"It's for the old man, nothing too extravagant," Wei Hanyun said lightly.
Zhong Ziyan turned her head to glance at him.
Referring to his own father as "old man" seemed a bit out of character for someone like Wei Hanyun, given his usual refined demeanor.
Moreover, among the four people Wei Hanyun had previously told her to respect, his father wasn’t even on the list.
But then Zhong Ziyan remembered the chaotic mess of half-siblings Wei Hanyun had—all born from different mothers—and suddenly it made perfect sense.
After all, it was hard to respect a father who constantly fooled around outside and kept bringing home illegitimate children.
Online, there was no shortage of juicy rumors and well-reasoned analyses about the Wei family.
Wei Hanyun and his second elder brother were born to the same mother—the so-called "official wife"—while his eldest brother, third brother, and two younger brothers were born to two other women.
According to many netizens and gossip outlets, these two "concubines" had never given up their dreams of replacing the main wife.
Unfortunately for them, Wei Hanyun was simply too capable.
In just eight years since taking over the Wei family, he had solidified his position with decisive and iron-fisted methods. Now, everyone except the Wei patriarch had to tread carefully around him.
But it was common knowledge that Old Wei favored his other sons, which led to endless speculation about how the family fortune would be divided after his death.
Money, after all, was always a good thing.
Even though every member of the Wei family was already obscenely wealthy, none of them seemed satisfied—always craving more.
Zhong Ziyan lifted the freshly purchased Da Hong Pao tea and weighed it in her hand, clicking her tongue. Such a tiny amount had cost hundreds of thousands.
Fang Nan finally arrived, fashionably late.
Before he could launch into his usual lecture, Zhong Ziyan shoved the tea into his hands. "Hold this. We're moving to the next stop."
Based on her plan, the intel she had coaxed out of Wei Hanyun, and her own additional considerations, she estimated she still needed to prepare five more gifts.
......
Wei Hanyun’s mother was a devout Buddhist, so Zhong Ziyan made a trip to a famously efficacious temple in City H. There, she burned incense, prayed, and obtained a blessed talisman personally consecrated by a master monk.
Admittedly, the temple’s "donation fee"—ahem, "incense offering"—was staggeringly expensive.
An 180,000-yuan protective talisman? Sure, why not.
With deep reverence—well, reverence for the money, at least (she had fought countless Buddhist-themed foes in the infinite space)—Zhong Ziyan carefully placed the talisman into a custom-made wooden box Wei Hanyun had commissioned. The interior was lined with silk brocade, with a shallow indentation in the center where the talisman fit snugly without slipping.
As she closed the lid, a sudden realization struck her. "This box must’ve cost a fortune too, right?"
Wei Hanyun didn’t even look up, his tone breezy. "Not quite 'buying the casket and returning the pearls' levels of expensive."
Zhong Ziyan mentally translated that for herself: So, the talisman was still pricier.
"Good enough." Satisfied, she patted the box, fastened the clasp, and set it back on the table before grabbing her laptop to dive into the next gift preparation.
Only then did Wei Hanyun glance at her.
After a brief pause, he returned his attention to his own work.
......
Wei Hanyun’s second elder brother and sister-in-law were comparatively easier to handle. Rumor had it they were both renowned scholars—one an archaeologist, the other an art historian.
"Luckily, the fossil and painting I acquired earlier are still in storage. We just need to wrap them up," Wei Hanyun remarked, as if he had everything under control.
Zhong Ziyan: "..." That painting… was it the one hanging in this very house?
As usual, before she could voice her question, Wei Hanyun seemed to read her mind. "It’s a Renoir."
Two seconds later, Zhong Ziyan had typed "Renoir" into a search bar and skimmed through auction prices for his works. She fell into deep contemplation.
Huh. When it came to the art of spending money, the gap between her and Wei Hanyun was still as vast as heaven and earth.
"But their daughter is where you can help," Wei Hanyun continued smoothly, as if he had rehearsed this. "She has a favorite celebrity—someone signed under Hou Tu…" He paused, then corrected himself with a faint smile. "Well, under your company. Apparently, he’s quite the temperamental one."
Zhong Ziyan immediately felt her expertise was being put to good use. She thumped her chest confidently. "Leave it to me. I’ll get the most exclusive fan perks for your niece."
......
"...So this is why you’re forcing me to write a letter with all this stationery?" Li Ye’s temple throbbed. "Do you have any idea how many companies are begging me to jump ship?"
"Go ahead and jump," Zhong Ziyan countered, already knowing how to handle him. "I won’t."
Li Ye: "..."
He couldn’t argue. What drew him wasn’t Hou Tu Entertainment itself—it was Zhong Ziyan’s compositions.
And since she owned the company, there was no way she’d sell her work to a competitor.
At least until Zhong Ziyan ran out of creative juice, Li Ye wasn’t going anywhere.
Grumbling, the notoriously arrogant and unyielding Li Ye spat out a curse, grabbed a pen, and bit down on his cigarette. "Fine, I’ll write, happy now?"
Before he could put pen to paper, Zhong Ziyan added, "Also, I had Yu Qianshan compile your complete works. You’ll need to sign every one."
Right on cue, Director Qin knocked and entered, carrying a full set of albums—from Li Ye’s earliest releases to his latest, even including his biography.
"Young Master Yu asked me to deliver these. Everything related to Li Ye is here," Director Qin explained with his usual good-natured smile. "Miss Zhong, let me know if anything’s missing."
"This should do for now. Thanks." Zhong Ziyan sat down and began scribbling on a sheet of paper next to Li Ye.
Li Ye ground his teeth as he signed, one album after another. By the time he finished autographing every album he’d ever produced or performed on, his wrist was stiff. Just as he was about to shake it out, Zhong Ziyan—as if she had eyes on the top of her head—slid a blank letter in front of him.
"Her name is Wei Hanyan."
"...Wei?" Li Ye froze, his expression turning odd.
"Mhm. A meeting gift." Zhong Ziyan looked up seriously. "Make it nice. No typos—don’t drag down the company’s intellectual reputation."
Li Ye: "You’re the uncultured one here!"
Fuming, he bent over the paper and scrawled furiously. But for all his grumbling, his words flowed with the precision and flair of a true artist—polished, articulate, and tinged with the arrogance of a genius.
As he finished the last line, Li Ye slammed the pen down and opened his mouth to demand, "What’s in it for me?"—only for Zhong Ziyan to slide over the sheet she’d been working on. "Your payment."
Suspicious, Li Ye glanced down and was immediately ensnared by the musical notation before him.
The composition was seamless, each note alive and interconnected. Some sections bore minor edits, the ink still fresh.
—Zhong Ziyan had just composed an entirely new piece right in front of him, without so much as blinking!
Li Ye instinctively hummed a few bars, his face cycling through disbelief, awe, and irritation. "Zhong Ziyan, be honest. Do you have some kind of ‘Composition Master’ system in your brain? Are you from another world where you just copy-paste from a preloaded library?"
Zhong Ziyan remarked, "You have quite the imagination." Though he had guessed half of it right.
There was no "Composition Master System"—just a trashy mainframe.
"As thanks, no payment needed—just credit me," Zhong Ziyan said generously, spreading out the letter Li Ye had just finished writing to let the ink dry.
She glanced at the contents and was struck by how Li Ye seemed to know more about Wei Hanyan than she did. The letter even included advice like, "Take care of your health while you're young."
Hmm, probably just an old smoker’s concern for the younger generation.
Zhong Ziyan brushed off the observation.
"Your compositions are terrifyingly unique. Even without your name on them, anyone with ears could tell they’re yours. Plenty online are dissecting your style trying to imitate it, but they haven’t cracked it yet," Li Ye snorted, weighing down the sheet music with a cup. "You still need to prepare another gift, don’t you?"
"Mostly done. Just stuck on one last thing," Zhong Ziyan admitted, rubbing her temples.
"Let’s hear it," Li Ye said, crossing his legs and reaching for a cigarette—only to freeze under Zhong Ziyan’s glare. With a twitch of his lips, he set the lighter down.
It was almost embarrassing how some things couldn’t be solved with money alone—like connections, or time.
Wei Hanyun’s grandmother was a renowned violinist, a socialite in elite circles during her youth and now a revered elder in the arts. Finding a gift that would impress her had stumped Zhong Ziyan for ages.
Buying something on the spot wasn’t an option—rare instruments or original scores weren’t like cabbages at a market, available whenever you wanted. Even waiting could take months or years.
If only she hadn’t already used the violin she’d bought from Yansha, she could’ve just gifted that. But after playing it several times, regifting it would’ve seemed thoughtless.
When Zhong Ziyan summarized the dilemma, Li Ye chuckled. "Easy fix."
"Do enlighten me," Zhong Ziyan played along.
"You’re usually sharp about catering to preferences, aren’t you?" Li Ye flicked his unlit cigarette between his fingers. "She’s a musician—give her something music-related. Instruments are hard to come by, but original manuscripts by famous composers? Plenty of collectors have those."
Zhong Ziyan had considered that too. She sighed. "I feel like robbing a museum might be frowned upon."
In the infinite worlds, she could’ve just snatched and dashed—once back in the mainframe’s space, all would be well. But becoming a wanted criminal here? Too much hassle.
Li Ye’s hand jerked, dropping his cigarette. "Your first thought was robbing a museum?!"
"Director Li, show me the way," Zhong Ziyan said earnestly.
Li Ye: "…" Her grasp of internet slang always seemed years behind, like a delayed Spring Festival Gala sketch.
He pulled out another cigarette but didn’t light it, just toyed with it.
"I know a professor at the drama academy," Li Ye drawled. "He owns an original Schubert manuscript. Authentic. You’d need to convince him to sell it to you."
Zhong Ziyan relaxed. "That’s it?"
If it existed, it could be bought. And if it couldn’t, the offer just wasn’t high enough.
Li Ye: "? ‘That’s it’? Repeat that again—what’s ‘it’?"
