Ye Qingqing immediately recognized him as a cancer expert who had returned from the United States. A thought struck her: Qi Wenyuan was also a cancer expert who had returned from the United States, and he was about the same age as Zhao Di's blind date. It was quite a coincidence.
She didn't consider the two people to be the same person. There were plenty of experts at Pingjiang Hospital, including many who had returned from the US; they weren't necessarily the same person.
Moreover, Yu Anning said that Qi Wenyuan has a wife and children, so he shouldn't be going on blind dates. Even if he doesn't have a wife and children, Qi Wenyuan wouldn't go on blind dates. His feelings for Yu Anning are genuine. He wouldn't be concerned about Yu Anning on one hand and ambiguous with Zhao Di on the other. If that's the case, what's the difference between this kind of man and Yu Shaoning?
She would definitely advise Zhao Di to leave, saying it was better to be single than to marry a two-timing scumbag.
Hello, Auntie.
Ye Qingqing greeted the old lady with a smile. The old lady looked to be in her sixties or seventies, with a slender and upright figure, wearing delicate light makeup and high heels. Her outstanding temperament was not something that could be cultivated overnight, indicating that the old lady had a privileged life and good family education since childhood, and came from a large family.
But Ye Qingqing didn't have a good feeling about this old lady. She felt that the old lady looked at people too critically, like picking tomatoes at a market, rejecting anything that didn't look good or fresh. This kind of look made her very uncomfortable.
"Hello." The old lady smiled slightly, her eyes glancing at Qian Manduo and Song Hongye beside Ye Qingqing.
Although Qian Manduo's clothes were simple and seemingly ordinary, they were quite expensive, all bought for her by Xi Murong. Even a simple T-shirt cost over a thousand yuan. Qian Manduo was completely unaware of this because Xi Murong always automatically reduced the price by one zero when reporting it. Even so, Qian Manduo still complained that it was too expensive and scolded him for being a spendthrift.
Song Hongye's attire was naturally quite elegant. Du Peiran was, after all, the CEO of a company worth hundreds of millions, and she herself was a doctor at a major hospital. Her taste and economic strength were directly proportional. Her clothes were priced similarly to Qian Manduo's, understated yet luxurious. Anyone with eyes could tell that she came from a wealthy family.
The old lady had sharp eyes and could naturally tell that Ye Qingqing and the other two came from well-off families. Her gaze softened considerably, and when she looked at the drab Lu Ziqun, her eyes flickered, and she nodded slowly, not taking Lu Ziqun seriously, because she had no intention of dealing with such 'poor people' at all.
Of all the clothes, shoes, and bags Lu Ziqun was wearing, the most expensive was that bag, which she bought for two hundred yuan after gritting her teeth. The other clothes and shoes were all around one hundred yuan. Although expensive things are not necessarily good, cheap things are definitely not very good either. There must be a reason why something is expensive.
The clothes that Lü Ziqun wore were completely out of place with the glamorous look of Song Hongye and the others around her. Brand-name clothes felt completely different on her. Most importantly, a naturally beautiful woman can wear cheap clothes without any problem; the person can complement the clothes.
Women with ordinary looks really need gorgeous clothes to enhance their image; wearing cheap clothes makes them look cheap.
The old lady dismissed Lü Ziqun with just a casual glance. Ye Qingqing frowned slightly, her impression of the old lady worsening. "Respect clothes before people," she thought. This old lady was too snobbish. A son raised by a mother like that probably wouldn't be very good either.
Zhao Di suddenly waved, "Over here..."
Ye Qingqing looked in the direction she was waving at and suddenly froze.
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