"Dad, do we really have to donate that much?" Zhao Siji said, looking pained.
They had originally asked around to find out how much others in the industry planned to donate.
Then they had planned to add just a little more.
But right before the donation, Zhao Jiazheng had suddenly added another two vehicle convoys.
Two convoys meant 1.4 million, and Zhao Siji's heart ached badly.
Zhao Jiazheng snorted heavily. "Did you know the identities of those two young masters beside Yao Weiran all along?"
Zhao Siji immediately began to stammer.
Under Zhao Jiazheng's inescapable gaze, Zhao Siji lowered his eyes and answered, "I only knew they were pretty rich."
"Why didn't you tell me?"
This time, Zhao Siji fell silent.
Why had he not told his father?
Of course, it was because he understood better than anyone what kind of person Zhao Jiazheng was.
If he had told him, Zhao Jiazheng would not only have stopped blacklisting Yao Weiran, he might even have made him curry favor with him.
Zhao Siji had had enough of living under Yao Weiran's crushing suppression.
It was not as if he lacked ability. He had been one of the best among his classmates, but ever since Yao Weiran appeared—
The phrase his teachers said most often was, "Not bad, but compared to Yao Weiran's work, it still lacks a bit of inspiration."
Even his father said so!
He did not know what this so-called inspiration was, but he knew Yao Weiran had become his inner demon.
If he had not pushed his father to blacklist Yao Weiran, Zhao Siji would later see, every time he closed his eyes, Yao Weiran's future box office results crushing his own.
Did Yao Weiran think he wanted him to become his ghostwriter?
No. He wished Yao Weiran