Zhou Yang felt secretly pleased, but his expression remained calm, as if the billion was just another number in his account.
Sudden--
"Master! Master! Help, Master!"
A hurried yet familiar voice approached from afar.
Du Zhe rushed over in a panic, his usually arrogant face now filled with anxiety and a hint of... cowardice.
Zhou Yang raised an eyebrow and carefully put away the last signboard: "What's wrong? Are you in a bind?"
Du Zhe ran up to him, panting heavily, grabbed Zhou Yang's arm, and said urgently, "Master, something terrible has happened!"
"That bastard from Beijing, Chen Lun, challenged me to a race again! Tonight! That bastard beats me every time, ten million per game! I... I'm being drained dry by him!"
Du Zhe looked bitter. He recalled the miserable state of losing several rounds to Chen Lun, where he had to spend real money, and it pained him to the point of trembling.
This time, he was truly at his wit's end and had no choice but to beg his omnipotent "master".
Upon hearing this, a hint of doubt flashed in Zhou Yang's eyes: "Chen Lun? A young master from Beijing? Speeding?"
"Yes! Master! I beg you, please help me! You know so many things, do you know how to race? Please help me beat that bastard!"
Du Zhe quickly said, "Winning one game is ten million, you can have all of that money. I'll give you five million in the other game, please, Master!"
Zhou Yang touched his chin.
He remembered that the annual gala of the "Starlight Charity Foundation" was in two days, and he felt he had to donate something.
Why not take this money that's offered to you?
Every penny saved counts, since it's all going to be taken from the pockets of those self-important rich kids anyway.
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