{Zhao Buhui replied, “I don’t care.” 4}

He had a pair of beguiling peach blossom eyes, but at this moment, they were not adorned with the usual playful, flippant smile. Instead, he gazed at everyone as though everything was just a fleeting dream, his eyes clear and sharp beneath the facade.

From the moment Zhao Buhui stepped into the room, a layer of condensation began to form on the giant floor-to-ceiling windows of the conference room.

Outside, the first snow of the year was falling south of the Yangtze River.

The first snowflake descending from the sky was nearly poetic in its beauty.

It seemed as if it wanted to pierce through the thick and heavy glass, merging with the sunlight that glinted off his shoulders.

Qian Xu paid no attention to the elusive beauty of the season. She was indifferent to the long-missed domestic snowfall, focusing only on one thing: Zhao Buhui wasn’t as dim-witted as he appeared.

At the very least, he knew where he stood. As soon as he entered, his indifferent gaze, laced with the smell of gunpowder, was fixed squarely on Director Zhang, who was still critiquing him. “Uncle Zhang, long time no see, but I’ve heard you’ve recently welcomed a new little son…”

Director Zhang, known for his less-than-honorable behavior in private, especially regarding his indulgences in romantic affairs, had made headlines several times.

For a junior to tease him about this to his face—of course, Director Zhang felt uncomfortable.

Trying to dodge the embarrassing topic of his illegitimate son, Zhang swiftly changed the subject, now speaking in a righteous tone. “Buhui, I’m just looking out for you. Your father would rather hand the company over to an outsider than let you take over…”

Zhao Buhui planted both hands on the silver-gray conference table, his eyes unflinchingly fixed on Zhang as he countered, “Uncle Zhang, do you really think your life would be easier if the company were handed to me?”

It was clear: Zhao Buhui had no regard for family ties, nor did he have any intention of safeguarding the interests of Zhao Tian Group’s veterans. Director Zhang could only sigh. His earlier remarks were intended to stir up tension between father and son, not out of any genuine desire to see Zhao Buhui rise to power.

Having started down this path, however, Zhang could only press on. “Of course! We’re uncle and nephew, after all. You’re the one I value most.”

Zhao Buhui didn’t hesitate, replying with mockery, “Then why don’t you just give me your shares for free?”

With that, Director Zhang was left completely speechless.

Qian Xu noticed Director Hu, seated beside Zhang, was still unwilling to relent. He appeared kinder and gentler than Zhang, but his words were far sharper, like a fox hiding its claws. “Buhui, the company’s grown so much, we’ve been rooted here in Jiangcheng for so many years—all to help you… How can you have no interest in the company at all?”

From Qian Xu’s perspective, it seemed like Director Hu was deliberately setting a trap to lure Zhao Buhui back, hoping to entangle him in the company’s internal conflicts. If the upper management descended into infighting, some individuals could seize more resources for themselves, perhaps even taking control of the company’s decision-making power.

She glanced worriedly at Zhao Buhui, thinking he might accidentally fall into this trap.

But Zhao Buhui remained indifferent. “I don’t care.”

That simple, nonchalant statement dashed the schemers’ hopes completely.

From the moment he arrived, the atmosphere in the conference room had shifted. The shareholders, who had been lounging smugly and fiddling with their luxury watches, now sat tense and alert. They could no longer direct their attacks at Zhao Tian or the young woman he had introduced. Though they despised Zhao Buhui’s playboy lifestyle, they now realized he was not someone they could easily manipulate.

This was no longer their domain.

A few of the senior shareholders, seeing their plans fall apart, slumped in defeat, ready to retreat. Zhao Buhui made no attempt to stop them, standing amidst the throng of retreating figures, idly twirling his limited-edition Montblanc pen. His gaze appeared vacant, yet deep within his pupils, the reflection of a woman’s silhouette remained.

He said, “Come here.”

Outside, the snow was falling harder.