Chen Ping didn't dare reveal Jiang Cheng's identity without permission.
Once Jiang Cheng's identity was exposed, by tomorrow his Rear Sea area residence could be crawling with watchers.
Even Jiang Cheng's Xingchen Investment Company would land under extra scrutiny.
These people might not dare touch Jiang Cheng, but they would keep him under constant surveillance.
His rapid promotion did rely on the Jiang Family, no question.
But in daily life he was cautious and discreet, never flaunting the Jiang name.
That restraint was exactly why the Jiang Family valued him.
Yet it was also why that man showed him no mercy.
After all, the other party knew Chen Ping would never drag the Jiang Family into their private feuds.
'Don't push it; this has nothing to do with you. I'll report it myself.'
Just now, when Jiang Cheng said his family ran a small business with a bit of money, not only the man in the corner heard it—this man heard it too.
So in his mind, the connection Jiang Cheng alluded to was most likely Chen Ping.
His gaze swept over Jiang Cheng: ordinary casual clothes, no status symbol in sight, and a mocking smile tugged at his lips.
'What do you mean, none of my business? Who's this? Never seen him—did you drag in some random drifter? Chen Ping, forgotten the rules? Outsiders need clearance; you dare sneak someone into the kitchen, banking on the Jiang Family to cover you while you wipe your feet on discipline?'
The man clearly had it in for Chen Ping—here to pick a fight.
Jiang Cheng didn't step forward; he slid his hands into his pockets, eyes lazily amused, curious how the usually mild Chen Ping would parry.
'Stop spouting crap—watch your mouth! I'm busy today. If you want to settle our score, I'm available tomorrow.'
Seeing Chen Ping finally riled, the man only doubled down. 'Oh, tomorrow? As long as I'm here, I'll be watching you…'
Chen Ping's face darkened; he stepped forward, but the man cut him off, turning on Jiang Cheng. 'And you—know where you are? Wandering in here like a stray?'
Jiang Cheng almost laughed at the sudden shift.
He tapped his own chest, still languid. 'Hardly a stray—I walked in openly.'
Chen Ping chimed, 'He—' then stopped. 'Guy's not quite right in the head—ignore him.'
Jiang Cheng's nonchalance made the man hesitate.
Businessmen usually avoided clashing with men in uniforms like his.
Was this kid emboldened because Chen Ping had the Jiang Family behind him?
The man's brows snapped together. Before he could speak, Zhao Anning panicked.
He said to Feng Liwei, 'Sir, don't be angry—this is my fault. They only came to see me. I'll get back to work right now.'
Feng Liwei had no idea who Zhao Anning was.
To him, Zhao was just another retired veteran.
Most kitchen staff here were retirees from nearby family compounds, none who'd held critical posts.
Anyone with real merit or key positions would have been properly resettled—why scrub stoves?
Unlike Chen Ping, some here were duty-bound, but Feng was the petty sort.
As Zhao finished, Feng's sneer deepened.
Stung by Jiang Cheng and Chen Ping, he vented on Zhao.
He stepped forward and ground his heel into a pile of freshly julienned radish, splattering Zhao's trousers with juice.
'Your fault? You think you matter?' He eyed the oil-stained cuff of Zhao's sleeve. 'Retiree with frozen hands—can't even wipe a counter. Waste of a soldier; no snap left!'
Zhao's left fist clenched his hem, knuckles white, cheeks crimson. He muttered, 'If it's not clean, I'll wipe it again…'
Jiang Cheng's face went storm-dark.
Chen Ping's jaw tightened. 'You disgrace us! Zhao's hand was injured—his counter's cleaner than yours. Who are you to judge?'
Feng loathed Chen Ping's uprightness.
Worse, Chen's reputation here outshone his.
Seeing Chen furious gave him a thrill.
He hurled the counter rag to the floor and ground it underfoot. 'Injured? Then stay home! A cripple like you shouldn't be here—you'd be too slow picking trash!'
The words stabbed Zhao; his eyes reddened.
He'd heard worse outside and tried to shrug it off.
But hearing it from a uniformed comrade cut deep.
Yet to spare Jiang Cheng trouble he endured it; rank was rank.
Feng's taunt carried a barb at Jiang Cheng: 'I don't care who vouched for you. Slack or bring in riff-raff and I'll boot you out.'
Jiang Cheng's lazy gaze froze. He stepped in front of Zhao, towering, every inch the arrogant heir. 'Who're you calling a cripple?'
Sit Like a Divine Bell crushed the air, and Feng's bravado wilted.
Feng staggered half a step, then stiffened. 'I called him a useless vet—so what?'
Smack! Jiang Cheng's palm cracked across Feng's cheek, the sound echoing.
Feng clutched his face, stunned. 'You dare hit me?'
'So what if I hit you?' Jiang Cheng arched a brow, contempt thick. 'Look at yourself—what gives you the right to insult a veteran?'
Zhao froze.
His knuckles whitened further, face draining of color, eyes wild.
He blurted, 'Xiao Cheng, don't! No more—talk it out, please!'
He tugged Jiang Cheng's sleeve, glancing fearfully at Feng, terrified of escalation that could ruin them all.