After hearing this, the other party didn't speak. Instead, they increased their bid by two hundred thousand. The price kept rising higher and higher. Song Yun didn't care; the money in his card was just a string of numbers, not to mention that the Mercenary Group abroad would transfer five percent of their earnings to his card every month. So, even if he went out to squander money day after day, he could continue doing so until his death.
"Now, our friend in Box No. 2 has bid 2.5 million. Is there a higher bid? 2.5 million once, 2.5 million twice."
"2.6 million." The man in Box No. 5 clenched his teeth as he entered the bid, while the woman known as Little Ying looked at him with disdain, saying, "Are you not afraid that your dad will beat you up when you get back after bidding this high?"
"It's not about the money anymore. This is about a man's face," the man retorted angrily.
