The aide was visibly upset.
It was a trivial matter.
Yet the old man had exploded, practically cursing her entire lineage back eighteen generations.
“It’s fine now, you can go,” Zheng Yifan said. “We’ll talk to Dad. He’s old, and with Mom just gone, he’s in a bad mood—quick to snap. Please bear with him, Auntie.”
As he spoke, he pulled out his wallet and fished out a small stack of bills—maybe a thousand or so. He handed it to her.
“You’re taking care of Dad every day, and he’s got a temper. It’s tough work. This is a little extra for you—a bonus of sorts.”
Since he framed it as a bonus, the aide didn’t refuse. She took the money, thanked Zheng Yifan, and left.
She’d been hurt by the scolding, sure, but the extra cash softened the sting. She wouldn’t hold it against the old man.
Ever since he’d been caught cheating by the matriarch, Zheng Hua had kept up his groveling act in front of her. But with the aides, he’d turned volatile—unpredictable.
The slightest misstep could set him off, ranting and raving, even demanding the housekeeper fire them.
One colleague had been reduced to tears by his tirade and quit on the spot.
“What’re you giving her money for?” Zheng Hua snapped at his eldest son. “She let go before I had a grip—the apple fell and got dirty. Then she picks it up, washes it, and hands it back like it’s fine. Hospital floors are crawling with germs, no matter how often they’re mopped.”
“You three need to watch your spending from now on. Spend what’s necessary, not a cent more. Your mom’s not here to bail you out anymore.”
“So, how’d it go? Did you manage what I asked?”
Zheng Hua didn’t hold much hope, but he still clung to a flicker of it.
Zheng Yifan dragged over a stool and sat down.
“Dad, look at our faces—you’ll know if we pulled it off. We can’t even get through the family gates. At the company, everyone’s watching us. It’s not like before when people jumped at our call and gave us face.”
“That damn Feng Qing—she’s impenetrable. Nothing gets through to her.”
Zheng Hua’s face darkened. “That little brat’s always been like that. I tell her things, and she doesn’t listen.”
“Didn’t you ask her about your mom’s will?”
“…Forgot. She got me so mad my head was pounding—couldn’t think straight,” Zheng Yifan said, guilt creeping into his voice.
“No worries about Mom’s private assets—they won’t snatch those. I’m just afraid Feng Qing won’t split them with us. That girl’s always playing the righteous martyr, all high and mighty. Every time I see her, I want to slap her a few times.”
“Forget the rest for now—focus on getting your mom’s private assets. Find that lawyer and ask if she revised her will later on. If she didn’t, demand that little brat split it according to the original terms.”
Zheng Yifan nodded. “We’ll go see the lawyer soon and push for Mom’s estate to be divided.”
Dad was right—claiming their mother’s private assets was their rightful move.
The Feng family fortune was out of reach, and there was nothing they could do about it.
They’d have to settle for second best.
“No next moves from the Guancheng folks yet?” Zheng Hua asked.
“Not yet. Most of them headed back, though. Only Mrs. Shang and her husband stayed with that old geezer, plus Hai Ling and the Zhan family’s third young master. Oh, and Lu Fourth Young Master showed up.”
Zheng Hua mulled it over. “Must be the New Year coming up. With your mom just gone, debts die with the dead, and the deceased get respect. They’re holding off for now. After the holidays, the outcome’ll be set. We’ve got a bit of time.”
“For the next few days, hound Feng Qing about splitting your mom’s assets. The stuff in the Feng mansion—if you can’t get in during the day, go at night. Sneak over the wall quietly.”
