Money, you see, some say it's a good thing, but nearly all evils in the world are related to it, directly or indirectly, and yet, if you call it a bad thing, most people's dignity comes from it.
When does an ordinary person realize his own insignificance? It's when he stands in front of a door, a door he doesn't even have the credentials to enter.
Yang Jiawei was now standing in front of such a door, looking up at the towering courtyard walls, holding a cup of cheap milk tea in his hand, wearing inexpensive clothes, and his leather shoes covered in dust.
"Oh, it turns out to be a patrolman, sorry, but the master isn't home today," the butler said with a disdainful smile and demeanor, a sight Yang Jiawei caught but he wasn't in a rush, merely continuing, "Then I'll just wait here for Mr. Pan to come out."
"If you want to wait, then wait," the butler retorted.
