Seeing Jiang Cheng act as if he didn't exist, Qin Cong's face burned; he snarled, "Whoever you are, you broke my father's arm—old scores and new get settled today. Trash his car, then cripple his hand!"
A dozen pumped-up youngsters were about to pile out when Zhou Ying stepped forward.
Jiang Cheng caught her arm and flicked his eyes: stand back.
Reading the signal, she obediently retreated.
Xiao Ai added politely, "Mr. Jiang, I'm sorry this happened. I'll call the nearest officers right away."
Jiang Cheng paused, then waved. "Hold on—no need to waste police time on a trifle. I'll handle it."
"But…"
Looking at his bentley continental ring-fenced by Bodyguards, Jiang Cheng laughed. "Relax."
He honestly couldn't follow Qin Cong's logic.
"What century is this? Judging by your baby faces, you lot aren't even adults, are you?"
Instead of anger, Qin Cong looked smug. "Exactly—minors. Fighting's not a crime for us. Today I'll show you real terror!"
The cringe-worthy line made Jiang Cheng burst out laughing.
"What the hell are you laughing at? Think we're a joke?"
Jiang Cheng's irritation flared; he slapped Qin Cong across the face. "You—what are you even worth? Who keeps letting you yap in front of me?"
The blow left Qin Cong reeling.
Everyone froze.
Jiang Cheng's gaze was sharp, his aura commanding; already a head taller than these 170-cm teens, he looked down and said coldly, "Young, and the only thing you learn is how to game the law. Ten of you—fine. Come, smash it. My car's cheap: five million out the door. You won't do jail time; each family just forks out half a million. Bodyguards, stand aside—let them smash."
The words landed and the youths clutching bats and steel pipes hesitated.
Panic crept across their faces.
When they heard the price, not one of the sworn "brothers" dared move.
To them, Jiang Cheng now radiated authority like an unbreakable wall, stirring shame inside their bravado.
Most were only fifteen or sixteen; strutting worked only against classmates.
Their motorbikes had come after months of begging parents who finally gave in.
Few families matched Qin Cong's wealth; half a million in damages was astronomical.
Most parents were wage-workers who couldn't save a hundred grand in ten years.
Seeing them flinch, Jiang Cheng said icily, "What, scared? Weren't you cocky a minute ago?"
His taunt turned Qin Cong crimson. "Smash it—damages on me! It's just a lousy car; my family can pay."
Jiang Cheng cut in, "Hold up—haven't you heard? You can't scrape together five million. Your dad's company is bankrupt; you're no Second-generation rich kid now."
Qin Cong's face drained.
The youngsters stared; Qin Cong blustered, "It's your fault. Back off, or I'll fight you to the death."
The girls and boys began to waver.
"Cong, your family's bust? Seriously?"
"You're broke and you want us to smash? You setting us up?"
"No money but acting rich? Last night you promised me cosmetics after we slept together."
"Damn, you two hooked up? You cheated on me!"
"I just wanted some cash…"
"Screw you, skank—don't touch me!"
…Mocked by the group, Qin Cong panicked.
They'd followed him only for his family's cash; once bankrupt, who'd care?
He forced a shout, "So I'm not a second-gen prince—still richer than you. Attack him—drinks on me tonight!"
From childhood Qin Cheng had spoiled Qin Cong rotten.
At school he was the tyrant everyone avoided.
Still, nobody moved; he couldn't bear the humiliation after the public slap. "I'll risk it—let's see if you dare!"
He lunged—only for two black rolls-royces to roar up, horns blaring at the bikes.
The blasts drew every eye.
Thinking some big-shot had arrived, Qin Cong froze.
The rolls-royce Phantom slid in like a regal gentleman, blocking the bikes.
Seven or eight grim Bodyguards in black suits and shades stepped out.
Led by Wang Sheng, they jogged to Jiang Cheng.
All bowed: "Young master."
Gasps rippled through the crowd.
Luxury cars, stern guards—Jiang Cheng's power on full display.
Zhou Ying's worried heart finally eased.
She'd seen his strength in Shanghai, yet those wild bikers had kept her on edge.
"Whose heir is this Handsome Guy? Look at all those Bodyguards."
"No wonder he didn't flinch."
"A bentley versus motorbikes—why fear these brats? When they're our age they'll cringe at how dumb they were."
"True—but that slap felt so good."
…Facing the black-suited Bodyguards, the bikers paled.
Regret swept them; some wanted to slip away.