Seeing Jiang Cheng staring at Zhou Ying, Chen Hao teased, "Your Ferrari team's really something this time—actually landing a beauty like her. Those legs, that height—totally unreal."
Wang Zheng nodded, feeling a bit of pressure; at roughly five-foot-eight he was the shortest of the three of them.
"Even without the heels she's got to be five-nine. A face that could make you fall in love at first sight, but that height's intimidating."
Chen Hao clapped Wang Zheng's shoulder. "Brother Wang, you're a smart man—you know yourself well."
Suddenly stung by the jab, Wang Zheng shot back, "…the hell, get lost."
Jiang Cheng watched the two of them horse around and shook his head with a laugh.
Only when he stepped closer did he notice Zhou Ying's expression wasn't good.
Some sleazy guy was crouched in front of her, angling his phone up for a creepshot.
Today's dress had a high side-slit.
She wore safety shorts underneath, yet the act still made her skin crawl.
If this weren't for work, she could have kicked the perv square in the face.
After an internal eye-roll she reluctantly turned, switching poses.
To her dismay the guy mirrored her move, squatting again to shoot.
"Please don't film like that," Zhou Ying said, her voice icy.
"Oh, a Car Model putting on airs? Don't want shots? Don't be a model. I'll shoot however I like!"
Jiang Cheng muttered inwardly—can't believe such disgusting nonsense still happens these days.
He walked straight over, kicked the man's phone to the floor, and stomped hard with his other foot.
Crack! The screen shattered; looked like the guy would need a new phone altogether.
Blood rushed to the man's head as he watched Jiang Cheng's move.
That album had taken days of squatting to build.
It held dozens of upskirt shots of different models at the show.
He hadn't even had time to download them to his bedside archive—now Jiang Cheng had wrecked everything?
Glancing at the broken screen, Jiang Cheng said casually, "Sorry, slipped. How much? I'll pay."
"Damn it, watch where you're going—my photos!"
Eyes reddening, the guy stared at the wrecked phone still under Jiang Cheng's shoe.
Everyone could see Jiang Cheng had done it on purpose.
Most felt it was justice served; no one spoke up for the creep.
At Jiang Cheng's sudden appearance Zhou Ying's heart gave a thump.
Seeing his phone still pinned, the man flushed and charged, swinging at Jiang Cheng.
Jiang Cheng deliberately staggered back several steps, making it look like the punch had landed.
Then, deadpan, he said, "You threw the first punch. Under Chinese law, what follows is legitimate self-defense."
With that he drove his own fist forward.
His aim was precise: the soft spot just below the sternum.
With no rib protection there, the blow folded the man in agony.
He collapsed onto a nearby lounge chair, clutching a plastic seat for support.
Wang Zheng and Chen Hao exchanged glances and walked over. "Cheng, slick moves—nice."
Jiang Cheng waved them off. "Tch, my opinion of your city just dropped a notch—how does someone like that still exist?"
Wang Zheng bristled at the regional dig. "Hey, don't lump us decent locals with that guy."
"Exactly," Chen Hao chimed in. "We're upright citizens—no such hobbies."
Still fuming, the man shouted, "What self-defense? I never even hit you! You'll pay millions for that punch, believe me!"
Jiang Cheng wasn't rattled in the least.
His father might only run a construction company, but Jiang Cheng had still picked up a few things over the years.
For an average Joe this wouldn't count as self-defense—just a brawl.
Both sides would get fined.
Apply the same scenario to the rich, though, and it becomes self-defense.
Well, except for Wang Congcong's two-million-yuan punch—that's a special case.
After all, every move he makes is magnified by rivals and netizens alike.
"Millions? Buddy, you still dreaming?"
He glanced at the man's shoes. "Hidden camera in the sneakers, right?"
Jiang Cheng had already noticed that his legs were always unconsciously angled in a certain way.
Now, seeing the panic on his face, Jiang Cheng was even more certain.
Wang Zheng and Chen Hao both looked disgusted when they heard this.
Although they themselves liked to fool around with women, it was always a fair transaction.
"Damn it, we're definitely sending this guy in for some serious re-education today."
"Right, we've got to help Brother Cheng improve his opinion of our great Modu."
The man panicked the moment he heard that.
If they reported him just for filming at the auto show with his phone, the police couldn't touch him.
But if the hidden camera on his shoe was discovered, that would be outright illegal.
Inside it were countless upskirt shots of the show's models—girls as young as a few years old and grannies pushing eighty.
The thought made the man scramble to his feet, desperate to bolt.
As he struggled up, Jiang Cheng snapped a back-kick straight into his groin—this time the pain was several times worse.
Less than a minute later Manager Huang arrived with the exhibition's security team.
Seeing that the troublemaker was Jiang Cheng, Manager Huang frowned and froze for a few seconds.
"Manager Huang, what are you waiting for? Call the police, save the surveillance footage, and give a full statement later."
Wang Zheng cut in: "Manager Huang, your exhibition standards are slipping—letting a guy with a spy-cam in his shoe inside."
Manager Huang's face paled; Wang Zheng and Chen Hao were both Second-generation rich kids of Modu.
And Jiang Cheng had ordered a ferrari 488 here only yesterday.
According to his profile, two days earlier he'd also booked a ferrari laferrari at the dealership.
Jiang Cheng was now a key VIP client of Ferrari.
Though he was the China headquarters manager and fairly senior,
if Jiang Cheng filed a complaint to HQ, his own job could be on the line.
Cold sweat beaded on Manager Huang's forehead.
"Yes, yes, I'm so sorry. We've never had such an incident before; it was our oversight. Rest assured, Mr. Jiang, you needn't be involved. I'll report to headquarters and have Ferrari's legal team handle this."
Hearing this, the man groaning on the floor turned deathly pale and stared at Jiang Cheng in terror.
Who on earth was this man??
To make Manager Huang swear to handle it personally.
If Ferrari's lawyers really came for him… Manager Huang moved fast: he had staff drive away everyone crowding Zhou Ying for photos and even sent people to persuade onlookers to delete videos from their phones.
Only then did Zhou Ying, dazzled by Jiang Cheng's move, react; she walked to his side.
She glanced at him nervously and asked, "Jiang Cheng, are you okay? Hurt anywhere?"
"Why wouldn't I be?"
"He seemed to land a punch on you."
Jiang Cheng waved it off; the punch had been a feint—his opponent had hit nothing but air.
"So you two go way back?" Chen Hao teased.
"No wonder Jiang Cheng busted out his kung fu—it was for the pretty lady," Wang Zheng added.
Zhou Ying flushed at their banter.
"This is my high-school classmate, Zhou Ying."
"These are my buddies, Wang Zheng and Chen Hao."
After quick greetings, Manager Huang jogged back obsequiously: "Mr. Jiang, it's all arranged—just a minor matter. Don't worry, it won't affect you in the least. Sorry for the trouble."
"Thanks, Manager Huang. Let me treat you to dinner sometime."
Manager Huang took the pleasantry as mere courtesy. After a meaningful glance at Zhou Ying, he said, "You're too kind. I'll leave you to chat."
"Here to see cars again today?" Zhou Ying asked.
"Just browsing—it's the last day anyway."
"When are you heading back? I still owe you dinner."
"Not scheduled yet, probably soon. Brother Chen's treating tonight; care to join us?"
He looked at Chen Hao. "Brother Chen, that okay?"
Chen Hao flashed an OK sign. "Of course. Invited a bunch of people—gonna be lively."
After Jiang Cheng's last treat, Wang Zheng had returned the favor with drinks; now Chen Hao was hosting a dinner.
These two really were worth befriending—neither was the type to take advantage.
Hearing everyone's invitation, Zhou Ying naturally nodded in agreement.