In a quirky little bar in the Demon City, Chen Hao sipped his cocktail while refreshing the news on his phone.
He came across an amusing headline and casually read aloud, "Lamborghini crashes into porsche 918 at a roadside barbecue stand in a Shanghai alley; both owners calmly pocket their hands and chat."
Tapping on the photo, Chen Hao yelped, "Holy crap, whose plate is 88888? I've never seen it—whose new ride is this?"
Wang Zheng, beside him, recognized the familiar number and looked up. "88888? Could it be Jiang Cheng's? The porsche 918?"
Chen Hao shoved the screen toward him. "Take a look—is it his? I remember him saying he had a 918 shipped over."
Wang Zheng zoomed in on the picture and studied it; the plate was definitely Jiang Cheng's.
The photo didn't catch a full face, but the profile standing next to the car was unmistakably Jiang Cheng.
Wang Zheng nodded. "Yeah, while you were away he came back to the Demon City. We hung out the day before yesterday—know what? We hit Sister An's place and he dropped twenty million on a wristwatch."
Chen Hao's eyes bulged, curiosity all over his face.
"Which one? A Patek Philippe Sky-Moon or…?"
"The 5374 minute-repeater chronograph," Wang Zheng replied.
"I'm so jealous—when can I get a watch like that?" Chen Hao gushed.
Wang Zheng shook his head. "I still can't figure out his family's bottom line. Their construction company shouldn't throw off that kind of loose change, yet he pays in full up front. Some of our friends' entire family net worth is only a hundred or two hundred million. Heck, even we can't spend like he does."
"Agreed—he's not simple. Whatever, maybe some backgrounds stay hidden."
Wang Zheng nodded. "And did you see last night's Social Media hot search? Wang Congcong was hanging with him—they looked pretty tight in the clip."
"Saw it—front-page on Social Media."
"He drove that car when we bought the watch; one day later it's wrecked. Let me ask him."
"Tough luck," Chen Hao sighed. "I'll text too—see if he wants to hang out."
Jiang Cheng read their messages and replied,
"Thanks for the concern—off to pick up another porsche 918. Dinner tomorrow on me."
In the Ferrari, Qiao Yinyin said glumly, "I used to dream of being rich; now that I am, I feel uneasy."
"Why?"
"Seeing that poor little boy just now made my shopping spree feel obscene."
Jiang Cheng smiled faintly. "That's how the world works. When I was small, before we moved, Dad's business made a bit of money and he bought me a pair of shoes that cost a few hundred. The neighbor's kid wanted them too and told his mom, but she sneered, 'Why waste so much on shoes? A fifty-yuan pair and a five-thousand-yuan pair both wear out—show-offs.'
Later we got richer and moved. One day I passed the old block and played with him; he was wearing the same brand I used to. I asked, 'Didn't your mom say a few hundred was extravagant?'
He said, 'We've made money lately, so Mom bought them. When we were broke she bad-mouthed them to hide that we couldn't afford them.'
So morality and thrift are just stories; the truth is spending power.
When you can't afford something you condemn those who can, to feel special. When you're broke you claim a hundred-thousand-yuan car and a ten-million-yuan car both reach the destination. But once you suddenly have money, most people instantly buy what they once couldn't. Live the life your wallet allows—don't feel guilty."
Qiao Yinyin listened and saw the light.
Exactly—some girls seeing her in Jiang Cheng's Ferrari might call her a gold-digger or a green-tea b*tch, but give them the chance and they'd grab it just as fast.