At this moment, where was Ning Ge? He was in his own ancestral home in Beijing, sprawling on a rosewood sofa like a ruffian, one leg nonchalantly resting on top of another, shaking away, the essence of a troublemaker.
Old Master Ning saw this brat and couldn’t contain his anger. He pointed at him, his face dark with rage, and scolded, "Just look at you, no manners at all while sitting, what is this? Was the education you received in the United Kingdom all useless?"
Ning Ge sat up slightly straighter, picked at his fingernails and replied coolly, "My going to the United Kingdom was thanks to whom, Old Master? You wouldn’t be unaware, would you? Everything I’ve learned, it’s all to be expected."
Old Master Ning’s face shifted slightly and his finger began to tremble as he pointed at him.
"Younger brother, how could you speak to dad like that? Apologize right now," a middle-aged man around forty-five or forty-six years old walked in and barked at Ning Ge.
Seeing this man, Ning Ge lost much of his defiant air, stood up, and said, "Yes. Dad, it’s my mistake, I was wrong; please be magnanimous and don’t blame me. I was raised by my father but never taught by my mother."
Old Master Ning stumbled.
"Ning Ge!" Ning Gang, the middle-aged man, yelled.
Old Master Ning pressed his hand, shook his head, and said, "Forget it, forget it, help me back to my room."
Ning Gang dared not disobey, and seeing that Ning Ge was about to leave, he added, "You sit right here and don’t move a step."
Ning Ge sat down again, indifferent.


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