Donating to the writers’ association for event funding to support struggling writers would greatly boost Song Foxiang’s reputation. Song Shao’s suggestion hit Song Foxiang’s weak spot. He glanced at his daughter, Song Chan, who didn’t object. Song Foxiang went from listless to energized, “President Jiang, my nephew’s idea is exactly what I was thinking!”
Jiang Xuekun felt relieved.
Thankfully, Old Song wasn’t obsessed with money. This was a good resolution.
Jiang Xuekun praised Song Foxiang’s noble mindset and put the matter to rest, “Officer, write up the mediation agreement according to their mutual wishes.”
One dared to demand 100 million, and the other was willing to pay. Shocked as the officer was, he wouldn’t stop someone from spending their money.
The mediation agreement was easy to draft, but would they follow through with the payment?
The officer was a bit concerned.
Jiang Xuekun smiled, “Just write it. President Xie isn’t that kind of person.”
President Xie might want to be, but the Xie family wouldn’t let him.
The agreement was straightforward. Song Foxiang signed and pressed his fingerprint. The officer took it to Xie Jinghu, who was itching to leave the hospital. Admitted that afternoon, he was now eager to discharge. Xie Jinghu signed, leaving Assistant Qi to handle the details.
What a mess—100 million to settle a few punches.
Zhong Yong quietly asked Assistant Qi, “Feeling the pinch?”
Of course!
President Xie didn’t care about the money, but Assistant Qi did. That 100 million could’ve been his bonus.
Zhong Yong, as if reading his mind, smirked, “President Xie loves tossing money into the water. Nothing you can do but hear the splash. Oh, and since he broke Young Master Xie’s phone, I’m getting him a new one. Make sure you reimburse me.”
Assistant Qi felt stifled but didn’t dare defy Zhong Yong.
Both were subordinates, but their bosses had a hierarchy. Xie Yuping outranked Xie Jinghu, so Zhong Yong’s words carried more weight.
Why did President Xie bother? Breaking his son’s phone, only to pay for a new one.
And poor Assistant Qi had to handle it.
He watched Zhong Yong, who hummed a tune and left.
Young Master Xie had seen the show and left. Why stick around?
…
Song Foxiang also wanted to leave the hospital, but Song Shao suggested he stay one more night.
For a 100 million “performance fee,” Song Foxiang had to act the part.
Song Foxiang stressed, “I didn’t set the 100 million price. You said donate 50 million, and I agreed. Don’t hold this against me later…”
Whatever loss Song Foxiang had suffered at Song Shao’s hands still haunted him. He needed Song Shao’s assurance.
“I won’t give you grief, alright?” Song Shao promised, and Song Foxiang relaxed.
But Song Shao added, “This time, you were in the right, and President Xie’s a stickler for face, so he agreed to 100 million. I think there’s more to this we don’t know. Stay clear of the Xie family from now on, including that poetess Zou. Uncle, don’t dream of getting rich from beatings. Next time, someone might hit you, let you rot in a cell for days, and not pay a dime. Then you’d take the beating for nothing.”
That made sense.
Song Foxiang mentally mocked Xie Jinghu as a fool but knew he’d likely never meet another fool willing to pay 100 million to settle.
His mental benchmark was now 10 million per punch. Taking another beating would be a loss!
Poor Xiao Zou, stuck with a husband like Xie.
Song Foxiang still thought of Zou Weijun. Beyond initial admiration, he now felt pity, but he didn’t dare say it. His nephew would flip, and Song Chan wouldn’t be pleased either.
This thought dimmed the joy of the 100 million.
The money had killed his love!
…
“So, your dad’s paying 100 million to Editor Song?”
Wen Ying heard the news the next day.
She’d messaged Xie Qian after getting home, but he didn’t reply. She figured he was busy with the dispute.
The next day, she learned Xie Jinghu had smashed Xie Qian’s phone.
What a scumbag Xie Jinghu was!
He could vent at Xie Qian’s uncle but bullied Xie Qian, exploiting the father-son dynamic.
“Yeah, 100 million. He had no choice. Uncle thinks he’s an embarrassment in Chengdu and will deal with him back in Beijing. If he didn’t pay the 100 million here, he might lose 1% of Jinhu Group’s shares in Beijing. He knows which is worth more.”
Xie Qian knew his dad well, lessons learned from their battles.
Wen Ying felt a twinge of regret.
If Xie Jinghu had been more stubborn, Xie Qian might’ve gotten more shares.
Xie Qian grew through these fights, but so did Xie Jinghu, who was now wary of him.
Since Xie Jinghu was still in Chengdu, Xie Qian didn’t want him noticing Wen Ying, so they didn’t do homework together that weekend, connecting by phone instead.
Without seeing each other’s expressions, Xie Qian planned to wait until Monday at school but ended up asking over the phone, “The 100 million was demanded by Song Foxiang’s nephew. After you left yesterday, his nephew showed up at the hospital. Funny thing, he shares your junior high class monitor’s name.”
Not just the name—it was Song Shao!
No wonder she ran into Song Shao at the bus stop.
Xie Qian was setting a trap, but Wen Ying didn’t notice, “That must be my class monitor. I bumped into him on my way home yesterday. We chatted, and he bought me orange juice.”
That explained it.
No wonder she got home late.
Xie Qian’s phone was broken and unusable, so he didn’t know when Wen Ying got home. He only connected with her that morning on a new phone.
“Oh, so he’s your class monitor,” Xie Qian drawled, making Wen Ying inexplicably guilty.
“Yeah, it’s him. Last year at the provincial library, if you’d come earlier, I’d have introduced you. Monitor Song’s really great. You met him last night, right? What do you think?”
He’s pretty great.
A sharp, clear-headed guy.
Xie Qian didn’t badmouth Song Shao and agreed with Wen Ying.
Her guilt turned to excitement, “You approve too? That proves I’ve got a good eye for people, right?”
In her past life, she’d been blind, mistaking someone like Yue Shanni for a friend.
But with Song Shao, she hadn’t misjudged in either life.
Xie Qian felt uneasy. First, she’s chasing Taiwanese male models, now chatting and strolling with her junior high monitor. Weren’t the worksheets he gave his “hamster” enough?
“Get ready. This weekend evening, when Li Mengjiao’s back from her out-of-town promotion, I’m setting up a mock exam for the three of you.”
“…?”
Wen Ying couldn’t follow Xie Qian’s logic.
How did they go from 100 million compensation to Song Shao to a mock exam?
