Pei Yicheng resealed the box as it was and casually took a piece of paper from the drawer to scribble down a few characters.
When Ling Dong returned the box to the Pei Family’s house, it happened to be when Pei Guozhong was stepping out. He saw the familiar-looking box, frowned, and opened it to find the powerful and vigorous handwriting of Yicheng.
The short four characters, powerful and vigorous.
Pei Guozhong’s hand suddenly tightened, and in his mind, an image of Yicheng’s extremely indifferent expression flashed involuntarily, automatically filling in the rest of the message: Don’t use your money to insult people, no one covets your money.
Since Du Ya passed away, Yicheng had not used a single cent of his money.
Pei Guozhong tore the note to shreds in no time, his face turning steely with anger. With a flick of his hand, the paper fragments fluttered down like snowflakes, scattering all over the ground.
"What happened, what’s this?" Wan Hongxing emerged from the kitchen, saw Pei Guozhong still at the doorway, and came out to inquire, but Pei Guozhong did not respond and left angrily.
"Guozhong, what happened?"
As Wan Hongxing’s voice rose, she watched Pei Guozhong drive away, her face full of confusion. When she saw the box of cookies, her bewilderment grew—how could a box of cookies make Pei Guozhong so furious?
Driven by curiosity, Wan Hongxing opened the box to see what was really going on. As soon as she opened it, she found it filled with crisp hundred-yuan notes. Her heart skipped a beat; she quickly covered the box again and carried it into the house.
"Madam, let me help you," the housemaid offered her assistance.
Wan Hongxing smiled and declined, "No need."
Wan Hongxing carried the cookies all the way upstairs.
"Pei Yicheng," at the entrance of the architectural firm, Pei Guozhong caught Yicheng squarely.
Yicheng glanced at him, stopped in his tracks, and said, "No need to thank me."
He had returned the money, mocked him, and now he was supposed to be grateful?
The anger Pei Guozhong had managed to quell flared up again. He took a deep breath, saw the bustling crowd, turned, and walked into the architectural firm, saying, "Come with me."
Yicheng followed him all the way to his office before he casually closed the door.
"Disdaining my dirty money? Then the design fees obtained from Xiyue Hotel, you don’t disdain those as dirty?" Pei Guozhong challenged him.
Yicheng retorted righteously, "I earned my money through my own abilities; why should I disdain it?"
"Xiyue Hotel, that’s a project of the Pei’s," Guozhong reminded him.
Yicheng curled the corner of his mouth and replied, "I won the bid fair and square; my design proposal was recognized by all the judges and has nothing to do with the Pei’s."
Pei Guozhong wanted to counter, but he had nothing to say.
Yicheng sat down in his office chair and said, "If President Pei has anything to say regarding the proposal, feel free to speak. As the chief designer of Xiyue Hotel, I will surely know everything and spare no details."
The way Yicheng spoke was very official, treating Pei Guozhong somewhat like a common client. Apart from sharing the surname Pei, they were complete strangers.
Pei Guozhong uttered three ’good’s in a row. His anger turning into laughter as he stared at Yicheng. His features resembled his mother more and had always been a source of pride from childhood. He was the "son of someone else’s family" everyone talked about. Time passed, and he never disappointed him, but their father-son relationship had grown increasingly distant.