Xiahou Aotian stared at the man behind the broad desk as if facing a formidable enemy. He lowered his haughty chin, reined in his arrogant gaze, and straightened his previously lazy back.
He had to admit that today, he, Xiahou Aotian, had encountered a truly powerful rival.
The study was as luxurious as a palace: furnishings that exuded wealth from every corner, carpets unimaginably soft beneath the feet, and desserts that looked delicious at a glance alongside expensive liquor on the desk.
When it came to money, Xiahou Aotian had lost—and he accepted the loss wholeheartedly.
As for looks, he considered himself outstanding: handsome features, sword-like brows, starry eyes. Even without makeup, he was several leagues above those pretty-boy idols constantly being called "big brother."
But seeing this man up close, Xiahou Aotian lost confidence in his own looks for the first time. That flawlessly handsome face seemed like a masterpiece sculpted by God Himself.
In terms of bearing, the other man sat beside an expensive desk, one seemingly fit for the President in the White House, dressed in a crisp, meticulously tailored white suit. Behind him hung a portrait of himself that occupied half the wall.
It truly fit the old saying: He carries himself like a show-off wherever he goes.
"What a Money Prince!" Xiahou Aotian sighed.
"You gave me a show of force the moment we met. I, Xiahou Aotian, have lost—I admit that, at this stage, there is a tiny, insignificant gap between us. But don't get smug. As they say, never bully the poor young man. The demigod who last humiliated me is already shut away in the ancestral house, repenting.
"Now, let's talk business. I regret to inform you that I will not be intimidated."
As Fu Qingyang looked at the young man across