Vulgar!
Zhu Bowei looked at Ye Fan with a face full of disgust and said, "Mr. Ye, this is a high-class ball, and everyone here is a social elite. How can you speak such crass and lowly words? It's too vulgar."
"I was merely giving an example, don't get so worked up, and don't try to impose your high-class standards on me. There's no clear line between elegance and vulgarity. If you are tall, rich, and handsome, even playing marbles can seem classy. But if you're short, ugly, and poor, even playing golf would look like you're scooping poop," Ye Fan retorted.
"So, don't bother me with that useless chatter."
This guy had a slick tongue and spoke in sets, Zhu Bowei didn't want to continue this verbal battle with Ye Fan, so he once again steered the conversation back to the piano, saying, "Mr. Ye, you've gone on without getting to the point. I extend my invitation once again, asking you to play a piece for the ball."
