Meng Po's eyes suddenly lit up.
She looked at Fan Yi, her gaze filled with the alluring charm and seductiveness unique to a mature woman.
Yang Fei smiled and shook his head.
"But this one hundred million US dollars is of no use to this handsome guy."
"Look at his clothes, so tattered they are not even worth one hundred yuan."
"This guy rents a dilapidated courtyard and follows me every day for meals. Does money mean anything to him?"
Fan Yi stood quietly on the spot, as if he hadn't heard a word Yang Fei had said.
Yang Fei then pointed to his own nose, with an expression of extreme pride on his face.
"Now, look at me, I am much handsomer than Fan Yi, my net worth is... at least two hundred million US dollars, right?"
"But to me, spending five thousand yuan a month is enough, is money useful to me?"
Meng Po looked at Yang Fei, then at Fan Yi, and chuckled.
She shook her head: "You both are strange people, incomprehensible."
