After the introductions everyone pulled up chairs and sat around the table.
Qin Fen flashed a grin at Jiang Cheng, gloating. "Jiang Cheng, heard your car got smashed—are you all right, is it fixed?"
Jiang Cheng gave Qin Fen a sidelong glance and snorted. "Wow, well-informed. How did you know?"
"It made the news. Wang Zheng, that loudspeaker, sent it to me the second he saw it. Didn't catch your face, but I recognized the plate the moment I saw it." Qin Fen waved his phone at Jiang Cheng.
Jiang Cheng pointed to Wang Congcong. "All fixed, and Brother Wang helped me with it."
Qin Fen spun toward Wang Congcong, eyes sparkling. "Don't tell me you're the one who crashed into him?"
Wang Congcong spread his hands helplessly. "Do I look that bad a driver? I was doing a friend a favor. Thanks to him I got to know Jiang Cheng."
The other three exchanged looks—Wang Congcong seemed to be deliberately elevating Jiang Cheng.
They all knew Jiang Cheng was rich, but was he really worth Wang Congcong's praise?
Suspicion clouded every gaze fixed on Jiang Cheng.
After all, in Shanghai's elite circles Wang Congcong sat at the very top.
And now he was singing Jiang Cheng's praises.
Jiang Cheng turned to Qin Fen. "Hey, didn't your 918 get wrecked once? And that Ferrari—the global No. 4 laferrari crash on the news?"
Qin Fen gave an embarrassed laugh. "I stamped the wrong pedal and hit myself, not a rear-ender. Let's not talk about it—makes me blush."
"So the lousy driver is you? That photo was pretty suave, sitting in the rain playing with your phone. Honestly, that flex was next-level." Jiang Cheng teased.
"Stop it—I had no choice. Couldn't leave the car there in the rain. I wasn't playing; I was texting friends for help. The media twisted it, said I looked calm while panicking inside. I was panicking, okay?" Qin Fen shrugged.
Wang Zheng chimed in, "Don't buy his act. He went home, showered, and crashed out—'panicking,' huh? I don't get you tycoons and your theatrics."
"Exactly. When it comes to flexing, Old Qin's the champ," Chen Hao piled on.
"Enough. With Old Jiang and Brother Wang here, stop crowning me. Flexing in front of them? I'd die of shame." Qin Fen cut the topic dead.
Jiang Cheng laughed. "Never thought I'd share a table with the 'emperor of shanghai' and the 'national husband.'"
Wang Congcong waved it off. "Drop those tags. If the women here knew you just dropped 6.5 billion on my office tower, they'd learn what 'national husband' really means. You're too low-key—want me to put you on tomorrow's headlines?"
"Old Wang's right. Those nicknames are fine outside, but inside the circle they'll get you roasted."
The grin froze on Qin Fen's face. "Hold up—holy crap, Wang, what did you say? 6.5 billion for your office building??"
His features snapped from shock to disbelief in a split second.
Even Qin Fen lost control of his expression.
Wang Zheng and Chen Hao fared no better.
Both stood slack-jawed in astonishment.
Seeing Wang Congcong steer the spotlight onto him, Jiang Cheng shook his head wryly.
Sooner or later they'd find out; he'd never planned to hide it.
These guys might act idle and frivolous, but they know the dance of social grace.
In front of someone more powerful they'd never throw attitude.
So Wang Congcong smoothly shifted the topic, placing Jiang Cheng center-stage.
Ordinary people can't break into this circle.
The price tags on the cars and watches they casually wear filter most folks out.
Those with matching family fortunes and tolerable tempers usually mesh well.
After all, these Second-generation rich aren't fools; only a few are spoiled rotten.
Most receive elite educations, study abroad, master every social etiquette.
Wang Congcong grew up in the U.K.; his British accent is as fluent as his mother tongue.
He majored in philosophy—he's no empty-headed loudmouth.
Only Jiang Cheng was raised through ordinary schooling.
Jiang Jianming never pressured him with academic goals.
That he'd turned out this well felt almost miraculous to Jiang Cheng himself.
Everyone present straightened up at "6.5 billion," staring at Jiang Cheng in shock.
Wang Zheng and Chen Hao howled, "Bloody hell! 6.5 billion for an office block? Old Jiang, what kind of family are you from?"
"Seriously, Jiang Cheng, what does your family do?"
"Yeah, 6.5 billion—that's an entire tower, right?"
Before Jiang Cheng could answer, Wang Congcong added, "And he paid it in full, right now. We just left the bank—one transfer, 6.5 billion, done."
That sent the other three into even greater turmoil.
All at once—6.5 billion??
Qin Fen stared at Jiang Cheng, emotions churning. "Old Jiang… you don't actually have a system, do you?"
Jiang Cheng met Qin Fen's probing gaze, one brow lifting involuntarily.
Had this sharp-eyed guy seen through him?
Under their fixed stares Jiang Cheng felt a flicker of panic.
Yet he kept his surface calm, chuckling tentatively. "How did you guess—do you carry a system too?"
After all, if he could get the tycoon system, who's to say someone else couldn't?