After listening, Jiang Cheng nodded, turned to the old man and asked, "Sir, shall I take you to see a doctor?"
The Police in the capital responded with lightning speed; before they could leave, two patrol cars screeched to a halt beside them.
Several officers hurried to the scene, flashed their badges and said, "We received a report of a brawl…"
Before the officer finished, the onlookers burst into noisy chatter, spontaneously voicing support for Jiang Cheng.
"Officer, that punk hit the old man first; this extremely Handsome Guy just stepped in to help!"
"Exactly! Officer, arrest him! I even filmed it—he actually stomped on the old man's hand with his foot; it was outrageous!"
The officers had assumed this was another case of some rich kid bullying the weak, especially with the young man groaning on the ground.
But the situation turned out to be the exact opposite.
Seeing everyone condemn him, the young man jumped up to defend himself.
"Officers, you've got to help me! He ran over, poured scalding soy-bean milk on my head, then beat me like this—look, my nose is crooked! I want a medical exam!"
The Police paid him no mind. "We'll review the footage. Both parties come to the station for statements."
Hearing this, the old man quickly explained, "Officer, it's not the young man's fault—he was only trying to help. Blame me; I've caused trouble for everyone."
With trembling hands he pulled an old veteran's discharge booklet from his coat. "I didn't mean to cause trouble. Ask me whatever you need; don't make things hard for this Handsome Guy."
Jiang Cheng's brows knitted; he strode to Chen Ping, puzzled.
"Shouldn't veterans receive benefits? Why is he scavenging for recyclables?"
Chen Ping studied the booklet, equally baffled. "Young Master Jiang, a document that old should belong to a vet who saw combat. The state should grant him a subsidy and housing."
He added, "Young Master Jiang, I'll handle this. Why don't you leave first?"
Had the Police not arrived, Jiang Cheng would have walked away without hesitation.
But slipping off under so many eyes now…
…would scream privilege.
Though his family had the clout, Jiang Cheng had no wish to flaunt it.
"Forget it. Too many witnesses; we'll go through the motions so Great-Grandfather isn't inconvenienced."
Chen Ping's respect for Jiang Cheng rose another notch.
At the station gate Chen Ping flashed his own ID and spoke a few words.
Jiang Cheng ushered Reba into a black MPV.
Reba, seated beside him, mused: indeed just for show—they hadn't even set foot inside.
Seeing Jiang Cheng in the car, Chen Ping handed over the snacks he'd just repurchased.
"Young Master Jiang, here's what you'd bought earlier; I've replaced it with fresh portions."
Jiang Cheng casually passed them to Reba beside him.
Touched by his thoughtfulness, Reba's lips curved in a smile.
"Young Master Jiang, where to next?" Chen Ping asked respectfully.
Jiang Cheng shook his head slightly. "Wait a bit until the old man's check-up is done. As for how we deal with this…"
"Rest assured—picking fights, assaulting a veteran, plus littering and spitting—they know the book will be thrown at them."
Jiang Cheng gave a faint nod of approval.
Even if the charges only warranted ten days or half a month, there were plenty of ways to make someone suffer without locking them up.
For some, a cell was actually the safer place to be.
An hour later, after the old man finished his examination at a nearby hospital, Jiang Cheng had Chen Ping invite him into the car.
Clutching his big plastic bag, the man hesitated outside, embarrassed.
"Young man, I'll stay out here; my things are dirty—I might soil your car. Thank you for today."
Seeing the old man refuse, Jiang Cheng stepped out. "Grandfather, may I ask your name?"
"Zhao Anning. My grandfather chose it during wartime, wishing peace for the land and safety for the people."
Jiang Cheng continued, "Grandfather, your papers show you're a veteran?"
Zhao Anning straightened with pride. "Yes, I fought in the war against Pretty Country, aiding Korea. I was a sniper until my arm was wounded; then I retired."
"You should receive a monthly subsidy, right? Why collect bottles?"
Zhao Anning nodded at once. "I do. The capital's government is good—over three thousand a month, plus housing. I'm just restless, so I pick up bottles in my spare time."