But the swelling is real.
As long as it's big enough, even a B-cup will do.
After taking the license plate, Jiang Cheng said politely, "Thank you so much, Uncle Huang. Whatever you paid for this plate back then, I'll pay you double the current market premium for it—thank you for letting it go."
Huang Zonglei had been helpless when Huang Yiyi produced the item so quickly.
Yet her remarks broke the ice and drew him closer to Jiang Cheng, earning an approving glance from her father.
Huang Zonglei smiled. "No need to stand on ceremony. Yiyi's told me a lot about you; as she just said, this is fate."
He immediately slid the menu toward Jiang Cheng.
Here—their signature dishes are already being prepared. See if there's anything else you'd like."
When Huang Zonglei skipped the subject of price, Jiang Cheng didn't press it.
He took the menu and casually ordered a few dishes.
The atmosphere at the table was subtly charged.
Between the server's visits, Huang Zonglei lifted his eyes several times, words rising to his lips only to be swallowed.
From the corner of his eye he saw his daughter calmly refilling Jiang Cheng's tea; her ease made his own urgency feel unseemly.
Twenty minutes later Jiang Cheng had eaten his fill.
Huang Zonglei, however, had barely tasted a thing.
It was nothing like he had imagined.
He'd assumed an eighteen- or nineteen-year-old from money would still show green edges or unbridled swagger.
But Jiang Cheng spoke little, mostly listening quietly while Huang Yiyi chatted about school, nodding occasionally.
When his gaze did lift, it held no youthful curiosity; it was a precise ruler that measured people's thoughts in a single sweep.
When the hot dishes had cooled, Jiang Cheng set down his chopsticks.
He wiped his hands with a hot towel, looked at the hesitant Huang Zonglei, and said with calm directness, "Uncle Huang, you invited me today for more than just the license plate, didn't you?"
The private room fell instantly silent.
Huang Zonglei blinked, then exhaled, tightening his grip on his teacup.
The meal had raised his opinion of Jiang Cheng several notches higher.
The young man's conduct and composure surpassed every expectation.
Even he felt his own nerves fraying under Jiang Cheng's quiet pressure.
Huang Zonglei's throat bobbed; his fingers unconsciously traced the cold cup.
His voice dropped: "Mr. Jiang, to be frank, I'm in P2P risk control. Our company, Xindun Risk Control, used to clear eight hundred million profit a year when the market was hot, but since late last year our cash chain has been tightening."
He paused, anxiety stark in his eyes, the gray at his temples suddenly glaring.
Xindun is a top-tier player, yet this year more than a dozen partner platforms imploded; several owe us service fees we can't collect, so our capital can't flow back.
The whole climate turned; banks are strict. I approached Manager Zhang three times for a loan and was refused—our scale is deemed too risky. Right now we can barely cover next month's payroll; if we can't raise funds, we'll have to liquidate."
Huang Yiyi's spoon hovered over her dessert; her bright eyes now shimmered with alarm.
She'd known there were problems, but not that liquidation loomed.
Her fingers clutched the tablecloth as she looked at Jiang Cheng with faint hope.
She added softly, "Dad hasn't slept a full night in two months—he's either apologizing to clients or out hunting for capital."
Huang Zonglei ignored her, gaze fixed on Jiang Cheng like a drowning man on driftwood.
I heard from Yiyi that your fund, Xingchen Investment, specializes in corporate finance. I know it's abrupt to ask, but—"
Jiang Cheng cut him off.
His fingertips rested on the registration slip for the license plate.
His tone stayed level: "Uncle Huang, let's clarify. Your firm screens risk for others—verifying micro-loan applicants for banks, flagging bad debts—earning tech service fees, correct?"
He had already ordered the Security Team to dig into Huang Yiyi's family the moment he saw them at the school gate.
Every detail of Xindun Risk Control was now on file.
The company's main work was pre-loan screening for lenders.
For example, if someone once tried to game online offers, their data would enter manual review.
Manual checks took days—staff had to verify documents.
Yet manual vetting missed things, letting serial promo-abusers slip through.
If a lender plugged into a risk-control firm, the system could spot fakes in minutes.
With just an ID number it could flag whether the applicant was a deadbeat on other platforms.
It could detect forged pay stubs or the status of bank loans.
So while online lending boomed, risk-control outfits thrived.
But this year many of those lenders collapsed.
Naturally the risk firms slid into winter.
Huang Zonglei's algorithms predicted micro-defaults 17% more accurately than most rivals.
They excelled at uncovering hidden liabilities of small businesses.
That tech was exactly what Xingchen Investment needed for its consumer-finance track.
More crucially, 2018 was a sector reshuffle.
Buying a cash-starved tech team now cost two-thirds less than building one.
It even came bundled with cooperative city-commercial banks—an absolute steal.
So Jiang Cheng had come today to acquire Huang Yiyi's company.
He could already scrub negative news on Sina and TikTok,
but owning Xindun meant gaining a system that monitored online sentiment 24/7.
If anyone spread dirt on him,
the platform could trace the source within ten minutes
and coordinate with PR to bury smears under positive stories—far faster than pulling strings to delete posts.
Seeing Jiang Cheng understood the business,
Huang Zonglei nodded eagerly. "Exactly! Our core team came from bank risk units. We once kept micro-loan default rates below 1.2% for city banks—half the industry average. When peers began lending themselves for faster money, we set up our own capital pool to earn both ends. Then the 2018 crackdown froze that pool, and the core business nearly collapsed."
Huang Yiyi's worry deepened.
She had known only that her family "did finance," never the specifics.
They sent her to finance school and she went,
but her mind stayed on spending money—or on prying into Jiang Cheng's life—never on the family firm.