Ying Zenan thought about how Ying Jing wanted to trick him out of a million this afternoon. He abruptly corrected himself. "Why don't you ask Dad? He often says you're his little darling."
She's indeed his little darling, but recently, this little darling seems to be letting in a draft.
"Brother, my jacket is torn and needs mending."
"How do you mend it?"
"Stuff it with some money and sew it up."
Ying Zenan: ...
The brother disdainfully pushed away his sister's head.
After finishing their chat, the two walked downstairs, and Ying Zenan's relaxed demeanor instantly tensed up.
His mind was filled with questions — why is he here, why would he be here.
"Wen Fucheng?"
As Ying Zenan spoke, the two on the stairs also saw them. Wen Fucheng's gaze briefly landed on Ying Jing before shifting to Ying Zenan. "Mr. Ying."
Ying Haiyun gave his son a dissatisfied glare.
"Don't you understand manners? A guest arrives and you neither greet nor address them, just shout like that."
