"Besides, even if what's inside isn't real Moutai, so what? My son got that bottle! This prize came from my son's luck! It has nothing to do with you, nothing to do with your broke parents—not even a cent!"
I looked at them coldly.
My voice was so calm it didn't carry a single ripple.
"Fine."
"Then guard that 'luck' properly."
I left those icy words hanging, didn't bother watching their faces cycle through their wonderfully varied expressions, turned around, went back to the bedroom, and locked the door.
I knew they wouldn't let it go. That "five million" mirage had already sunk its hooks deep into their souls.
The next morning, just as dawn broke.
I got ready for work like usual and headed down to the underground parking garage.
From a distance, I spotted it—the driver's side window of my white sedan, shattered all over the ground.
My heart dropped. I rushed over.
The inside had been ransacked. The storage compartment hung open, small odds and ends scattered across the seats and floor mats.
On the passenger seat, that dark red Moutai gift box I'd deliberately placed there yesterday had vanished.
Sure enough.
They made their move.
I just hadn't expected them to stoop this low.