Pei Yicheng sealed the box back up exactly as it was, then casually took a sheet of paper from the drawer and wrote a few words.
The next day.
When Ling Dong returned the box to the Pei Family, it happened to be the moment when Pei Guozhong was heading out. He saw this familiar-looking box and frowned. He reached out to open it and saw the bold, vigorous handwriting—it was from Pei Yicheng.
Dirty, don't care for it.
Just four short words, powerful and forceful.
Pei Guozhong's hand suddenly tightened. In his mind, Pei Yicheng's cold-as-ice face flashed by uncontrollably, and he automatically completed the meaning of those words: Don't insult people with your money, nobody cares about your money.
Since Du Ya passed away, Pei Yicheng hadn't used a single penny from him.
"You bastard!"
Pei Guozhong ripped that slip of paper to shreds in no time, his face livid with rage. He flung his hand, and the scraps fluttered down like white snow, drifting all over the floor.
