A Feast at the Table

When Wang Meiyu's parents saw the 225 billion yuan bride price they had received, they exchanged glances.

They were no ordinary people either, so naturally, they had to give an appropriate return gift.

That was to say, a dowry.

And Wang Jiacheng, the richest man, had also specifically called his son—Wang Meiyu's father—to ease the unpleasantness from last time. He provided a return gift of 300 billion yuan as Wang Meiyu's dowry.

That was 300 billion RMB, not yen.

In other words, 300 billion minus 225 billion equaled 75 billion. Wang Jiacheng had actually lost 75 billion.

As a businessman, Wang Jiacheng had already made concessions and shown his sincerity regarding the previous incident.

Akasaka had nothing more to say. He told Wang Meiyu to accept the money properly—it was her dowry, and he, Akasaka Ryunosuke, would not touch it.

With trembling hands, Wang Meiyu accepted the bankbook worth 300 billion yuan and clutched it to her chest.

She was now a little rich woman.

A genuinely wealthy woman.

After thinking for a moment, Wang Meiyu decided to hand the bankbook to Akasaka and let him hold onto it.

Akasaka did not even spare the bankbook a proper glance. He waved his hand, signaling for Wang Meiyu to keep it safe. He would not touch it or take it. It belonged to Wang Meiyu. As for the 225 billion yuan bride price he had given, that was the country's money, not his own.

The Japanese prime minister's salary was actually only a little over one million RMB. It was not much, but he had power.

Akasaka could not help but sigh.

Back when he owed 120 million, he would even pick up a one-jiao coin he spotted by the roadside.

And now, he did not even care about 300 billion.