Jiang Cheng smiled without replying, steering the bugatti nights sound toward the food street Jiang Churan had mentioned, its presence impossible to ignore.
You have to admit, around the Dance Academy luxury cars are as common as clouds.
Along the way, besides Jiang Cheng's hypercar, plenty of other high-end vehicles came and went.
Everyone knows that in front of the drama academy there are always flashy cars on patrol.
After all, that place is famous for beauties, but right now the Dance Academy clearly isn't yielding an inch.
The car soon reached the food-street area; Jiang Cheng deployed his parking superpower and effortlessly spotted an empty space.
Seeing no clear parking signs nearby, Jiang Churan worriedly reminded him, "Looks like parking's not allowed here—what if traffic police ticket us?"
Jiang Cheng glanced around, unconcerned. "It's packed up ahead; we'd never find a proper spot. Relax, let's go."
Though hardly familiar with Beijing, Jiang Cheng wasn't worried in the least.
It was the same as Chengdu's Taikoo Li—luxury cars just pull over.
Paying a few thousand in fines beats wasting time hunting for a garage.
Watching Jiang Cheng wave casually at her, Jiang Churan pouted. Sitting inside the only one of its kind in the world was stressful enough, yet he simply abandoned it on the roadside.
"Right, what are we eating?"
"Local Beijing stir-fried liver, stewed intestines, and quick-boiled tripe," Jiang Churan replied.
Relieved it wasn't roast duck again, Jiang Cheng nodded approvingly.
Since arriving he'd already eaten roast duck more times than he could count.
On day one he'd clearly told Wang Congcong he didn't want any.
Yet at Diaoyutai the Wang Brothers' first signature dish was still Beijing roast duck.
At Wang Congcong's family dinner Madam Wang personally wrapped several duck rolls for him.
At the King of Fengtai ground-breaking banquet, roast duck again featured as a main course.
Even at Great-Grandfather's table, roast duck showed up without fail.
Now, at the very mention of Beijing roast duck, Jiang Cheng reflexively shook his head in polite refusal.
"Beijing's stir-fried liver, quick-boiled tripe, and stewed intestines are like Chengdu's rabbit hotpot—local specialties," Jiang Churan explained. "Sister Shuang and I tried this shop; we both thought it tasted authentic and delicious."
After speaking she didn't lead him into the food street but turned into a narrow hutong opposite the road.
The moment he saw the alley Jiang Cheng felt reassured.
Experience told him such lanes hide word-of-mouth gems.
Those places rarely disappoint and are safe bets.
"Nice, somewhere this unpretentious is bound to have down-to-earth delicacies." Seeing his approval, Jiang Churan visibly relaxed.
Walking side by side along the worn, ordinary path, Jiang Churan felt herself unwind.
Here there were no flashy hypercars, no rolls-royces, only some aging Courtyard Houses.
Though Jiang Cheng's outfit still clashed with the surroundings, it felt like dragging a noble scion down into the mortal world.
"Don't be fooled by the shabbiness; business is booming," she said. "They sell only a set amount each day, and once it's gone the owner closes shop. If you don't want to leave empty-handed, it's best to reserve in the evening."
"Whew, now I'm even more excited."
After all, yesterday a single food card had netted five hundred million.
If he could pull another one today, that wouldn't be so bad.
Soon they reached a rather shabby little storefront with a dozen small tables outside.
Jiang Churan asked, "Can you sit outside? There's no exhaust, but a few flies might show up. Otherwise we could pack it and eat back at the school canteen."
Jiang Cheng looked at the worn shop: décor was crude, yet it brimmed with real street-life atmosphere.
Seeing Jiang Churan seemed to misjudge his tolerance.
He waved, picked a seat, and sat down. "No need for fuss—the most authentic social interactions always happen in the most down-to-earth places."
On wechat she hadn't been sure whether he was teasing her or serious.
But now, watching him sit in the alley without a hint of disgust, eyes full of anticipation, she realized he genuinely looked forward to it.
No sooner had they sat than a curly-haired auntie in a garish padded jacket and fluffy slippers, pad and pen in hand, ambled over.
Her casual, homely get-up took Jiang Cheng by surprise.
In a husky voice she boomed, "What'll you two have?"
Jiang Churan answered, "Two plates of quick-boiled tripe, one stir-fried liver, and two bowls of stewed intestines."
"Got it—take a seat."
As the auntie sauntered into the shop, Jiang Cheng's gaze was drawn to the semi-open kitchen.
From their seats they could see every move inside.
White-clad chefs in hats and gloves bustled about, cooking dish after dish.
Aromatic steam wafted out, making mouths water.