The Capitalist’s Spoiled Young Master? Perfect to Take Home as a Husband Chapter 79

"Ledger, huh?" Song Nianchu said with a serious face.

"You're telling these scraps of paper are a ledger?" Mu Deyi's voice rose several pitches.

"Y-yes." This was how she usually kept track of her accounts.

"Then which entries are inco? Which are expenses? Which are advances? And which are reimbursents?" Mu Deyi enunciated each word sharply.

"I... didn’t categorize them that clearly. I just jotted things down whenever I rembered." Song Nianchu felt a pang of guilt under Mu Deyi’s interrogation.

Ever since she started her business, she’d always had dedicated accountants handling the books. Her own record-keeping had always been haphazard, and later, when her personal assets grew, she handed everything over to professional managers. By the ti she died, she still hadn’t fully grasped the extent of her wealth.

So, she really wasn’t skilled at bookkeeping.

"You—!" Mu Deyi was so furious he could barely speak.

In his view, the most crucial thing for a businessperson was to keep their accounts clear.

Every single entry had to be recorded ticulously to make verification easier.

How could this girl even think of running a business with such a ss of records?

"Co with !" Mu Deyi threw down the broom in his hand and strode toward his room.

Song Nianchu hesitated, glancing at Mu Shi'an beside her.

"Your dad isn’t going to hit , is he?" she whispered.

"Of course not," Mu Shi'an chuckled before adding, "Besides, he couldn’t even beat you."

"True." Song Nianchu imdiately regained her confidence.

"What are you still standing there for? Bring those scraps of paper and get over here!" Mu Deyi had already reached the doorway when he turned and saw Song Nianchu still rooted in place, prompting him to raise his voice again.

"Okay." She hurried after him.

Inside the room, Mu Deyi rummaged through his bag and pulled out a brand-new notebook and a fountain pen—his most prized possessions at the mont.

With no table or chair in the room, he half-knelt beside the bed.

"Explain every entry on those papers to , clearly," he said sternly.

Hearing this, Song Nianchu realized Mu Deyi intended to sort out her accounts for her. She quickly brightened and walked over.

"This is the expense from when I bought supplies at the market earlier..."

"What was the date?"

"Um, yesterday, I think."

"No 'I think.' Give an exact date!"

"It was yesterday."

"..."

For the next while, the room was filled only with Mu Deyi’s sharp questions and Song Nianchu’s answers.

Outside, Mu Shi'an listened to the commotion, a faint smile in his eyes.

To him, Song Nianchu was like a miracle cure for his father.

Whenever the two of them were together, his father’s energy surged.

If they spent more ti like this, maybe his father’s illness would vanish on its own.

"Brother, what were you saying earlier about an accountant?" Mu Jingi finally snapped out of her daze and rushed over to ask.

"The village wants Dad to be their accountant," Mu Shi'an replied flatly.

This wasn’t sothing they could hide anyway. He had planned to announce it once everything was finalized.

"An accountant? Does that an a lot of money?" Mu Jingi pressed eagerly.

Mu Shi'an turned to look at her, his gaze carrying a hint of sothing unreadable.

"We’re not a factory. There’s no salary."

"Oh, I ant work points. Accountants get full work points, right?" Her eyes sparkled.

Lately, many villagers had secured jobs with full work points—easy work, too. She had been green with envy.

Now, it seed, this good fortune had finally landed on their doorstep.

She had always believed that if Song Nianchu wanted to stay with her brother long-term, she’d have to butter up the family.

"Why do you care so much?" Mu Shi'an had long since seen through Mu Jingi. She wasn’t the sweet, obedient sister she used to be.

Her mind was always scheming.

"Brother, what’s that supposed to an? This concerns our family too. Can’t I even ask?" Mu Jingi struck first.

"You can ask, but I doubt that’s all you want to do," Mu Shi'an said pointedly.

Mu Jingi’s expression flickered, but she quickly masked it, even mustering a look of hurt.

"Brother, why do you resent so much now? I just wanted to check on Dad."

"Enough. Why do you two always bicker like this?" Mu's mother, sensing the tension, stepped in to diate. She turned to Mu Shi'an. "Shi'an, your sister was just asking. Why be so harsh?"

Defending Mu Jingi was second nature to her.

"Then ask her if she’s got ulterior motives," Mu Shi'an said firmly.

Before Mu's mother could respond, a cry of excitent ca from the room.

Worried sothing might have happened, Mu Shi'an abandoned the conversation and hurried inside.

At the doorway, he saw Song Nianchu staring at Mu Deyi with an expression so fervent it was like a parched traveler stumbling upon an oasis—clinging for dear life.

"Uncle, from now on, you’re my honorary uncle! The village accountant position is yours and yours alone. I won’t accept anyone else!" If not for fear of being thrown out, Song Nianchu would have hugged his leg right then.

In re minutes, Mu Deyi had untangled weeks’ worth of her ssy accounts.

Even better, he had drawn up a projected balance sheet for the next week’s inco and expenses.

Without increasing their quota, the village could now earn nearly a hundred yuan a week.

Song Nianchu felt invincible!

The title of the nation’s richest person was within reach!

"Who’s your honorary uncle?" Mu Deyi grumbled, though his eyes betrayed a hint of fluster.

"Then what do you want to be? As long as you agree to be our village accountant, I’ll call you whatever you want!"

Mu Deyi opened his mouth, then shut it again. If he said he wanted to be called "Dad," this girl would probably cheer.

"Fine, I’ll take the accountant job. Now get out," he relented, utterly worn down.

This girl was shalessly persistent—flexible yet unyielding. In all his years in business, he’d t all kinds of characters, but none as tenacious as her.

"Deal! But first, I need you to help with a budget..." The mont Mu Deyi agreed, Song Nianchu launched into her plans to collaborate with the county’s glass factory.

She knew the venture would be profitable, but the exact figures eluded her. She needed Mu Deyi to crunch the numbers.

And if there were ways to cut costs, even better. In the early stages of a startup, every penny had to count.

As Song Nianchu stared at him expectantly, Mu Deyi suddenly felt like he’d boarded a pirate ship.

Had this girl sweet-talked him into doing her dirty work?