Chapter 473: That Much? Don’t Tell Me He’s the Bride’s Ex!

After successfully picking up the bride, the ceremony moved straight into the traditional bowing ritual.

Old Hu, still riding the high of celebration, dragged Wang Yun over to the gift table.

In their hometown, there was always a designated area for collecting cash gifts. Everyone would come forward to present their red envelopes, a custom known as shangli.

“Boss, how much are you giving this time?” Old Hu leaned in, grinning conspiratorially.

Wang Yun smiled at him and shot back, “Don’t try to squeeze it out of me. Yours will definitely be higher than mine.”

“Heh, that’s all I needed to hear. Thanks, Boss!”

Satisfied, Old Hu strode confidently toward the table.

At the table, one man—called shifu out of courtesy—was recording names, while another loudly announced each guest’s name and the amount they’d given.

“Yu Feng’s family, two hundred!”

“Old Luo’s grandson, one hundred!”

“Hu Sanqing, twenty thousand!”

The moment the announcer shouted twenty thousand, the entire venue sucked in a collective breath.

“Tw-twenty thousand?!”

Even the announcer was stunned. He quickly turned to the bookkeeper, eyes wide. The man recording the gifts had been half-blinded by cigarette smoke, but now he was staring at the stack of bills in disbelief.

It was real—twenty thousand yuan.

“Y-yeah, it’s twenty thousand!”

“My god, who is this guy? That rich?!”

“Wait, isn’t that Xiao Gang’s friend? The one from the TV station? Of course he’s loaded!”

“Right? Twenty thousand! My family works a whole year to earn that much!”

Once the amount was confirmed, the crowd erupted in awe.

Everyone’s faces were lit with envy—envy that Xiao Gang had such a generous friend, and envy that the Mao family had, in one fell swoop, made back the entire cost of the banquet.

After all, in the countryside, hosting a banquet didn’t cost much.

Renting a stage might run one or two thousand yuan. A table of food, including drinks, was about a thousand. Multiply that by a few dozen tables, and the total might seem like a lot, but once you factored in guests’ cash gifts, it usually balanced out.

But thanks to this single twenty-thousand-yuan gift from Old Hu, the Mao family came out twenty grand ahead.

“My brother’s getting married, it’s only right I do this,” Old Hu declared, basking in the spotlight. “I’ve got the money. No big deal!”

His words puffed with pride as envious eyes followed him.

“What a guy, he’s got money and loyalty!”

“Xiao Gang’s lucky to have a friend like that!”

A chorus of villagers chimed in with praise. A few even tried to introduce Old Hu to their single female relatives. In a small village like this, someone with his looks, personality, and apparent wealth was gold-tier husband material.

“Alright, next! Don’t just stand there, keep the gifts coming!”

The gift announcer called out, but the guests lined up behind Old Hu hesitated.

Especially Xiao Gang’s childhood friends—three or four of them had only prepared five hundred yuan each. One family with a slightly better background had brought a thousand.

Compared to twenty thousand, it felt embarrassing.

Nobody wanted to be the next name announced after that.

The gift table had just shouted “twenty thousand,” and now it would drop to “five hundred” or “one thousand”? The shame was unbearable.

The group started murmuring among themselves, awkward smiles plastered on their faces, their expressions tinged with frustration.

“You’d think he was the bride’s ex, the way he’s throwing money around.”

One of them muttered under his breath.

On the surface, what Old Hu did didn’t seem like a big deal. But it definitely put the guests behind him in an uncomfortable spot.

“Seriously, if he was going to give that much, why not wait until the end?”

“What’s the point of having money if you’ve got no brains?”

“Rich people don’t care about us poor folks; they just want to enjoy the moment.”

“Enough already. They’re all Xiao Gang’s friends. Let’s not cause a scene. We’ll give what we can, Xiao Gang knows our hearts.”

After a round of whispered grumbling, one of them finally braced himself and stepped forward to give his gift.

“How much are you giving?”

“Fi—”

“Hold on, let me go first,” Wang Yun said calmly. “I’ll sit down afterward. Been standing too long.”

He had overheard everything.

Wang Yun understood where they were coming from. But still, just because you’re broke doesn’t mean you should resent the wealthy.

That kind of mindset was classic loser mentality.

And to talk like that about his friend?

Wang Yun had no interest in arguing. He just wanted to hand over his gift and drag Old Hu off for a private chat.

That guy was still grinning like a fool, surrounded by swooning women, completely unaware he’d become every man’s worst enemy.

“I’ll go ahead. I came with Old Hu,” Wang Yun said, stepping up.

The man at the front of the line gave Wang Yun a once-over, said nothing, and stepped aside.

“Name and amount?” asked the shifu, businesslike.

Wang Yun pulled out a bank card and handed it over.

“Just write ‘Wang Yun.’ No need to note the amount—it’s all on this card.”

He spoke lightly, almost offhandedly.

“A… bank card?” the bookkeeper muttered, stunned by the sight.

He looked up at Wang Yun, speechless.

The people standing nearby caught sight of the card and immediately burst into laughter.