After he sent that, a message from his father popped up.
Dad: Brat, don't you dare get in that car—it's mine.
Jiang Cheng: You're not even in Kyoto; letting it sit there is a waste.
Dad: Brat, strutting already? When you reach Kyoto, try not to make trouble for your grandpa. He's old; he can't take the drama. Keep a low profile.
Jiang Cheng: Got it, don't worry.
Jiang Cheng didn't say much else, nor did he mention the old stories Great-Grandfather and Second Grand-Uncle had told him since his arrival.
In his view, those were private matters. He had no intention of interfering with his father's decisions, nor would he play the saint and take sides.
Everything in life has its causes and effects; as a late-comer he had neither the right nor the position to judge.
And he certainly wouldn't force his dad to make any choice for the sake of his own future.
Since his father didn't object to his spending time with Great-Grandfather and Second Grand-Uncle, he would simply stay with the two elders and let things unfold.
Oddly, Jiang Jianmin felt the same way and didn't pry about what Jiang Cheng might have heard.
After replying, Jiang Cheng slipped the phone into the car's storage compartment.
He unconsciously rubbed his hands, now slightly chilled.
Kyoto in December was far colder than he'd expected.
That morning, strolling through the gardens in this down jacket had felt just right.
But now, standing outside the car, a sudden chill hit him.
Inside the Courtyard House the floor heating and warm braziers had kept the winter at bay.
The moment he stepped outside, the biting wind slapped him, and he realized he'd underdressed.
Seeing Jiang Cheng about to leave, Chen Ping spoke up quickly.
"Young Master Jiang, please take this pass. With it you can enter many places without buying tickets."
"It's December and getting colder; tourists are scarce, so you won't face crowds. Contact me anytime if you need anything."
Jiang Cheng hunched his neck, nodded, and took the card.
Noticing he felt the cold, Chen Ping added,
"Young Master Jiang, the wind just picked up and the temperature's dropped several degrees. Snow is forecast for eight tonight—you should add another layer."
"Thanks for the heads-up. Aren't you cold yourself?"
Chen Ping shook his head. "I'm used to the north, and I train, so the cold doesn't bother me. You should watch out and stay warm."
Jiang Cheng glanced at the slender yet upright Chen Ping.
He clicked his tongue in admiration.
Is this the difference between southerners and northerners?
Chengdu, in the southwest, is mild and spring-like most of the year.
Snow is rare, and when it comes it's only a few feathery flakes.
Compared with frigid Kyoto, Chengdu's climate is almost cozy.
Jiang Cheng had always prided himself on his physique; the system's rewards made him stronger than most.
But seeing Chen Ping, he realized he still had plenty of room for improvement—
like adding a few more constitution points from the system.
After all, if he had to train bare-chested at dawn like Chen Ping, he knew he couldn't do it.
Yet no matter how hard he hinted this time,
the system stayed silent, offering no prompts.
Resigned, Jiang Cheng started the heater and let the warm air flow.
He opened the navigation app.
Typing "Shangri-La Hotel," he tapped search to locate it.
Luxury supercars were nothing new to him.
On top of that, the system had granted him professional driving skills.
Even in a brand-new car, he could master it in seconds.
Moments later, with a thunderous roar, the dazzling bugatti shot out like an arrow and vanished beyond the gate of the Courtyard House.
In this special compound, car horns were almost never heard.
The residents were people of extraordinary status,
and drivers moved with utmost caution.
Horns were avoided; quiet was preferred.
But the bugatti's growl was loud and flamboyant, announcing its presence.
Children ran out to look; even elders tending flowers stepped out in curiosity.
Seeing the dazzling car emerge from the innermost building, the sentries along the road quickly wiped away their surprise.
They stood like statues, motionless and silent,
eyes fixed ahead with discipline.
Jiang Cheng noticed none of this.
He was already used to such reactions in Chengdu and Shanghai.
Soon the car passed the military-guarded street and reached a normal-looking security booth up ahead.
As it rolled out, two low-key black executive sedans slipped from a side road, ghosts in the night, falling in behind to form a discreet convoy.
Jiang Cheng remained oblivious, his attention on Kyoto's unfamiliar roads.
As Chen Ping had said, the city seemed to be in its off-season; within minutes he was near Tiananmen.
Outside the window, the square was quiet, the crowds thin.
Still, Kyoto's traffic made him grumble.
At this rate, a fifteen-minute drive would take several times longer.