Reborn a day later, I emptied my enemy's possessions beforehand.

A cacophony of sounds erupted from the courtyard: the rough laughter of men, the clinking of wine glasses, and the clattering of chopsticks against bowls.

Zhou Haibing pushed open the courtyard gate and went inside, where he saw his father sitting at the stone table in the yard, drinking with several old men from the village.

Zhou Fuxiang was wearing a white shirt, the hem of which was tucked into his waistband, and a shiny crocodile leather belt was tied around his waist.

His hair was dyed jet black and shiny, combed into a slicked-back style, and his ruddy face was full of wrinkles, but he was in great spirits.

He was holding a wine glass, bragging to Old Zhang across from him. In the heat of the moment, he slammed his hand on the table, making the wine glass jump.

"Let me tell you, if I had gone to the provincial capital that year, I would own at least one building materials market there now!" Zhou Fuxiang's voice was so loud that it could be heard halfway down the street.

"I had a project in my hands back then. If that project had succeeded, not only would Hai Bing be called Brother Zhou, but all the rich people in the province would have had to call me Brother Zhou!"

The old men listened, stunned, and then echoed in agreement:

"Yes, yes, Brother Fuxiang was indeed a big shot back then."

Zhou Haibing stood at the courtyard gate, watching this scene, and the corner of his mouth twitched slightly.

His father's greatest skill in life was boasting; he'd been doing it since he could remember.

They boasted about it when they were young, and they're still boasting about it now that they're old.

He spent his entire life as a farmer, rarely even visiting the county town, yet he claimed he missed out on numerous multi-million dollar projects.

The reason he didn't get rich was because he was "unlucky" or "scammed," and it had nothing to do with his abilities.

A sharp-eyed old man spotted Zhou Haibing standing at the courtyard gate, quickly stood up, and his expression changed from a playful smile to one of respect.

"Oh my, the sea ice is back!"

The other old men also stood up and greeted them all at once:

"Sea ice!"

"President Zhou!"

"The boss is back!"

Zhou Haibing smiled and nodded:

"Hello, Uncle Zhang, Uncle Li, Uncle Wang."

Zhou Fuxiang sat at the stone table without even lifting his buttocks.

He still had the wine glass to his lips, glanced sideways at Zhou Haibing, and said coldly:

"Why did you suddenly come back without saying goodbye?"

The courtyard was quiet for a moment.

The old men looked at each other, and the atmosphere became somewhat awkward.

Zhou Haibing walked over, his tone very calm:

"Dad, I have something urgent to tell you. I need to discuss it with my uncles and ask them to go home first. We can drink another day."

"What's the rush?" Zhou Fuxiang's face darkened further, and he slammed his wine glass on the table.

"I finally managed to get together with your Uncle Zhang and Uncle Li, and you're kicking us out as soon as you arrive?"

Old Zhang was a sensible man, and he quickly smoothed things over:

"Brother Fuxiang, Haibing rarely comes back, he must have something important to do. Let's drink another day, another day."

He then picked up his wine glass and drank the rest of the wine in one gulp.

Old Li and Old Wang also stood up and said their goodbyes.

"Brother Fuxiang, we're leaving now."

"Hai Bing, come over to my house sometime."

Zhou Fuxiang's face darkened further, but he couldn't afford to lose his temper in front of outsiders, so he could only force a smile that looked more like a grimace and wave to the old men:

"Alright, alright, let's drink again tomorrow. I'll kill a chicken tomorrow, and we'll have a proper get-together."

The old men left, and the courtyard became quiet.

On the stone table were several plates of cold dishes, a dish of peanuts, a dish of smashed cucumber, a dish of braised pig's head, and a few empty wine bottles.

The air was filled with the mixed smell of liquor and cigarette smoke.

Zhou Fuxiang sat on the stone bench, his back ramrod straight, his chin slightly raised, looking down at Zhou Haibing with a condescending, scrutinizing gaze.

He didn't speak, waiting for Zhou Haibing to speak first.

Zhou Haibing stood on the other side of the stone table, looking at his father.

This man, in his seventies, had jet-black hair, deep wrinkles on his face, and small but bright eyes that revealed a shrewdness and calculation.

This old man was his biological father, but he didn't show much fatherly affection towards Zhou Haibing; instead, he made demands, gave orders, and controlled him.

"What exactly is going on?" Zhou Fuxiang asked, his tone icy.

"Can't I say that over the phone?"

Zhou Haibing did not answer.

He walked to the stone table and sat down on the stone bench where Old Zhang had just sat, facing Zhou Fuxiang.

A few barks came from outside the courtyard wall, the smoke from the distant chimneys had dissipated, and the sunset on the horizon had changed from orange-red to dark purple.

Zhou Haibing looked into Zhou Fuxiang's eyes.

"Dad, look at me."

Zhou Fuxiang was stunned for a moment, and subconsciously looked over.

The moment his eyes met Zhou Haibing's, he felt as if he had been pushed from the front, and his body leaned back slightly.

His pupils contracted sharply, as if something had pierced them, and then that bright, calculating glint in his eyes vanished instantly, as if wiped away with a rag.

Zhou Fuxiang's eyes became empty.

His mouth was slightly open, and the wine glass he was holding was tilted, spilling wine that ran down his fingers and dripped onto the marble tabletop, making a dripping sound.

But his body didn't move, his expression didn't change, and he sat motionless on the stone bench like a statue frozen in time, his eyes empty, like two dry wells that had been dry for many years.

The dogs in the yard stopped barking, the roosters in the distance stopped crowing, and the whole world seemed to have been put on pause.

Zhou Haibing reached out and took the tilted wine glass from Zhou Fuxiang's hand, placing it on the stone table.

"Zhou Fuxiang, take out your phone."

Zhou Fuxiang mechanically pulled a mobile phone out of his pocket. It was a Huawei flagship phone with a gold casing, and it was newer than the one Zhou Haibing himself used.

This was also bought for him by Zhou Haibing, costing over ten thousand yuan.

The old man is quite adept at using a smartphone; he can browse Douyin (TikTok), post on WeChat Moments, and grab red envelopes—he knows how to do it all.

What is your phone password?

"131025".

Zhou Haibing unlocked his phone.

Zhou Fuxiang's phone wallpaper is a solo photo of himself standing at the entrance of a villa, wearing a suit and tie, hands on his hips, smiling smugly.

There was no Zhou Haibing, no Zhou Haiqing, no Zhou Hailong, only himself.

Zhou Haibing opened Alipay.

The balance is not much, just over two hundred thousand.

He then opened WeChat Pay, where he found over 300,000 yuan in his WeChat Wallet.

The total is around 600,000.

He opened Zhou Fuxiang's mobile banking app and checked his ICBC and Postal Savings Bank cards.

I have over 400,000 yuan in my ICBC card and over 300,000 yuan in my Postal Savings Bank card.

In total, it amounts to more than 1.3 million.

Zhou Haibing knew that his father had more money than that.

He also has passbooks and fixed deposit certificates, but this mobile app can only show current accounts and some investment products.