Someone had once said that if you took an ordinary person into an environment that did not belong to her, raised her daily standard of spending until she could no longer live an ordinary life, yet never gave her the ability to support that lifestyle,
and finally gave her a sum of money that could sustain that kind of life for a while, then guess what her ending would be?
The old Ning Pingping had been exactly like that.
Perhaps Ning Pingping had sensed that something was wrong. After coming back, she wanted to reinvent herself, prove her worth, prove that she was not just a vase.
But Ning Pingping had never figured it out. No matter how hard she worked or strove forward, she could not change Wen Guohua's opinion of her.
It was like those old fairies in the capital decades later, earning two or three hundred thousand a year, trying their hardest to carve out the image of refined, independent women, believing they could leap two levels up the ladder.
Yet in the eyes of those earning over a million a year, their so-called refinement, careers, and pursuits were worthless. Your three hundred thousand was not even enough for yourself to spend, so how could it possibly help them?
Instead, it was men earning three hundred thousand a year who needed you to pay off the mortgage together, and only then would they value your thoughts and pursuits.
But with a man earning three hundred thousand a year, they could not willingly become a breeding machine. They had watched too many television dramas and felt that if they were going to be breeding machines, they should at least receive a million a year. He only earned three hundred thousand—was that enough to compensate old mother for giving