Chapter 378: Why the Hell Won

"Someone's paying us? Who's going to give us a million dollars?"

Ai Zhixin didn't believe his father's words—after nearly a decade in the lighthouse, their family's finances had always been tight; if such a million-dollar connection existed, they'd have seized it long ago.

Prince Béile pulled out a thick notebook, pointed to a number on it, and curled his lips into a wicked smile: "Dial this number, and we'll have the capital to invest back on the mainland."

Ai Zhixin saw the number began with 0081 and exclaimed in shock: "Father, you want to get a Japanese to fund us?"

Prince Béile chuckled: "Exactly! Nakamura the old turtle ate so much from us—let him spit some back, isn't that only fair?"

Ai Zhixin said nothing, because Nakamura Kenshou left a shadow in his heart that could never be erased.

When Nakamura Kenshou was still Colonel Nakamura, Prince Béile had once pledged allegiance to him and swaggered for years—until fortune turned; after following Nakamura to Japan, they not only surrendered all their family wealth to the Japanese, but also lost Elder Brother Ai Zhiren's life.

Now, asking Nakamura Kenshou for money to invest back home—what's that called? Bargaining with a tiger?

Or snatching meat from its jaws?

Prince Béile shot his son a cold glance, squinting: "Right now, if I asked you to return and invest in a company, do you still have the confidence to do it well?"

"Yes, Father, I'm confident I can do it well."

With no escape left, Ai Zhixin had no choice but to grit his teeth and push forward.

"Don't worry, Xiao Xin," Ai Qiming said gently: "Back in Japan, we were fish on their plate—but now we hold Lighthouse citizenship. Who's eating whom is obvious, isn't it?"

Ai Zhixin swallowed hard several times and nodded: "You're right, Father—now they're the servants."

"I'm calling Mr. Nakamura Kenshou... this is the Lighthouse."

Ai Zhixin spoke in flawless Japanese to the butler on the other end, then handed the phone to his father.

"Father, the line's connected."

"Mm~"

Prince Béile took the phone, sat upright, his expression calm and resolute.

Moments later, a voice came through the line.

"Hello, who's calling?"

"Old friend, it's me."

The line fell silent for several seconds before a slow reply came: "Who is this?"

Prince Béile's face twisted with a grimace; in Mandarin, he spoke slowly, word by word: "Has Mr. Nakamura grown so old he can't recognize my voice?"

Silence again. Then a brief question: "Are you Qiming?"

Prince Béile chuckled: "I knew you wouldn't forget me—but now I'm Ai Qiming. Ten years apart, old friend, how have you been?"

"Not well," Nakamura Kenshou replied coldly: "Ever since you vanished without a word ten years ago, I've lain awake night after night, my health has declined steadily—I'm practically dead already!"

"Then wait a bit longer before you die," Ai Qiming said: "We've got news about that treasure we buried—I can't retrieve it alone, I need a partner. If you die, I'll have to find someone else."

Silence again on the line—but Ai Qiming could hear the other man's ragged breathing through the phone.

Ai Qiming teased: "Hey, old friend, shouldn't you take a heart pill first? If you keel over now, I'd feel terrible."

The breathing grew heavier—a man nearing eighty, suddenly provoked—would he drop dead right there?

But after half a minute, Nakamura Kenshou steadied himself, his voice dry: "Why me? Why choose me as your partner?"

Ai Qiming didn't hide it: "Because you know the treasure's value. Pay me two million dollars upfront, then we'll discuss the rest."

"You bastard! That treasure was mine! You Chinaman hid it—and now you're asking me for a deposit? Do you think I won't kill you right now?"

Ai Qiming was delighted, grinning: "Go ahead—I'm right here in the Lighthouse. Come kill me. Want my Social Security number?"

"You despicable worm, Baka yarō!"

"And what are you, you old turtle? I sold you my life for years, helped you win favor with powerful men—how did you treat me in the end? Come to San Francisco, let's settle this face-to-face—I'll show you whether I'll kill you or not."

Two rotten old men cursed each other over the phone for minutes before finally falling silent.

Nakamura Kenshou snarled: "Two million dollars—I'll give it to you. But I want to see you in person."

Ai Qiming smiled sweetly: "My son will invest in a company on the mainland—feel free to visit anytime. If you dare go there."

"I'll go. Wait for me."

Ai Zhixin, standing beside the phone, was stunned.

At first, he thought he'd underestimated his father—Ai Qiming had turned a million into two million in an instant. Truly, the old man's blade still sharp.

But by the end, Ai Qiming had sold him out—telling that old turtle to visit his factory. Didn't Father know how terrifying that old bastard was?

【You old bastard, still alive? Why the hell won't you die?】

Ai Qiming hung up the phone and smiled warmly: "Xiao Xin, among all of us, you're truly talented."

I can't go to Beijing myself—might run into old acquaintances, and the Guan brothers might panic and lash out."

But I've been studying mainland newspapers lately—I think Pengcheng is ideal: policies are loose, close to Hong Kong, easy to auction and ship goods."

Go invest in Pengcheng, invite the Guan brothers there to meet me—I'll plan from Hong Kong. Father and son, we'll fight them together."

Ai Zhixin couldn't refuse—he could only nod, eyes glistening with tears, accepting this suicide mission.

But then Ai Qiming asked strangely: "Xiao Xin, the Guan brothers gave you two things, right? Besides this Tang tri-color, where's the other one?"

"The other one... the other one..."

Ai Zhixin was about to spin a lie, but Ai Qiming waved his hand: "Forget it. It's yours. Your reward."

【Your reward? I really want to strangle you, you old corpse.】

Beijing. Heavy rain.

Li Juan and Li Ying sat on small stools beneath the eaves, watching the dense raindrops crash onto the ground, both feeling gloomy.

They'd planned to climb Xiangshan today—but this weather ruined everything.

Tomorrow was the day to return to Qingshui County; this year's chance was gone.

Li Ye walked over and smiled: "What's wrong? Didn't you two have enough fun? Stay a few more days—school hasn't started yet."

The two girls instantly perked up, their moods soaring.

These past few days had been heavenly.

The food, the drinks, the fun—every new thing they saw would let them brag for half a year back in Qingshui County.

If they stayed a few more days, who else in Qingshui Middle School could possibly be the stars?

It'd be us, the Li sisters, right?

But before they could enjoy three seconds of joy, their mother Han Chunmei spoke: "Xiao Ye, don't spoil them anymore."

"They've been wild these past two days—didn't even finish their summer homework. Can't let it hurt their studies—if they fail to get into university..."

The magic voice—classic magic voice. The girls instantly wilted, like eggplants struck by frost.

They knew well: once Mother invoked "hurting studies," no one in the family would defend them.

Li Ye's rise to top of the province was their benchmark—whether they could match it didn't matter; they had to aim for it.

Li Ye noticed Grandma Wu Juying glancing over, so he comforted his sisters: "This time's just bad luck. Next vacation, you can come anytime."

"There are so many rooms here—go pick one now. I'll prepare everything for you."

"Pick a room?"

The girls were tempted—owning a room in this courtyard meant they could return during holidays. That would be pure happiness.

Li Ying quietly poked her sister's arm, nodding toward a room in the west wing, urging her to choose it.

Li Juan whispered sharply: "Why don't you pick it? Make me take the blame?"

Li Ying whispered back: "You pick the room, I'll buy the train tickets. We'll come for winter break."

Li Juan's eyes narrowed: "Where'd you get money for train tickets?"

Li Ying: "Don't ask. If I tell you, you'll just tell Mom—and she'll take it. Then you won't get anything either."

"You're threatening me..."

The two girls bickered, while Wu Juying called Li Ye over.

"Xiao Ye, don't make promises lightly. You just promised them rooms—what about when you marry? What will you do then?"

"I just told your sister yesterday—when she marries, she'll move out. Why are you inviting these two in?"

"Xiao Juan and Xiao Ying aren't like Li Yue. I can kick Li Yue out with one word—but these two? Not so easy."

"Why are you kicking my sister out?"

Li Ye's face darkened—he'd never spoken back so sharply to his grandmother: "Nai, your thinking is wrong."

"A married daughter isn't water spilled out. Especially one who marries far away—she needs more care, not less."

"My sister's room here? I'll keep it for her forever. This is her home in Beijing."

In his past life, Li Ye had seen many proud girls—and many women crushed under oppression, mostly those who married far away.

In backward regions, married daughters were ignored; even returning for New Year meant endless rules. Their hearts were truly broken.

Most of Dongshan had decent customs—but a few places were vile: brides married on New Year's Eve couldn't even stay at their parents' home. That's why guesthouses in town were packed every New Year's Eve—with brides from afar.

Can you imagine how those girls felt?

Li Yue probably won't suffer under Yang Yumin—but Li Ye had to give her backbone.

He'd said before: if Yang Yumin upset Li Yue, he'd storm over and show him how hard his fists were. But marital squabbles? Outsiders shouldn't interfere—more interference, worse marriage.

So having her own space? That's the buffer. "Returning to the natal home"? A tradition proven for nearly a thousand years.

Wu Juying tugged Li Ye's sleeve, whispering: "But when you marry? The Wen girl won't say anything—but she'll resent it. Keeping a room for your elder sister? Ridiculous."

"Where did you get that idea?"

Li Ye smiled: "Xiao Yu and I already picked out another house—behind Tiananmen. We're buying it soon. So Nai, don't worry."

"Why buy so many houses? You should save money in the bank and earn interest."

Li Ye didn't explain the house's appreciation, only smiled and said, "Grandma, don't worry about it. Money must be spent where it counts. In the future, wherever our daughters marry, we'll buy a house there—we won't let our family be slighted over property."

At that moment, Li Yue walked in under an umbrella, and her eyes instantly welled up—no one could tell if it was from the rain or from sand in her eyes.