Yang Qingheng was taken aback and instinctively wanted to refuse, but looking at the old lady's expectant eyes, she softened a little: "I'll go back and take a look. If I have time, I'll let you know in advance. Is that alright?"
"Sure, sure, as the boss of such a big company, I'll naturally prioritize your work." Hearing this, the old lady knew that the matter was half settled, and readily agreed. She watched Yang Qingheng get into the car with great anticipation, and only turned to go into the yard after the car had disappeared from sight.
Out of the corner of her eye, she glanced at Song Hengjue and looked him up and down with disdain: "Wearing a short jacket in the dead of winter, what country's style did you learn from?"
Song Hengjue's lips twitched, and he was about to reply when Fang Nan let out a soft laugh from the side.
Once the old lady went into the kitchen, Fang Nan grabbed him and held out a hand: "Give me the money, give me the money."
"What money?" Song Hengjue said coldly, reaching for a coat on the sofa and putting it on.
He's freezing!
Fang Nan, his face dark with anger, accused, "No way, brother! Didn't you say you'd give me two hundred if I arranged for someone to puncture your tires? I already got a few dozen yuan from them. You're kicking me after I've served my purpose."
"You dare say that!" Song Hengjue suddenly jumped up, grabbed the back of his neck, and smacked him on the head twice. "You brat, I told you to puncture my tires, and you punctured mine! I'll kill you, you believe me!"
Thinking about how Yang Qingheng had just publicly humiliated him, he wanted nothing more than to beat that idiot to death.
Fang Nan was beaten like a quail, but he still stubbornly refused to admit defeat: "Tell me, did Yang Qingheng bring you back or not!"
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