”
“Since I was eight, sir. I’m an orphan—I live alone.”

The man stared at Nam for a moment and then bought five tickets. But before leaving, he noticed the old beggar sitting off in the distance watching them. Suddenly, the man froze, shock flashing in his eyes.

“You… do you know who that old man is?” he asked, voice dropping low.
“He’s my grandfather,” Nam replied innocently.

The man went silent for a long time, then hurriedly got back into his car and drove off without looking back. Nam stood puzzled, while the old man remained seated—but his hand gripped his cane tightly, and for a fleeting second, his eyes gleamed coldly before returning to their usual calm.

Nam didn’t know it, but his time with the old beggar wasn’t just friendship. It was part of a quiet trial—a long game being carefully played. And Nam, the orphan boy selling lottery tickets, was the only person being silently watched and judged every single day.

As time passed, the bond between the beggar and the boy grew stronger. Every morning, Nam would pedal his worn-out bike to the market, with a handful of tickets tucked into his pocket. His cheerful face seemed to glow despite the poverty he lived in.

The old man sat in his usual spot beneath the old tamarind tree, leaning on his weathered cane, quietly watching the boy with a tenderness that words couldn’t describe. But deep in his heart, something much larger was taking shape.

He observed Nam each day—the way the boy spoke respectfully to vendors, never cheated customers, even returned excess change when others forgot. The way he offered his meal to someone who seemed poorer, and bowed in apology whenever he accidentally bumped into someone.

And above all, the boy’s eyes—bright, clear, untouched by deceit or greed.

The old man had met thousands in his life, read hundreds of profiles from those seeking his favor—but none were like Nam.

Then, one morning, he called Nam over. His voice was calm, more serious than usual.
“Nam, I have something I need you to help me with.”
“Yes, Grandpa. What is it?” Nam tilted his head, eyes full of trust.

The old man pulled out a worn cloth pouch and took out a bundle of money, neatly wrapped with rubber bands. Nam’s eyes widened.

“Whoa… Grandpa, you have this much money?”

The old man didn’t answer directly. “I’ve gotten old. I saved up a little for emergencies. I’ll be away for a few days soon and can’t carry it with me. I want you to keep it safe for me. When I come back, just return it.”

Nam hesitated, flustered.
“But… I’ve never kept that much money before. What if I lose it?”

“I trust you,” the old man said firmly, cutting him off. “It’s only for a short while. I’ll be back.”

Nam held the money in his trembling hands. It was the first time he had ever touched such a large amount—likely tens of millions of dong. For a boy who sold lottery tickets, it was a fortune.

The next day, the old man didn’t come to the market. Then the day after that, he was still nowhere to be seen. The market vendors asked Nam, but he could only shake his head. People started to become suspicious—maybe he had run off for good? Or perhaps he had been taken to the hospital?

Nam, however, was worried. He brought the bundle of money home and hid it in a small box tucked under the bottom of a rotten wooden cabinet in his shabby rented room. He didn’t dare spend a single coin.

For a whole week, he lived on rice and fish sauce, worked on his drawings until late at night, then secretly counted the money again and again to make sure it was all still there. Sometimes he thought about just taking a few hundred thousand to buy himself a new pair of shoes or maybe get an extra can of milk for the sick old man next door. But he shook his head each time—he couldn’t. The old man trusted him.

Every morning, he still went to the market and sat under the tamarind tree like usual, waiting for the familiar silhouette of the old man. But he never showed up. Until the eighth day, when Nam’s worry was nearing despair, a sleek black car suddenly stopped at the entrance of the market. The door opened and a young man in a suit stepped out, holding an envelope in his hand.

He walked straight to Nam and asked, “Are you Nam?”

“Yes, I’m Nam,” the boy replied.

The man handed him the envelope. “Someone sent this for you.”

Nam took it, hands trembling. The handwriting was slanted and familiar. He opened the letter and read it line by line.

“Nam, if you’re reading this, it means I’ve been gone for eight days now. Do you still have the money?

I’m sorry for putting you through this test, but I needed to know if you could be trusted even when no one was watching. If you no longer have it, that’s okay. I still value you just the same.

But if you do still have it, then at 2 PM today, bring the box to Café No. 9 on Nguyễn Trãi Street. We’ll meet again.”

Nam’s heart pounded. He rushed home, retrieved the small box wrapped in layers of cloth, and pedaled like the wind toward the meeting spot.

The café was old and nearly empty, but as soon as Nam stepped inside, he saw a man sitting in a shadowed corner—well-dressed, hair neatly cut, sharp eyes—but it was him. It was truly the old man.

Nam froze. “Is it really you?”

The man smiled and gestured for him to sit. Nam pulled out the box with both hands, voice choked, “I still have it all, not a single bill missing.”

The man was silent for a moment, then nodded. “I knew you would.”

Nam blinked in confusion. “But why did you do all that? Why fake it and crawl away?”

The man looked at him, eyes calm and deep. “Because not everyone stays honest when given the chance to do otherwise. I’ve lost a lot before just by trusting the wrong people. But you’re different.”

He pulled a bank card from his pocket and placed it on the table.

“Do you want to go to school, Nam? If you do, from now on, I’ll take care of everything.”

Nam was stunned. He couldn’t believe his ears. “But… why are you helping me?”

The old man looked at him quietly, then for the first time, said something filled with hidden meaning:

“Because I’m looking for someone worthy to pass something very important on to—and you just might be that person.”

Since that meeting at the old coffee shop, Nam felt as if he were living in a dream. Not only had the old man taken him in and brought him to live in a small but neat and clean boarding house on the outskirts of the city, he had also enrolled him in evening remedial classes. During the day, Nam still helped sell lottery tickets and collected scrap with the old man, but life was no longer the same.

Ever since Nam realized the old man had been testing him, the man continued to live simply — eating modest meals, riding the bus, wearing worn-out clothes, and donning a faded pith helmet. But now, the way he looked at Nam had changed. No longer was there a hint of skepticism — only hope. The old man began teaching Nam many things: how to interact with strangers, how to tell sincerity from deceit, and even how to manage basic household finances.

One afternoon, as Nam was studying, the old man handed him an old newspaper and pointed to the front page.
“Read this article,” he said.
Nam looked closely.

“Tuan Minh Corporation: Board Chairman Still Unseen After More Than a Decade Leading from the Shadows.”

The article was about one of the country’s leading conglomerates in real estate, finance, and logistics, famous for its mysterious management style. No one knew what the founder actually looked like. The executive board only received handwritten notes and emails — never a face-to-face meeting.

The only name ever mentioned was the abbreviation: T.Q.T.

Nam folded the newspaper and turned to the old man.
“Wow, isn’t it crazy that someone can run a company like that without ever showing his face? He must be some rich billionaire, huh?”
The old man smiled but said nothing.

Two days later, chaos erupted at the Dong Hoa Market — the place that used to be the world of the old man and Nam.

Early in the morning, four luxury cars pulled up at the market entrance. Curious vendors and shoppers gathered around as a group of men in suits stepped out. Leading them was a middle-aged man with salt-and-pepper hair and a stern face. They headed straight to Auntie Tu’s porridge stall — where the old man used to sit and ask for food.

“Excuse me, do you know if the old beggar who used to sit here still comes by?” the man asked.

Auntie Tu blinked, confused.
“Oh, that old man? He’s been gone for a week now. Who are you people? Why would folks in fancy cars like yours be looking for him?”

The man didn’t answer. He only bowed his head in thanks and pulled out his phone.
“He’s not here. Move to Phase Two. Search every boarding house in the Vendo area. He can’t have gone far.”

The scene caused a buzz in the market. A fruit vendor whispered,
“Could it be that the old man was someone important? Or maybe he had connections to those rich company bosses?”

Just then, the owner of the motorbike repair shop at the alley entrance — the one who had seen the old man buy Nam a bicycle — spoke up,
“I—I once saw him talking to someone who looked just like that man on TV… wore sunglasses, had bodyguards. But he was still wearing ragged clothes at the time. You’d never believe it was him.”

And just like that, rumors exploded through the entire market.

Meanwhile, at the little riverside boarding house, Nam was helping the old man cook dinner. He chatted eagerly about school, his voice full of excitement. The old man listened with calm eyes, occasionally nodding and smiling.

Late that night, he quietly entered his room, opened an old iron cabinet, and took out a wooden box. Sitting at the table, he turned on a small lamp and slowly lifted the lid.

Inside the wooden box were magnetic keycards, dual-lock keys, copies of contracts, the Tuan Minh Corporation logo, and an old photo of the old man standing beside a high-rise building. Underneath was a caption: “Groundbreaking Ceremony – Chairman Tran Quoc Tuan.” His eyes grew pensive.

It had been ten years since he stepped out of the spotlight — abandoning all his wealth, titles, and reputation to live as a beggar. He wasn’t hiding. He simply wanted to see the world from the bottom. He wanted to find someone — not related by blood — who had kindness and integrity, someone worthy of inheriting the legacy he had built over a lifetime.

And he had found that person.

That night, while Nam was fast asleep, the old man quietly placed a letter on the desk. Then he dressed in a brand-new grey suit, white silk-collared shirt, and polished shoes. His eyes were sharp and clear. He stepped out of the humble lodging, where a sleek black car was waiting at the gate.

The driver bowed respectfully,
“Welcome back, Chairman.”

The next morning, Nam woke up to find the letter on his desk. Hands trembling, he opened it and read:

“Nam,
I have to leave for a while. Don’t worry — I’m healthy and well. It’s time I return to face the life I once walked away from. In the coming days, you might hear strange things. Don’t be confused — just remember that I always believed in you.
And don’t forget the dream you once told me — to open a small eatery for the poor.
We’ll meet again, but in an entirely different world.”

Nam’s heart raced. He rushed outside, but the house was empty. The old man was gone. No trace, no farewell — just a hollow silence and a storm of questions in his mind.
Who was he really? Why did he leave now?

Nam didn’t yet know that in just a few days, the former street kid selling lottery tickets would begin a journey into a strange new world — a world of wealth and power that would open its doors… all because of a beggar he once called Grandpa Tu.

One early morning, when the wholesale market was still quiet, Nam stood at his usual spot, holding a bundle of lottery tickets, his eyes as always — bright and full of hope. He still had no idea that today would change his life forever.

Grandpa Tu, the beggar Nam had grown so fond of, was once again absent. Nam grew a little anxious and asked a few familiar vendors, but everyone shook their heads.
“Haven’t seen the old man lately. Maybe he’s off somewhere else looking for food,” a fish vendor said casually.

A vague sense of dread crept into Nam’s heart. Something felt off.

Just then, a shiny black car pulled up at the entrance of the market. Out stepped a middle-aged man in a suit, followed by two others. They walked straight toward Nam.

“Are you Nam?” the man asked, polite but firm.
“Yes, that’s me. Is something wrong?” Nam replied, still clutching his tickets tightly.

“Mr. Tu asked me to bring you somewhere. He’s waiting.”
Nam’s eyes widened.
“Where is he? Is he okay?” he asked urgently.

The man smiled without answering and handed Nam a business card. On it were the words:
“Tuan Minh Group – Head Office” along with a specific address.

Nam hesitated but finally agreed to go, his heart pounding with uncertainty.

He had no idea he was stepping into an entirely new world — one filled with tailored suits, towering office buildings, and boardroom meetings worth billions.

The car stopped in front of a soaring skyscraper, its glass walls glinting in the sun. Nam stood there for a moment, feeling like a little sparrow lost in a land of eagles.

But soon, he was led to the top floor — to a spacious, warmly lit room, nothing like the cold, intimidating place he had imagined.

Tư was no longer the ragged old man sitting idly in the market. In front of Nam now stood an elderly gentleman in a neat suit, his eyes sharp and filled with authority. Nam was stunned. “Y-you’re Mr. Tư?” he stammered.

The old man nodded, his voice deep and calm, yet full of power. “I am Trần Quốc Tuấn, the founder of this corporation. But recently, my health has declined, so I decided to go into hiding for a while to observe the real world—and real people.”

Before Nam could respond, Mr. Tư continued, “I’ve met many people, heard countless stories. But only you—a boy who has nothing—still managed to keep your kindness and unwavering integrity. You protect others even when you’re struggling yourself. You deserve a chance.”

Nam, confused and overwhelmed, looked up with teary eyes. “I’m just a poor lottery ticket seller… how could I possibly be worthy?”

Mr. Tư smiled warmly. “Precisely because you think you’re not worthy—that is what makes you worthy. I don’t need the smartest person. I need someone with a compassionate and brave heart.”

He stood up, stepped toward Nam, and handed him a folder. “This is a special scholarship, called the ‘Heart of Steel,’ for young people who rise from hardship. You will receive proper training and study in the best environment. And if you remain the person you are now, I will entrust this entire corporation to you in the future.”

Nam was speechless, his eyes brimming with tears. “Thank you, sir… but if I may, I only ask for one thing—please let me help other kids like me, like little Tèo the other day. I don’t want anyone else to go hungry or cold the way I did.”

Mr. Tư laughed gently, his voice warm. “The moment you said that, I knew I had chosen the right person.”