Chapter 100: I Want Both the Money and the Girl! (Request Subscription)

Two hours later, the car left the highway, crossed Dongjin Du Bridge, and headed toward the old district.

On the way, they first dropped Meng Jie off at home, and Wang Zihao got out at Qipan Street.

Chen Yansen returned to the driver’s seat, drove along Beidajie, and finally parked in front of Guobin Bookstore.

With students on winter break, the bookstore was empty, just like the weather.

Chen Guobin was deeply absorbed in a novel as thick as a brick.

“Beep-beep-beep!”

Chen Yansen honked twice and flashed his headlights at Chen Guobin.

“Fuck! Think you’re big shit with your car!” Chen Guobin raised his hand to shield his eyes, cursed under his breath, and tossed the novel aside before heading out.

He was about to yell when the BMW window rolled down, revealing a smug grin—it was his bastard son.

“If your mom knew her son had turned out so well, she’d probably wake up laughing every day,” Chen Guobin swallowed the rest of his curse and sighed.

“Old Chen, you weren’t bad back then either—didn’t you drive a golden minivan in the ’90s? That was pretty flashy.” Chen Yansen pointed at the junker parked outside and teased.

That minivan rattled everywhere except the horn.

“Enough, go home first—I won’t be done for a while,” Chen Guobin rolled his eyes and waved him off.

“Students are all on break—what are you waiting for, ghosts to show up? Close up, I’ll take you out for a big meal—consider it a little New Year’s celebration.” Chen Yansen grumbled.

Guobin Bookstore was near the school, which had clear pros and cons—once break started, the front was so quiet not even sparrows came.

Chen Guobin turned to look—indeed, the streets were utterly silent, not even a barking dog to be heard—and with that mention of “little New Year,” he finally nodded.

He turned back to the bookstore entrance, began sorting magazines, newspapers, and study guides, stacking them into boxes and carrying them inside—this repetitive, tedious work, he’d done for twenty years.

Chen Yansen watched for a while, then got out to help.

“Sit there and rest—you’re clumsy, you’ll mess up my books,” Chen Guobin rejected his help with a disgusted frown.

Chen Yansen was holding two books; hearing that, he casually dropped them.

He’d played the good son for only a few minutes—he was already impatient, pulled out his phone, and started chatting with Meng Jie and Song Yuncheng.

The old man liked to fuss—let him do it alone.

About an hour later, Chen Guobin pulled down the roller shutter and said to Chen Yansen: “Let’s go.”

Chen Yansen put away his phone, nodded, got in, and took the driver’s seat.

“Juhongsheng or Chunshen Lou?”

Only after Chen Guobin fastened his seatbelt did Chen Yansen ask.

Both were local old-school restaurants, open for decades, their flavors perfectly suited to local tastes—everyone loved going there.

“Just pick any roadside stall,” Chen Guobin muttered quietly.

“Forget it—Chunshen Lou then.” Chen Yansen made the decision outright and drove out of town.

Chen Guobin said nothing aloud, but inside he was pleased—first, Chen Yansen had grown far more composed since high school; second, his son’s filial gesture warmed his heart.

As for Chen Yansen always calling him “Old Chen,” he’d long grown used to it.

With the Lunar New Year approaching, when Chen Yansen arrived at the restaurant, the server said all private rooms were booked, but the main hall was noisy.

Seeing Chen Yansen frown, Chen Guobin whispered: “The main hall’s fine too.”

“Arrange us a private room. Our bill will be at least double your minimum spend.”

Chen Yansen knew the industry’s unspoken rules—saying there were no private rooms meant they were judging their spending power and feared low consumption would hurt business.

“Right away, gentlemen, this way,” the server’s attitude instantly shifted, as if he’d changed personalities.

“...” Chen Guobin looked from the server to his son, finally understanding the meaning of “money moves ghosts.”

Inside the private room, Chen Yansen ordered aggressively—meat and vegetables, only the expensive dishes—three or four courses already tripled the room’s minimum spend.

It was the first time in his life he’d ever treated Old Chen to a meal.

Chen Guobin wanted to advise him, but seeing Chen Yansen’s demeanor, he realized: this kid never listened before, and he certainly wouldn’t now.

“Bring a bottle of Maotai,” Chen Yansen told the server.

Not because he wanted to drink, but because Old Chen had never tried it—considered a filial offering.

“You’re driving—drinking isn’t appropriate,” Chen Guobin shook his head and refused.

“No problem—just hire a driver,” Chen Yansen said lightly, cutting off all escape routes.

After the server left, the two stared at each other in silence.

After a long pause, Chen Guobin suddenly said: “Your third uncle came to me last month—he wants you to visit your grandparents for the New Year.”

“Did you agree?” Chen Yansen picked up his tea cup, took a sip, and asked.

“No—I told him to let you decide,” Chen Guobin muttered.

“Old Chen, I’m not heartless—I remember every sneer and insult from when you took me to your parents’ house as a kid. Do you think they believe I’m too young to remember?”

Chen Yansen snorted—his meaning was clear: I won’t go.

“Alright, fine—I’ll tell your third uncle clearly next time,” Chen Guobin understood the Liang family’s ways.

Now they wanted to reconnect only because they’d heard Chen Yansen had made a fortune—using New Year visits as an excuse to extract benefits.

“Tell me about you—only forty-one, really not planning to find someone else? I have no interest in supporting you in old age—you need a wife, to take care of yourself.”

Chen Yansen spoke like a stern father scolding his son.

“I really have no such plans,” Chen Guobin glared, then after ten seconds, sighed heavily and grumbled.

“Then when you’re old, don’t expect me to care,” Chen Yansen chuckled, utterly unconcerned with Chen Guobin’s feelings.

“I’ve got money—I don’t need you to manage me!” Chen Guobin snorted.

After that, silence fell again.

For over a decade, this mode of interaction had become second nature to them.

The food and drinks arrived; they tentatively clinked glasses. After a few drinks, Chen Guobin relaxed slightly.

“That girl you mentioned last time—is she from the same school?” Chen Guobin, slightly tipsy, asked with a smile.

“Yeah—her dad’s the CEO of the Agricultural and Livestock Bank, her mom’s an English teacher at the Experimental Primary School, only child—her entire family fortune will be mine.”

Chen Yansen spoke casually.

“You’re not just after the girl—you’re after her family fortune too?” Chen Guobin was both annoyed and amused, couldn’t believe this was his own son.

“What else? Should I learn from you?” Chen Yansen shot back.

Chen Guobin had three brothers-in-law; two despised him, and only the youngest, because of his good relationship with Liang Huizhen, still kept in touch.

His father-in-law treated Chen Guobin worse than his own dog.

“By the way, last time I told you to buy more apartment units from the Salt Company—did you?” Chen Yansen noticed Chen Guobin’s slumped posture and quickly changed the subject.

“Bought two—when the demolition finally happens, I’ll…” Chen Guobin trailed off mid-sentence.

He suddenly realized: with Chen Yansen’s current earning speed, he didn’t need him to prepare a wedding apartment.

This kid had no shame—he wanted the girl and her fortune; why would he need his father worrying about buying a house?

“Buy another ten or so—if you’re short on cash, I’ll lend you some. After demolition, go buy a few shops on Chunshen Business Street and collect rent.”

Chen Yansen laid out Chen Guobin’s retirement plan in three sentences.

“Later,” Chen Guobin couldn’t bring himself to use Chen Yansen’s money—even if it was a loan, he couldn’t ask.

Chen Yansen smiled—this was why Old Chen had been poor his whole life: he couldn’t seize opportunities, too thin-skinned, too morally rigid.

Chen Yansen understood—he wouldn’t push Old Chen; he’d find a real estate agent later and handle it himself.

They clinked glasses, drank, and interacted like friends—or even buddies—but nothing like father and son.

“I’m going to the restroom,” Old Chen stood up unsteadily, squinting with a grin.

Chen Yansen nodded, opened the photo Meng Jie had sent—a family of three, the table full of home-cooked dishes, clearly well-prepared—and replied: “Mom’s cooking is amazing—can I come over tomorrow for a meal?”

“Mom, Chen Yansen said your cooking’s great and wants to come eat at our place?” Meng Jie relayed it honestly—Chen Yansen’s use of “our mom” made her cheeks flush.

“Huh!?” Meng Jie’s mother, Zhang Yanni, froze and exchanged a glance with Meng Zhenguó.

“Isn’t this too fast?” Zhang Yanni said. She knew Chen Yansen and had heard about his university achievements.

He’d built a company worth 2.8 billion by his first year of college—impressive, and she didn’t oppose their relationship.

But meeting parents this early still felt too soon.

“He’s just teasing you—he’ll find an excuse to back out if you really invite him,” Meng Zhenguó sneered, confident in his assessment.

“Fine,” Meng Jie said, pouting. “Mom says she’ll go to the market early tomorrow and cook you a few special dishes.” She tested Chen Yansen.

“Tomorrow? Unlucky—I had a dream from Mom saying she’s short on cash down there and needs me to burn her some money,” Chen Yansen replied instantly.

“I told you—he’s like a fox spirit reincarnated, always making up nonsense,” Meng Zhenguó pointed at the message, smugly triumphant.

“How about noon the day after tomorrow?” Chen Yansen sent another message.

Meng Jie waved her phone in front of Meng Zhenguó’s face, pouting: “Dad, you guessed wrong!”

Meng Zhenguó stared, internally shocked—how did this kid not follow the script? He didn’t want to host Chen Yansen at all.

On the other side.

Chen Yansen waited a long time in the private room—Chen Guobin hadn’t returned. He wondered: had Old Chen drunk too much and passed out in the bathroom?

Thinking this, he stood up and headed toward the restroom.

After a few steps, he saw Chen Guobin loudly arguing with a man in his fifties.

“Old Chen, what’s going on?” Chen Yansen stepped forward, shoved the man away from Chen Guobin, and asked.

“Look at this kid you raised—no manners at all! Doesn’t even greet his uncle!” Liang Anguo pointed at Chen Guobin’s nose and yelled.

Uncle?

Chen Yansen turned to look, grinned: “Mr. Liang runs a supermarket? Bet I can open another one right across from yours and drive you out of business.”

What the hell kind of uncle!

Chen Yansen wouldn’t give him any face!

“You little brat, how dare you!” Liang Anguo clutched his chest, furious, pointing at Chen Yansen, wanting to curse but dared not.

He had heard that Chen Yansen had made a fortune in the internet business, with deals worth hundreds of millions; his small grocery store couldn't withstand such upheaval.

“Get out!” Chen Yansen spat, then added a warning: “Next time you see my father, show some respect—or I won’t mind spending tens of millions to swallow your business whole.”

Liang Anguo hadn’t expected Chen Yansen to be so ruthless; his face flushed red and pale, frozen in place, at a loss.

Chen Yansen pulled Chen Guobin back into the private room; he had no interest in dealing with the Liang family.

“Sigh, he’s still your uncle,” Chen Guobin sighed.

“Next time, stand your ground. If someone points at you and curses, hit back—I’ve got your back.”

“Brat! I’m not a kid—I’m an old man, do you want me to fight?” Chen Guobin chuckled bitterly, raising his wine cup, eyes reddening—he was thinking of his wife again.

Chen Yansen smiled carefree, thinking: Even if I meet a girl like my mother, it won’t stop me from falling for someone else.

Life is so long—loving only one person is such a waste!

After drinking and eating his fill, Chen Yansen called a driver, and had the car taken back to the Salt Company’s staff apartment building.

Neighbors below spotted the BMW and began whispering about whose car it was.

Only when they saw Chen Yansen helping Chen Guobin up the stairs did they confirm: the news was right—Old Chen’s son had truly made it.

Apartment 401.

Chen Yansen lay on his bed, opened the news link forwarded by the intermediary—the headline blared: Amazon Internal Purge: Former Channel Director Zhang Hanhua Detained.

“Director Zhang, looks like you’ll never go hungry again. After five years, you’ll have a new skill to support your family—don’t thank me too much.”

Chen Yansen smiled faintly, muttering to himself.

Whether or not he was behind the fake alcohol incident didn’t matter anymore.

Chen Yansen’s modus operandi was simple: once he suspected someone, even if they were innocent, he treated them as guilty—and crushed them utterly.

(End of Chapter)