Chapter 72: You Are the Real Pan Jinlian!

“Hey, Yang! What’s your deal? Why couldn’t we get through to you on the phone?” Qiao Yu glared at Yang Meng, her face full of anger. “We invited you out for drinks and you refused, but now you’re here drinking on your own. What, you think you’re too good for us?”

The three girls fixed Yang Meng with sharp, expectant gazes, waiting for his explanation. In their minds, he was sure to offer all sorts of excuses.

To their astonishment, Yang Meng simply nodded. “I turned my phone off on purpose. I didn’t want you to find me. To be perfectly honest, I do look down on you a bit.”

“What?” the three girls gasped in unison, stunned by his bluntness.

Yang Meng lit a cigarette. “Is that so unbelievable? Look at you three: riding your big motorcycles everywhere, acting like you’re better than all men. In your eyes, no man on earth measures up. But when something actually happens, who’s the first person you think of to protect you? Men. What, are you entitled to all the good things while just paying lip service to feminism?”

Qiao Yu’s eyes widened. “When have I ever needed a man to protect me? Explain that!”

Yang Meng held up a finger. “If you don’t need men to protect you, why use me as a shield? Twice now, you’ve had me pretend to be your boyfriend, without any warning. Don’t give me that crap about how it’s an honor for me. Did you ever stop to think how this might affect someone else? What if something went wrong—have you ever considered that? But I get it. Selfish people like you never think about anyone else’s fate.”

He finished speaking, ignoring the three, and reached to pour himself another drink—only to realize the bottle was empty. He grabbed another from the table, twisted off the cap, poured himself a glass with two ice cubes, and downed it in one gulp.

“Hm? Still here?” Yang Meng looked up and saw the three girls hadn’t moved.

In truth, they were dumbfounded. They’d met plenty of men before, and all had greeted them with smiles and flattery. This was the first time anyone had told them, to their faces, that he found them unpleasant. Worse, Yang Meng’s words stung like needles, leaving them speechless—because, indeed, they had twice used him as a shield without his consent, and never once considered the consequences for him.

Qiao Yu’s face darkened. “If you didn’t want to help, you could’ve just said no! Nobody forced you!”

Yang Meng chuckled. “Whether I help or not is my business. But dragging me into things against my will—that’s on you. Why am I even telling you this? Kids as spoiled as you never think of anyone else. Alright, I’ve had enough—get out of here. With you around, even good wine tastes sour.”

He waved them away, looking thoroughly annoyed.

That was the final straw for Qiao Yu. Seeing Yang Meng reaching for another bottle, she snatched it up and poured the contents into the trash. When that proved too slow, she simply tossed the whole bottle away. “You know what? You’re drinking with me tonight whether you like it or not! You think the wine’s not good enough? Then drink mine!”

Yang Meng watched her finish emptying the bottle. “You know, Miss, it’s really not right to waste someone else’s wine like that—even if you’re rich.”

Qiao Yu snorted, pulling a bank card from her pocket and slapping it on the table. “I’ll pay for your bottle. Satisfied?”

Yang Meng pulled out his phone. “I’ll give you my account number. Just transfer it directly: forty-eight thousand, eight hundred eighty-eight.”

“How much?” Qiao Yu was stunned. The most expensive champagne here was Armand de Brignac, at eight thousand eight hundred eighty-eight per bottle. She’d thought that was the priciest. She hadn’t realized the cognac here was even more expensive.

“Forty-eight thousand, eight hundred eighty-eight,” Yang Meng repeated, nodding toward the bar. “You can take the bottle over and ask if you want.”

The three girls glanced at the table. Counting the one Qiao Yu had thrown out, there were five bottles...

Quan Yajing blinked in surprise. “Are you really some kind of nouveau riche?”

Yang Meng nodded. “That’s right. Net worth over a million. After investing and opening a shop, I’ve got less than half a million left. Oh, and I just got another hundred thousand, but that’s not mine.”

Quan Yajing’s eyes went wide. “And you’re drinking wine this expensive?”

All three came from well-off families—each worth over ten million if you counted property—but none of them had ever been so extravagant in their spending.

Yang Meng shrugged. “Isn’t that what nouveau riches do? Life is short, treat yourself well. As the saying goes, ‘Let the wind blow the eggshells away, fortune gone, people at peace.’ Besides, I’m not paying for these drinks—someone else is treating me. Why should I mind? Alright, Qiao Yu, explanation’s over. Time to pay up. Here’s my bank account.”

Qiao Yu frowned, glanced at Yang Meng, then finally pulled out her phone to make the transfer.

But Yang Meng put his phone away. “Forget it. Like I said, the drinks aren’t mine. What’s the point in taking your money? Just remember this lesson.”

Qiao Yu wasn’t about to let it go. She reached for his phone. “Who do you think you are, lecturing me? You think I can’t afford to pay for a bottle? Waiter! Bring me a bottle of the same wine he’s drinking!”

A-le, the server, came over. “What’s the matter, Brother Yang?”

Yang Meng smiled. “Nothing. She’s just drunk. Go on back.”

A-le asked, “Do you still want the wine?”

Yang Meng shook his head. “Of course not.” He gestured at the three girls. “A-le, remember these three. Sell them whatever they want—just not Hennessy... No, wait, they could always pay someone else to buy it for them. Here, just tell Brother Zhang: don’t sell any Richard Hennessy tonight. Tell him I owe him a favor.”

Honestly, Yang Meng wasn’t sure how Zhang Qiang would take that—business was business, after all. To his surprise, A-le grinned. “Brother Yang, our boss told us you’re a VIP here. You did a lot for us. As long as you’re here, whatever you say goes. If you wanted us to clear out the whole bar, we’d do it. Not selling Richard tonight? No problem—hardly anyone buys that stuff anyway.”

Yang Meng laughed. “Alright, then please let the bar know.”

A-le nodded. “Sure thing. I’ll go right away...” Though he said this, he didn’t actually move.

Yang Meng was puzzled. “What is it, A-le? Just say what’s on your mind.”

A-le glanced at the girls, then hesitated.

Yang Meng, unconcerned with their feelings, said, “Go ahead, say whatever you need. They’re outsiders.”

A-le hesitated a little longer, then spoke. “Brother Yang, can you help Sister Qing—Li Xiaoqing? I know what she did wasn’t right, but she’s actually a good person. She’s still young—if she goes to jail, her life will be ruined. She just made a mistake...”

Yang Meng smiled and clapped him on the shoulder, cutting him off. “That’s exactly why I’m here tonight. Don’t worry about it. Brother Zhang’s agreed to let her off the hook.”

A-le beamed with relief, thanked Yang Meng, and hurried away.

After he left, Yang Meng tilted his head at Qiao Yu. “Looks like no matter how rich you are, you can’t pay me back for the wine. Feeling frustrated? Think I’m being inconsiderate, making you look bad? Ladies, think about all the times you’ve hurt others with your actions. The world doesn’t revolve around your looks or your money. Qiao Yu was right—I have no right to lecture you. Everyone lives their own life. Now go—I want to drink in peace.”

He calmly opened another bottle and poured himself a glass, though inside he was elated—scolding these beauties felt incredibly satisfying.

He thought back to his old self—a classic doormat, who’d feel inferior just seeing a pretty girl, never mind scolding one. He’d have been eager to please, not to criticize. But now?

Now, he understood: for a man, confidence is everything. So what if they’re richer than him? Their money isn’t his to spend! Why should he bow down just because someone’s rich? Everyone’s got the same head on their shoulders—no one’s inherently more noble.

Anyway, even if they offered him money, he wouldn’t take it. He prided himself on his independence—a true man doesn’t live off a woman’s wealth.

He drifted off in thought, only to notice the three girls still standing there, silent. What now?

He looked up and saw tears streaming down Qiao Yu’s face, her makeup smudged until she resembled a weeping kitten. Yang Meng blinked. Had he been too harsh? He didn’t think so.

Tch—these pampered greenhouse flowers sure are fragile. A few harsh words and she’s in tears? No wonder there are so many stories of kids unable to cope nowadays! He himself had grown up being scolded—heck, he’d been beaten more times than he could count. And yet here he was, thick-skinned and still alive.

As long as you’re alive, good things will happen eventually.

Still, seeing Qiao Yu cry left Yang Meng a little flustered. He had no experience handling this sort of thing—should he try to comfort her? But how? He was clueless.

Back when he’d dated Wang Xin-nuan, he’d never seen her shed a single tear.

Yang Meng took a deep breath, pointed to the far end of the sofa, and barked, “You! Sit over there!”

His raised voice startled Qiao Yu, but she nodded and obeyed.

He pushed a box of tissues toward her. “Go ahead—cry your heart out! Get it all out of your system! The world isn’t going to stop turning just because you’re sad—don’t go thinking you’re so important! For crying out loud, I’m trying to drink here and there’s a girl bawling beside me—anyone passing by would think I’m a heartless villain and you’re some tragic heroine!”

“Ugh! That’s Xue Xianglian, not Pan Jinlian! You’re the Pan Jinlian!”