Zhou Sheng concluded by saying, "Although that idiot lied, he didn't completely wrong me. I originally wanted to hit him, but my cousin was in the car, so I held back."

No sooner had he finished speaking than Zong Lian came downstairs.

He was wearing a black silk nightgown, and his hair was still dripping wet, clearly indicating that he had just taken a shower.

Zhou Sheng was deeply moved to see him appear.

Sure enough, his cousin still cared about him.

Otherwise, she wouldn't have rushed down to save the day with her hair still wet.

Zong Lian greeted Lao Zhou.

Old Zhou glared at Zhou Sheng, who was secretly giving Zong Lian a meaningful look, then looked at Zong Lian and asked with concern, "Why didn't you dry your hair before coming down? It's getting colder now, don't catch a cold."

Zong Lian: "I'm not cold. Did your uncle just get back? Have you eaten?"

Old Zhou nodded, a hint of fatigue showing on his face.

Zong Lian sat down and said, "Zhou Sheng has grown up. Let him learn to do things, and your uncle will have more free time."

Old Zhou gave Zhou Sheng a critical look.

"Him?"

These two words severely wounded Zhou Sheng's self-esteem.

He couldn't help but widen his eyes, "What's wrong with me? My cousin was able to control those self-important and ambitious directors in the group when he was only fifteen, and he gained a foothold in the group. I can do the same!"

Zong Lian remained silent.

Old Zhou rubbed his forehead.

After a while.

Old Zhou asked him, "Young master, how old are you this year?"

Zhou Sheng, his neck stiff, asked matter-of-factly, "Eighteen, so what?"

Old Zhou was so angry he almost laughed.

They even asked him what was wrong.

Not long ago, a wonderful drama of "real and fake heiresses" unfolded at Old Wang's house next door.

The same play, but with a different name in the Zhou family.

The real and the fake young master.