When the commotion died down, a waiter came hastening over with a calculator and a little receipt book, smiling broadly. “Mr. Shen.”
Shen Yuliang watched him with a flicker of unease. “What now?”
“We’re a small place,” the waiter said, still smiling but with a touch of awkwardness. “Your wife had a row with Mr. Wang, and the tables and chairs got smashed up. The repair bill’s here… forty‑five thousand yuan. You can pay by code, right?”
Shen swallowed. He’d just called Bo Siming and been brushed off — “no cash flow, wait a few days” — which left him feeling hollow and uncertain.
Forty‑five thousand. Exactly. He sucked in a breath. He’d hoped to squeeze some money out of someone else to cover this. Mr. Wang had been furious but had paid something over — a sum that took the edge off, saved him twenty thousand at least. Still, the figure stung.
“You hit my wife, Wang?” he demanded.
Wang had only just calmed down; now Shen’s words lit him up again. “What are you talking about? When did I hit her?”
“You broke the public property, didn’t you?” Shen pressed, intent on squeezing compensation any way he could. He couldn’t be the only one to pay.
“It wasn’t just me—don’t pin it all on me!” Wang’s temper flared and the argument spat and sputtered for another half hour. “Bad luck. Next time I play cards with you I’ll be your grandson!” Wang stormed off, slinging his sleeve.
Shen watched him go and muttered at the retreating back, “You won’t even be allowed to play with me again — old and gossipy.” He calculated. With Wang’s payment he’d saved two grand—no, twenty thousand. The relief was small but real.
He slipped his phone into his pocket and muttered to himself about the next few days. No mahjong, no drinking. Maybe a few dinners at hotels, some golf. Then he brightened. If Bo Siming wouldn’t give him money, there was another option — Bo Jingyu.
The thought cheered him absurdly. That third daughter he’d never raised might finally be useful.
Without another thought, he hurried off.
At Bo Group headquarters, Ruo Chi knocked and entered the CEO’s office to report. “Second Young Master, the front desk says—”
“Just say it,” Bo Jingyu cut him off without looking up.
“Shen Yuliang is in the reception room. He insists on seeing you. Says it’s urgent — ten‑thousand‑fire urgent, or he won’t leave.” Ruo Chi’s face went stiff; the idea irritated him. “He said he has business—”
Bo Jingyu’s temper tightened at the mention of Shen. They had no dealings. He hesitated; he didn’t want rumors spreading. Still, the man might be bold enough to cause a scene, so finally Bo stood and went down.
The reception room door opened and Shen Yuliang was there, rubbing his hands and flashing a greasy grin. “Well, well, isn’t this my son‑in‑law?”
His grin faltered when he saw the cold set of Bo’s face, so he backpedaled with a nervous laugh. “Oh, no, no — ex‑son‑in‑law! Ha.”
“Cut the familiarity. Get to the point.” Bo’s voice was flat.
“You’ve only been apart a short while and already so distant?” Ruo Chi couldn’t resist. “One year, three months, six days.”
Shen’s smile thinned. “Mr. Bo — can we talk privately?”
“He’s my personal assistant. There’s no need to kick him out,” Bo said without hesitation; his presence pushed Shen into a huff of embarrassment. Ruo Chi relented with a sour look and moved to the side.
“All right, then, boss,” Shen said, his tone hardening. He put on a different smile, predatory. “My third daughter, An Ruo — didn’t you take her in? I remember her at the Lanshan orphanage. How’d she end up here?”
Both Bo and Ruo Chi froze.
“What third daughter?” Bo asked coolly, feigning ignorance.
“Don’t play dumb,” Shen snapped. “I saw you the other day.” He pointed at Ruo Chi. “He was carrying my little girl out of the hospital in a hurry. Didn’t know where he was taking her. You can check the hospital cameras if you don’t believe me.”
Ruo Chi went pale. He hadn’t expected Shen to have seen that, hadn’t imagined the little girl wrapped so tightly would draw attention. And now Shen had come here to threaten the second young master with it.
Bo’s eyes went cold. “What are you getting at?”
Shen softened his voice, a practiced act. “I’m not some monster. I’m a father. I wouldn’t do anything to harm my own daughter. I’m just asking for a bit of money to manage things.”
“Using the word ‘father’ to demand money from Young Master Bo?” Ruo Chi snapped, about to erupt. Bo shot him a look and he clamped his mouth shut. It was obvious: if a few bills could keep Shen’s mouth shut, it was worth it. After all, this was Bo Group’s territory; the last thing they needed was a scene.
“How much?” Bo asked.
Shen puffed up, smug. “Three million yuan.”
“Three million?” Bo narrowed his eyes. “Are you sure? No changes?”
Shen’s confidence wavered under that stare. Had he misread something? No — he’d seen the girl clear as day.
Ruo Chi rolled his eyes and muttered something under his breath. “Two million?”
Bo said nothing, just watched. Silence made Shen sweat.
“One million?” Bo said at last, cold as winter. Then he stepped closer and lowered his voice. “Don’t forget you and the others were only just released from detention. However you got out, you can go back in the same way.”
Shen’s skin prickled. “Are you threatening me?”
“Let’s not mince words.” Bo’s face never shifted. “If An Ruo is your child, you had no right to take her without my consent. I could ask for compensation for that.”
“You only remember she’s your daughter now?” Shen shot back, anger searing through him. “What about when she was locked in a basement? Why didn’t you think then? Or when she was just learning to walk, barely speaking — you were colder to her than to anyone.”
Bo’s words hit him in reverse; his head spun. “This is my family business. You’re an outsider. Don’t stick your nose in.”