When Jiang Cheng spoke, his voice carried a slight rasp.
Zhao Yihan's emotions, barely steadied, were instantly hijacked again by the eight-pack beneath his shirt.
Once everything was properly stowed, she stepped up behind Jiang Cheng, slipped her arms around his waist, and pressed her cheek to his back.
While brushing against him in open invitation, she explained, "We flight attendants know a bit about this card—its most practical perk is 'global dispatch.' Say you want to reach a tiny South-Pacific island. An ordinary private jet would need a week to negotiate a slot and a ramp, but with this card, a compatible helicopter can be mobilized within forty-eight hours; the aviation authority fast-tracks the approval, bypassing the usual red tape."
Seeing Zhao Yihan start her sultry sales pitch again, Chen Jiaxue drifted over and hugged Jiang Cheng from the other side.
Zhao Yihan had snatched the prize at the last moment; outwardly unruffled, Chen Jiaxue still felt a twinge inside.
Two hours remained before touchdown.
Neither woman was new to Jiang Cheng; they both knew the last round had been nothing more than an appetizer.
Snuggling closer, Chen Jiaxue picked up the thread: "Your card includes ground-link service. At private fields like Paris-Le Bourget or New York-Teterboro, you get a private lounge, meals prepped to your taste, and baggage that never sees the ramp—staff deliver it straight to the cabin door."
"I once flew for a Middle-Eastern client who carried this card. Because of it, when he decided mid-flight from London to Tokyo that he wanted a two-hour stop in Alaska to see the aurora, the crew arranged an alternate landing the same day. A normal private jet would have needed at least three days' notice."
Zhao Yihan nodded, respect bright in her eyes. "It also covers maintenance. With your newly acquired Gulfstream G650ER, repairs and parts can go through Honeywell's priority lane—no queuing with ordinary customers. Our company once had a G450 grounded twenty days waiting for a core part; with this card it would've been airborne again within a week."
Chen Jiaxue met Jiang Cheng's gaze, her tone calm and precise: "Scarcity is the key. Money alone can't buy it—you have to be selected as a top-tier client. Yours carries a unique mark: a bespoke edition. Flash it at any private airport worldwide and ground crews will treat you to the highest protocol—shuttles right to the stand, private security channel, no queues."
Jiang Cheng listened to their crisp briefing, flipped the black card over, and found a string of tiny serial numbers etched into the back.
He tapped the surface with a fingertip and smiled faintly. "Sounds like a very useful card."
Zhao Yihan answered at once, professional yet warm: "For you it's essentially a 'global private-aviation privilege pack.' It fills the gaps your own jet can't cover—say you're using your G650ER domestically; for intercontinental hops the card can summon an equivalent aircraft at the destination, eliminating deadhead costs and synchronizing hotels, cars, everything—no extra coordination."
Impressed by Zhao Yihan's fluency, Chen Jiaxue nodded, confidence in her colleague plain on her face.
"Exactly. Your Gulfstream gives you a fixed, familiar ride; the card gives you flexible dispatch and end-to-end service. Business or leisure, it strings every segment together—no need to juggle airlines, hotels, and ground handlers anymore."
Since his last trip to Great Britain, Jiang Cheng had stayed inside China.
Seems it was time to take another look at the northern lights.
He tossed the card casually onto the side table. Chen Jiaxue spoke first: "Young Master Jiang, I…"
She never finished the sentence; her hand had already found its way to his chest.
Watching Chen Xueer's practiced fingers, Zhao Yihan's eyes widened fractionally.
This time, though, it wasn't jealousy—more like a student taking notes.
Jiang Cheng caught the wandering hand. "Women really are liars; a minute ago you were saying no."
While Chen Jiaxue kissed him, Zhao Yihan released her hold, arched her back, and crawled slowly forward, pretending to straighten the sheet in front of him.
Chen Jiaxue, busy pleasing Jiang Cheng, kept her gaze on the perfectly rounded peach deliberately displayed before him.
Whoever coined the term "peach" for that shape ought to be thanked, she thought.
Fitting.
And Zhao Yihan wasn't even entering beauty pageants.
No bikini catwalks—so why did she maintain even her backside like that?
Two hours later neither woman appeared at the cabin door. Only Jiang Cheng emerged from the lounge, looking invigorated.
As soon as the door opened he saw two black, unmarked armored SUVs parked at the edge of the apron.
Their windows carried the darkest tint, wheels matte-finished; only a faint national emblem embossed low on the hood hinted at identity.
Chen Ping stood in a crisply pressed olive uniform.
The lieutenant-colonel's insignia on his shoulders caught the sun without flashing.
He waited ten metres from the airstair, two similarly dressed guards behind him, posture as straight as a javelin, gaze fixed on the slowly opening door.
The moment Jiang Cheng's foot touched the top step, Chen Ping moved.
He stepped forward at an even pace, halted two metres away, snapped a textbook salute, and said in a calm, carrying voice, "Young Master Jiang, I'm here under orders to collect you."
Jiang Cheng gave a small nod; the two guards were already in motion.
One smoothly took the coat Wang Sheng had been carrying;
the other opened the SUV's rear door, hand hovering protectively above the frame.
Every action looked rehearsed a thousand times—correct without excess deference.
Last time Jiang Cheng had remarked that the reception was too ostentatious.
This time he'd asked for low-key.
So the pickup was moved inside the airport perimeter?
Acceptable.
Chen Ping reported quietly, "The residence has prepared the food you're accustomed to; we'll take the airport service road—twenty minutes."
Less formal, Jiang Cheng clapped the officer's shoulder. "Haven't seen you in a while—looks like you've bulked up."
Chen Ping gave a simple smile. "Young master, I just got back from the 'ox-horse' zone. The old man worried, so he sent me to accompany your father for a spell. The cold up there—digging ice with a spade every day—builds muscle."
Gratitude flickered in Jiang Cheng's eyes.
However much the Chen family relied on his grandfather, Chen Ping had protected Jiang Cheng's father, and that counted.
"Is my father all right?"
Every time he asked, his father reported only the good.
Jiang Cheng knew there had been obstacles, yet before setting out Jiang Jianming had been adamant: "I have my own path to walk; you worry about yours."