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The moment Ma Tianyang heard that, he flew into a rage and slammed his palm heavily onto the table. With a thunderous bang, the teacups on it jumped from the shock.
"You little bastard, who are you calling 'your daddy'?! Two million? Are you trying to fob off a beggar?!"
Ma Zhibin, however, nonchalantly propped his feet on the table, crossed his legs, and said with a provocative look, "Two million isn't good enough for you? Old Bastard, have you ever given me five hundred thousand a year?"
"And besides, Old Bastard, have you ever given me those 'local specialties' from the family?"
"'Local specialties'?!" Ma Tianyang was so choked by those words he nearly could not catch his breath. Fuming, he said, "What, now the family's things aren't good enough for you?"
Ma Zhibin folded his arms across his chest, curled his lip, and mocked, "You're always hiding things away, sticking your ass up and refusing to pull out even a scrap of toilet paper. In that case, you might as well keep all your diarrhea in your own belly."
"First Master earned it himself with his own ability. You want me to cough it up? Not a chance!"
His words were ironclad, leaving not the slightest room for negotiation.
Ma Tianyang and Ma Zhibin, this thoroughly roguish father and son pair, went back and forth without giving an inch. Spittle flew like dense raindrops as they fiercely sprayed insults at each other, looking as if they wished they could blow the roof right off the house.
As for Ma Wencai, he had long since greased his soles and slipped away.
He knew very well that once these two lords locked horns, there would be no end to it. Who knew