Xiao Ai's eyes lit up. "Yes, Mr. Jiang. Our premium units use imported eco-friendly materials, zero formaldehyde, so the price is a little higher."
"Pick a few that face the river; let's go see them first."
"Mm-hmm. Please wait a moment while I get the keys from my supervisor."
Soon Jiang Cheng and Zhou Ying boarded the viewing golf-cart and headed for the floors Xiao Ai had recommended.
After several viewings they both settled on a simply yet grandly decorated four-bedroom unit.
They examined the décor and layout carefully.
Stepping into the bedroom, they were surprised to find even the bedding ready. "A high-end estate indeed—the linens are silk."
Seeing Jiang Cheng and Miss Zhou stop in front of this apartment,
Xiao Ai quickly said, "Mr. Jiang, Miss Zhou, this penthouse is arguably the crown jewel of our complex. It has two balconies: the left one overlooks the Taikoo district; the right terrace faces the river and the temple. The view is superb morning or night. The décor is modern, and all appliances and furniture are imported brands of the highest quality. If you like, we can arrange a professional cleaning crew—within hours you can move straight in…"
Jiang Cheng cut her off. "We'll take this one. Let's go sign downstairs."
When he finished, both women stared in shock.
"It's lovely, but I still think it's a bit large."
"Enough. Listen to me—bigger is better; what's so good about cramped?"
Noticing where Jiang Cheng's gaze had drifted, Zhou Ying flushed and shot him a coy glare.
The three soon returned to the sales office. Before Xiao Ai could usher them into the VIP lounge, a ruckus of motorcycle engines erupted outside.
It was midday under a blazing sun.
Traffic surged along the busy city streets; Chengdu's traffic rules were strict,
yet a pack of garishly dressed delinquents still slipped through back alleys on motorbikes, dodging traffic cops.
Once on an unmonitored stretch they opened the throttles, engines howling, pushing their bikes to top speed as if to leave the whole city behind.
They raced and yelled at the top of their lungs.
Anyone listening could tell their shouts were nothing but foul language.
To onlookers their antics were an eyesore, yet they thought themselves ultra-cool,
even deriving pleasure from pedestrians scattering before them.
They felt utterly free in their swaggering disregard for everything.
Nearing the sales office, they deliberately roared their bikes straight at pedestrians by the entrance,
then braked hard at the last second.
Watching the terrified screams, the ghost-fire youths burst into laughter, proud of how "awesome" they were.
Hearing the curses outside, security rushed out.
Jiang Cheng also paused, took Zhou Ying's hand and walked toward the door.
A dozen wild motorcycles now blocked the entrance.
A bunch of hooligans—hair dyed red, yellow, green—stood smoking, steel bars in hand, posing.
Among them some scantily clad girls chewed gum, arms draped over the boys' waists.
The leader, a yellow-haired punk, dismounted first, chewing gum and swinging an iron bar, looking cocky.
He pointed at Jiang Cheng's bentley continental. "Tell the owner of this car to come out, or I'll smash it."
The guards paled; one scratch on the multi-million-yuan Bentley would cost them their jobs.
"Leave at once or we call the police."
"Cut the crap. Get him out or the car gets it."
A crowd gathered. Jiang Cheng, amused at first, raised an eyebrow when he realized they were looking for him.
What was this? His Danger Perception Skill hadn't alerted him, and he didn't know the kid.
He opened the Character Scanning System and glanced.
Qin Cong?? Never heard the name.
A moment's thought and it clicked—Qin Cheng's son?
Knowing the background, Jiang Cheng opened wechat and sent Wang Sheng a message.
Zhou Ying, seeing a dozen tattooed ghost-fire youths, panicked. "Jiang Cheng, who are they?"
"The son of the old man we met at the airport yesterday."
Realization and guilt flashed across her face. "Him? So it's about his father. Don't go out—I'll call the police."
She clutched his hand; Jiang Cheng patted it reassuringly. "Relax, wait here."
He stepped outside. "You're Qin Cheng's son?"
Qin Cong blinked at the sight of him,
then sneered. "So you know me. You're the one who screwed my dad's company?"
Jiang Cheng sized him up: a Gucci shirt with a logo so large it screamed for attention,
tapered jeans of some no-name brand, feet in ten-thousand-yuan Air Jordans.
Taking in the nouveau-riche getup, Jiang Cheng calmly corrected him: "Technically, it was my father who did it."