Early the next morning, Xia Xiaolan witnessed once again the power of Grandmother Yu’s face-saving verbal agreement.

The flight was at nine in the morning, and she needed to leave for the airport at seven.

Grandmother Yu arranged for the hotel to provide breakfast around 6:30, wanting Xia Xiaolan to eat something before leaving—this was entirely normal, as Nanhai Hotel was Pengcheng’s first five-star hotel. There was nothing wrong with a guest wanting breakfast at 6:30 AM. If guests had requirements, room service had to be provided even at three in the morning!

The problem was that Grandmother Yu called and woke up Tina.

The stated reason was that, as a grandmother, she wanted to have her first meal with her granddaughter.

Eating at 6:30 in the morning?

In her nineteen years of life, Tina had never experienced this!

It wasn’t that she was lazy; it just didn’t align with Tina’s lifestyle.

On the phone, when Tina wanted to get angry, Grandmother Yu questioned her:

“Breaking the agreement on the first day? I thought you could at least hold out for a few days.”

“I’m not breaking it, but who eats at six-thirty—”

“Elderly people do. We don’t sleep well and don’t get much rest at night. You have ten minutes to freshen up. We’ll go to the restaurant first, and you’d better hurry.”

Before Tina could respond, she heard the dial tone.

No chance for refusal was given.

Tina threw down the phone receiver and screamed under her covers.

She accidentally kicked the red envelope on the bedside table to the floor, scattering brand new ten-yuan bills across the carpet.

She didn’t even glance at them.

This money meant nothing to her.

Even though her inherited assets were under trust management, her monthly allowance was still calculated in dollars. Tina wasn’t short of money.

Ten minutes, nine minutes, eight minutes… Tina threw off the covers and rushed into the bathroom.

“I’m just fulfilling the agreement,” she told herself seriously, looking in the mirror.

Although she only freshened up briefly, she was still late arriving at the restaurant.

Xia Xiaolan and Ji Jiangyuan were already halfway through their breakfast when Grandmother Yu glanced at her: “You’re late. Your father and brother wanted to wait for you, but I said you’re an adult now and don’t need to be spoon-fed, so they started eating. Order whatever you want; I do care about my granddaughter.”

Tina didn’t want to eat anything!

True, she was ten minutes late, but it wasn’t even 7 AM yet.

Grandmother Yu’s emphasis on caring for her granddaughter was a reminder to Tina not to forget to maintain her face in front of others.

Ji Jiangyuan was that “outsider,” and Tina hadn’t expected to fulfill the agreement so soon. She managed a dry “thank you.”

Ji Jiangyuan winked at her, happy for her progress—taking a brave first step might lead to a happy ending like in the movies!

Tina couldn’t express her frustration.

Happy ending?

This was all about saving face!

She had no appetite and only ordered a glass of milk, sipping it listlessly.

Xia Xiaolan was using the time to discuss museum matters with Xu Zhongyi, and Tina couldn’t help but listen in.

Xu Zhongyi spoke openly, not hiding anything from anyone:

“Out of 156 mu of land, 20 mu is for cultural use. Rather than commissioning someone else for the design, why not let you handle it, Xiaolan? What are your thoughts?”

All 20 mu for the museum?

20 mu was about 13,333 square meters—quite substantial.

Consider that Qihang’s first project, Jinsha Pool, was only 23.2 mu, and it earned Xia Xiaolan seven to eight million! Qihang’s second project, Luohu Tiancheng, had a total area of just 35 mu.

“Uncle Xu, for specific planning, I’d need a general idea of your budget. I suggest comprehensive planning—regardless of how you plan to use the remaining land, since these 20 mu of cultural land can’t be used commercially, we should at least make it an eye-catching landmark to enhance the value of the remaining land, don’t you agree?”

Not only did Xu Zhongyi nod at Xia Xiaolan’s words, but Grandmother Yu and Xu Changle agreed as well.

Ji Jiangyuan had never independently handled a real estate project, but with Xia Xiaolan discussing such matters in front of him, only a fool would plug their ears and not listen.

Only Tina, who had never dealt with business matters, stared at her milk glass, playing with it.

No one cared what Tina thought at this moment; Xu Zhongyi’s mind was on business. Since he’d mentioned gradually handing over his antique business to others, he was considering future directions. In a few years, after retiring, he couldn’t just live off savings—he needed other business ventures.

So when Grandmother Yu suggested acquiring more land, Xu Zhongyi himself didn’t object.

Building a museum fulfilled the family’s wishes, but they couldn’t let this wish drive the family from wealth to poverty.

However, developing all 156 mu of land was beyond Xu Zhongyi’s immediate capabilities.

He was frank with Xia Xiaolan: “Of the 156 mu, 20 mu is cultural land for the museum, 50 mu is residential, and 86 mu is commercial… Just acquiring the land cost 16 million.”

16 million yuan?

Xia Xiaolan could hardly contain her excitement.

Shangdu indeed couldn’t compare with Pengcheng—156 mu of mixed-use land for only 16 million yuan, including 86 mu of commercial land!

Whether it was Xu Zhongyi’s or Grandmother Yu’s idea, they had taken only 50 mu of residential land but 86 mu of commercial land. Between residential and commercial land, which was more valuable depending on the city and location. Land near Shangdu’s Erqi Square was more suitable for commercial development, as Erqi Square had always been an important commercial district in the provincial capital!

The government wasn’t foolish; in such cases, commercial land in the same area would be more expensive.

Residential and cultural land were cheaper.

There was no choice—Shangdu had just introduced welfare housing this year. As Xia Xiaolan knew, the unit price was two to three hundred yuan per square meter. If they tried to sell residential land at Special Zone prices, while the Shangdu government might agree, buyers wouldn’t! For instance, land prices for Qihang’s “Luohu Tiancheng” project had risen to 200,000 yuan per mu. If Xu Zhongyi paid the same price for land near Erqi Square to build houses, 50 mu of residential land would cost 10 million. After Luohu Tiancheng was built, though Xia Xiaolan claimed they weren’t profiting for the sake of reputation, they still priced units at 1,400 yuan/㎡—how could they not make money if they sold everything?

But if Xu Zhongyi developed commercial housing in Shangdu, he could only charge 400 yuan/㎡ at most.

At 400 yuan/㎡, even if Hong Kong tycoons were foolishly wealthy, Xu Zhongyi would need to sell countless antiques to cover the project’s losses.

The 50 mu of residential land could wait—building now wouldn’t be profitable.

The 86 mu of commercial land made Xia Xiaolan so envious she could barely contain herself:

“The 20 mu of cultural land doesn’t all have to be used for the museum building. As long as it’s not used for profit, the museum needs supporting greenery too. Landscaping costs less than construction. Uncle Xu, don’t rush the development of this 156 mu. Let’s focus on the museum first, then consider the rest… I’ll plan it carefully for you. Could you tell me if a budget of 10 million yuan for building this museum would work?”