Pei Yicheng resealed the box as it was and casually took a piece of paper from the drawer to scribble down a few characters.
The next day.
When Ling Dong returned the box to the Pei Family's house, it happened to be when Pei Guozhong was stepping out. He saw the familiar-looking box, frowned, and opened it to find the powerful and vigorous handwriting of Yicheng.
Dirty, not coveted.
The short four characters, powerful and vigorous.
Pei Guozhong's hand suddenly tightened, and in his mind, an image of Yicheng's extremely indifferent expression flashed involuntarily, automatically filling in the rest of the message: Don't use your money to insult people, no one covets your money.
Since Du Ya passed away, Yicheng had not used a single cent of his money.
"Bastard!"
Pei Guozhong tore the note to shreds in no time, his face turning steely with anger. With a flick of his hand, the paper fragments fluttered down like snowflakes, scattering all over the ground.
