Chapter 987: The Classic Example of Eating Rice and Smashing the Pot

Zhou Anlei had woken up long ago, expecting Zhou Andong to come call him for breakfast, so he had been waiting.

“Why are you all getting up so late? I’m starving. Come on, why are you still standing there? Let’s go eat.”

Zhou Anlei stood at the doorway, watching Zhou Andong and Jian Qiu enter the room and sit down on the sofa.

“Wait, what’s your meaning?”

Zhou Andong crossed his legs, pulled out a cigarette, and lit it: “We’re not hungry. We don’t feel like eating this morning.”

Jian Qiu’s lips twitched, and she turned her face away.

“Then… what am I supposed to do?”

“Every single day, besides eating, what else do you know how to do?”

Zhou Andong looked like he was utterly disappointed in him.

“Can’t you think of something worthwhile? Think about your future path—what are you going to do?”

“I…”

In the past, Zhou Anlei would have cursed back. But facing the current Zhou Andong, he felt genuinely uneasy, under immense pressure, and dared not retort.

Especially after last night’s banquet—though he didn’t know those people, even his small brain knew they were major figures.

Without Zhou Andong, he would never in his life have come into contact with such people, let alone attended such a lavish banquet.

Especially when he saw those big shots warmly greeting Zhou Andong and chatting with him, he suddenly realized: his cousin, only half a year younger than him, was no longer the same person.

“If you’re hungry, go to the restaurant yourself later,” Zhou Andong picked up the ashtray and flicked off some ash. “It’s on the second floor, the hall next to last night’s banquet room.”

“After you eat, go get your hair cut yourself. Tonight I’ll take you to buy clothes.”

“Me… by myself?” Zhou Anlei was reluctant.

“What’s the problem?” Zhou Andong looked at Zhou Anlei. “You’re a grown man. Afraid you’ll get lost?”

“I’m not afraid of getting lost,” Zhou Anlei voiced his concern. “You You Wenchang is a gangster—he got dragged in because of you. What if I run into his guys?”

Zhou Andong snorted. “Them? Gangsters?”

“Yeah!” Zhou Anlei nodded. “These guys are ruthless. They’ll do anything.”

Zhou Andong smiled and asked: “Do you even know what a real gangster is?”

“Of course I do,” Zhou Anlei said matter-of-factly. “Tattoos, shaved heads or dyed hair, big gold chains… just like You Wenchang and his crew.”

“Let me tell you,” Zhou Andong took a drag. “Real gangsters wear suits and ties, live in mansions, drive luxury cars.”

Zhou Anlei asked: “Then what are You Wenchang and his guys?”

“Them?” Zhou Andong snorted. “They’re idiots.”

“Then I definitely won’t go cut my hair alone,” Zhou Anlei shook his head vigorously. “I’ll wait until you have time to take me.”

Zhou Andong frowned. “You’re scared of a bunch of idiots? What kind of man are you?”

Zhou Anlei complained: “Like you said, real gangsters wear suits and ties—they think before they act. But idiots? They don’t think at all. If I run into one, they might just beat me up for no reason.”

“Hahaha…”

Jian Qiu couldn’t hold back and burst out laughing, nudging Zhou Andong’s dark-faced shoulder teasingly.

“I think that makes sense. Idiots don’t use their brains. Let’s go with him tonight.”

Zhou Andong stared at Zhou Anlei, making the guy’s skin crawl—he couldn’t meet Zhou Andong’s gaze, slowly lowering his head like a guilty elementary school student.

“Sigh!”

Zhou Andong sighed, stood up: “Time’s up. Let’s go.”

Zhou Anlei went upstairs alone to eat. Zhou Andong and Jian Qiu headed to the eighth-floor venue.

Cao Li, dressed in professional attire, was already waiting at the venue entrance. Seeing Zhou Andong and Jian Qiu, she hurried over.

“Director Zhou, Director Jian, please come in.”

Cao Li gestured them forward and led the way: “Director Wu and Director Zhang are already here.”

“Brother!” came Zhou Qianyi’s voice from behind.

Zhou Andong stopped and turned around. A girl in professional attire was guiding Grandpa San and Zhou Qianyi into the venue.

“Sister-in-law!” Zhou Qianyi called out warmly.

“Let’s go together,” Zhou Andong said. “Grandpa, how did you sleep last night?”

Old Man Zhou beamed. “Excellent. I haven’t slept so comfortably in years.”

Zhou Qianyi smiled. “She got up at six-thirty and wandered around for over an hour.”

The venue was small, holding about two hundred people, and already filled with many attendees.

Zhou Andong and Jian Qiu’s seats were on the front row, left side. The several people seated in the center were all famous tycoons from Hong Kong, Macau, and Taiwan.

“Mr. Zhou, this is your and Miss Zhou’s seat.”

Old Man Zhou naturally sat in the center. After speaking to Zhou Andong, he took his seat.

Zhou Andong glanced at the several people in the center, then nodded with a smile.

The others gave polite responses. One man, around forty, merely lifted his eyelids slightly and whispered something to a middle-aged man beside him.

Zhou Andong smiled, looked at the name cards on the table. Among these tycoons, he recognized only one—the man who had lifted his eyelids at him.

He recognized him because the man was extremely arrogant—the classic example of eating Chinese rice and smashing Chinese pots. He once donated 1.5 billion U.S. dollars to Harvard, declaring he would never donate a single penny to China.

In another speech, he publicly stated he was ashamed to be Chinese, sparking nationwide outrage. Zhou Andong, like countless angry youths, had online-bashed this man for days.

But such online attacks had zero effect on him—he kept making money in China as usual, even openly mocking people like Zhou Andong.

Wu Hongkang was also in the front row—after all, as the factory director of a state-owned old enterprise, his status was undeniable, and he sat right next to Zhou Andong.

As for Zhang Shenghui, he was in the second row. Qinchi’s momentum was strong, but its scale still fell short.

In such a venue, strength and status were equal. If you had strength, you had status—and sat up front. It wasn’t sorted by surname alphabetically.

“Director Zhou!” Wu Hongkang called out. “Over here!”

Zhou Andong and Jian Qiu walked over and sat down, then glanced back at Zhang Shenghui, who was far away, and waved.

Wu Hongkang leaned over, whispering to Zhou Andong: “You know Zhuo Qihua?”

“I’ve heard of him,” Zhou Andong nodded.

Zhuo Qihua was the man who ate Chinese rice and smashed Chinese pots.

Wu Hongkang lowered his voice even further: “I heard a university approached Zhuo Qihua for money yesterday. I don’t know the details, but it ended badly.”

Zhou Andong asked curiously: “Why him specifically? Didn’t they ask anyone else?”

Wu Hongkang shook his head. “I don’t know if they asked others, but Zhuo Qihua is a well-known philanthropist—he donates to foreign universities every year. I guess that’s why they came to him.”