Chapter 385: Am I Worth Only Eighty Yuan?

"Hey, wake up, wake up"

"Ugh, I'm so tired. Just a little longer."

"What's there to sleep for? It's almost dawn."

Fu Guiyin's head spun dazedly—the lingering effects of strong liquor combined with a surge of hormones gave her a floating sensation; right now she felt utterly drained.

But someone kept shoving her shoulders, even slapping her face, forcing her to struggle open her eyes.

The man before her gradually came into focus.

Around thirty, at first glance he bore a faint resemblance to Xu Ziliang—but look closer, why was he so greasy?

Not a trace of the refined elegance of a noble gentleman, only the slickness forged by life's brutal grind.

But think about it again.

Forget it, forget it. Don't judge a man by his appearance. At least I didn't lose out!

But the next moment, another younger, shorter man appeared behind the greasy one, and several neatly printed bills were flung onto Fu Guiyin's face.

"Put on your clothes and get out right now!"

What's going on? What does this mean? Why are they throwing money at me?

Fu Guiyin recognized these printed bills—they were called "Great Unity," ten-yuan RMB, worthless on international markets, a low-value local currency.

Fu Guiyin was stunned—completely stunned.

Why was this man in her room? And why was he giving her money?

But the greasy man didn't wait for Fu Guiyin to recover—he hurriedly dressed her, shoved the cash into her hand, and half-carried, half-shoved her out the door.

"Bang"

As the door slammed shut, the hangover-numbed Fu Guiyin finally understood what had happened.

She'd been mistaken—and the misunderstanding was unimaginable.

She counted the bills in her hand: one, two, three, four, five—eight in total.

Eighty yuan? I, a millionaire's daughter, am only worth eighty yuan?

I walked into the wrong room, that's my fault—but eighty yuan? Do you want to die?

After shoving Fu Guiyin out the door, the greasy man leaned on his lower back and chuckled: "Where did Mr. Nakamura find this kind of gem? Though she looks a bit older, she's actually quite capable."

"Her technique is good, and her clothes and cosmetics seem high-end too—probably local premium goods, right?"

The man named Nakamura glanced at the greasy man coldly: "Her shenyin isn't professional. If Mr. Ai ever gets the chance to visit Japan, I'll let you see what real premium goods are like."

"Really? That's something to look forward to."

Ai Zhixin's smile was bright, eager, and polite.

But he had to use every ounce of willpower to keep his teeth from grinding together.

After all, you can't smile while gnashing your teeth.

I'm not stupid enough to go to Japan! Last time I nearly died at your grandfather's hands—you bloodsuckers, outwardly civilized and polite, but inside more vicious than demons.

Ten years ago, Ai Zhixin had watched his own family driven to agonized moans by Nakamura Kenshou.

Their money was completely drained, they were reduced to weeping helplessly—and yet that old bastard still complained their shenyin wasn't professional enough.

Ai Zhixin still didn't understand what mindset certain Japanese women had to produce those screams interpreted as "ecstatic submission."

Compared to them, the girls from the Lantern were too blunt, too unrefined, too lacking in softness, too damn crude, too damn unprofessional.

And this kid named Nakamura Naoto had the nerve to say "shenyin isn't professional" right to my face—was he mocking me?

If it weren't for my father's and my grand revival plan, I'd have slapped him across the face right now.

In his eyes, this kid, half a head shorter than him, was nowhere near his level in physical strength.

Nakamura Naoto looked at Ai Zhixin's smiling face, but his own expression grew grim.

Ten years ago, he was still young and hadn't deeply interacted with Ai Zhixin's family—but his father and grandfather had both warned him about the Bole family's deceit.

The Bole family's extreme groveling had lulled the Nakamura family into complacency, allowing them to escape to the Lantern.

And this time, when the two families teamed up, Grandfather reportedly smashed his favorite teapot after taking a call from the Bole.

So Nakamura Naoto had approached this partnership with Ai Zhixin with extreme caution.

But now, it seemed the other side still hadn't straightened his spine.

Could it be that an eagle had birthed a night owl—each generation weaker than the last?

"Bang bang bang bang bang"

Ai Zhixin and Nakamura Naoto were still lost in their own thoughts when a furious pounding on the door suddenly erupted.

Ai Zhixin frowned, walked over, and peered through the peephole—he saw Fu Guiyin, who had been limp moments ago, now red-eyed and wildly pounding on the door.

Ai Zhixin instantly panicked—Fu Guiyin's expression was terrifying. If she held a knife, he'd believe she meant to kill him.

He quickly turned to Nakamura Naoto: "That woman just now—you didn't pay her enough? I told you this quality couldn't be this cheap!"

But Nakamura Naoto remained calm: "I hate people who try to haggle last-minute. No sense of contract. Don't worry—the hotel will throw her out."

"Really?"

Ai Zhixin was skeptical, but Nakamura Naoto had claimed he'd been in mainland China for four years—he should know the local situation better.

Minutes later, hotel staff arrived.

But the outcome contradicted Nakamura Naoto's claim—Fu Guiyin was a registered guest, with a room key as proof.

Had the hotel staff not intervened forcefully, the two men would've been scratched to bloody shreds.

Nakamura Naoto displayed exceptional physical fitness—he dodged out the door in seconds and vanished, leaving Ai Zhixin alone to face Fu Guiyin's rage.

After raging for several minutes, Fu Guiyin began to run out of steam—kidney deficiency wasn't just a man's problem; women who pushed too hard also collapsed.

"I'm calling the cops. You're not getting away. You're dead."

Fu Guiyin threatened Ai Zhixin with venomous intensity.

Ai Zhixin panicked—Old Song had warned him back in Beijing about the strictness here. How could he have been so careless?

He spoke carefully: "It's a misunderstanding, all a misunderstanding. Beautiful lady, please don't call the police. This kind of thing has terrible consequences here—we'll both be in trouble. Let's have a drink and talk it over?"

"A drink? Talk?"

Fu Guiyin looked at Ai Zhixin, suddenly so humble, and felt a surge of intense pleasure.

Ai Zhixin still bore a faint resemblance to Xu Ziliang—and this groveling flattery was exactly what Fu Guiyin had dreamed of for years.

This submissive, obedient attitude, this surrender to the other's control—it made Fu Guiyin adore it.

She twirled her room key on her finger like a spinning windmill, as light and mischievous as her mood.

"Fine. Come to my room. Let's have a proper drink."

(End of Chapter)