Flint Red

For Chen Cheng, thirty means interest—the interest rate.
From 3,000, to 100,000, to a million, to ten million, and then to over a hundred million...
An ever-increasing amount of principal, an endless stream of interest.
With money generating money, compounded interest calculations made Chen Cheng exclaim:
This money can't be spent! Absolutely can't be spent! For a lifetime, I can't finish spending it!

Maximize Interest, My Money Grows Infinitely

Chen Cheng responded with steadiness, "I can only say, if that just now was indeed a performance, then Miss Wen's acting skills are truly sublime."


But as soon as Chen Cheng looked at the floor indicator, he knew that the place she intended to take him wasn't the so-called guest room.


Passing through the lounge, at the end, there was a tightly closed room door.


Wen Shulin pushed the door open, and what came into Chen Cheng's view was a whole wall of red wine and whiskey.


And in a corner of the wall stood a floor-to-ceiling cigar cabinet.


Wen Shulin let go of Chen Cheng's hand she had been holding, walked over to the cabinet, and without turning her head, asked: "Cohiba, quite suitable for the current atmosphere."


After she spoke, she took out a box as smoothly finished as a piano lacquer from inside and came over to Chen Cheng's side.


Chapter 89: The Awakening of the Long-legged Eggplant