Chapter 112: Utterly Vulgar!

Why should Ma Siwei be the one to pay?

She has money, doesn't she? Is there anything wrong with that? Besides, this is why Chen Aijia is truly impressive—she covers the food, the lodging, the transportation, and even the expenses. She is a female boss, a public figure. Ma Siwei is a big star, also a public figure. If you don't let them pay for the meal, are you looking down on these wealthy individuals?

With this line of thought, Yang Changfeng headed straight for the Charen Teahouse. It was a place he had never visited before, tucked away within a bamboo grove near Jiangzhou People's Park.

Establishing a teahouse in this location requires more than just money. It is said that the wealthiest person in Jiangzhou secured this land thirty years ago. Several years ago, a group of internationally influential businesspeople pooled their resources to develop this area, which sits in the cultural heart of Jiangzhou. It has since become the most prestigious spot in the city. Ordinary people simply lack the status to spend money here, though celebrities visiting Jiangzhou are particularly fond of it.

However, while there are many wealthy people, not a single one has been able to purchase property in the immediate vicinity of this bamboo grove. Located nearby is the Oriental Film City, an establishment under the supervision of a major department directly under the central government. Although over a dozen influential businesspeople from various industries invested in it, their combined stake remains less than fifty percent. This film city is not for shooting movies; it has become the holy land for the domestic film industry in recent years. Any actor or actress who has not been "crowned" here cannot truly be considered a top-tier domestic star.

It is rumored that the owner of the Charen Teahouse is the daughter of a distinguished, meritorious family. This super-elite "second-generation" official, in her forties, wields unparalleled influence in the cultural sphere, especially within the film and television industry. The families behind those so-called "Four Young Masters of the Capital" are not even worth mentioning in her presence.

Given this background, the influence of the Charen Teahouse is truly staggering. If you have any measure of fame but have not left a photograph at the teahouse, you have yet to enter the upper echelons of the circle.

Ma Siwei only managed to get her portrait hung at the Charen Teahouse last year. This means she is qualified to come here for tea at any time. Of course, she doesn't need to settle the bill each visit; she holds a gold card worth over three hundred thousand, granting her free access all year round. Naturally, no one would actually come every day—that would be far too gauche.

Today, the teahouse was quiet, with very few people around. In truth, the teahouse is never bustling in any season. With ninety-nine individual "private rooms," having a dozen guests a day is already considered a high turnout.

Ma Siwei had reserved a spot at "Willow Bank Flower Hall." Though called a private room, it is quite unlike a typical teahouse setting. The rooms at Charen are categorized by names like "Pavilion, Terrace, Tower, and Pavilion," but these are merely labels; there is no actual hierarchy. One simply books the environment they prefer.

"Willow Bank Flower Hall" is situated within the bamboo grove, connected to the shore by a bamboo bridge leading to a small pavilion in the middle of a lake. The pavilion is quite large, divided into two levels. The inner area is for drinking tea, while the outer area can be arranged for music and dance if desired. Between the two, beaded curtains obscure the view from the outside, and a circular screen stands inside. Guests drink tea outside the screen, while musicians play behind it. If there is a dance, the performers join the guests outside the screen.

Today, there were neither musicians nor dancers at Willow Bank Flower Hall. The beaded curtains were rolled up, and the screen was positioned on the side facing the water, ensuring no one could sneak up from behind to eavesdrop.

Ma Siwei personally brewed the tea. Charcoal burned slowly in a small red-clay stove, and the tea set was laid out one by one. She waited quietly for her guest to arrive.

Driving his Audi to the edge of the bamboo grove, Yang Changfeng was stopped by security. These were not typical company guards; the suits they wore were worth more than a junior executive’s salary for half a year.

After verifying the name of the host and checking the database, the barrier was lifted, and the Audi slid into the parking lot. Yang Changfeng felt no discomfort. Having spent several years abroad, he had been to such places many times. The inspections at the private leisure centers of Middle Eastern oil tycoons were even stricter. This was simply someone else’s way of life; there was no need to harbor cynical suspicions.

Entering the bamboo grove, a beautiful woman dressed in classical attire guided him along a cobblestone path. They walked over the bamboo bridge for several minutes, passed the intersection of a Chinese-style corridor and a European-style stone road, and reached the depths of the grove, where a white-walled courtyard with blue tiles, standing less than 1.6 meters tall, appeared before them. This was the true territory of the Charen Teahouse.

Passing through the main gate, another girl in similar attire led him the rest of the way. When they caught sight of the pavilion in the lake, the girl stopped at the side of the path, bowed slightly, and said politely, "Sir, we have arrived. Ms. Ma did not request further service, and we are not permitted to go any further. Please proceed on your own; just walk straight ahead."

No wonder so many people love to indulge; the feeling of being pampered is truly something else.

After thanking her, he followed the path of alternating bamboo and stone to the pavilion. Yang Changfeng saw Ma Siwei, dressed in loose, traditional clothing, brewing tea with movements as fluid as flowing water—drawing water, whisking the tea—all with an elegance that was a delight to watch.

However...

"Where's the food?" Yang Changfeng asked, quite annoyed. He sat down on a floor cushion, and finding nothing to eat on the table, he immediately grew irritable.

Ma Siwei was stunned. This was a teahouse; he wanted to eat the moment he arrived?

Is this man truly a big shot?

Ma Siwei frowned slightly and said, "There are only refreshments here. If—"

"Whatever it is, bring some over quickly. I've been in meetings all morning and I'm starving to death," Yang Changfeng complained discontentedly.

Good heavens, had he actually done any work in those morning meetings? If one were to count the events before dawn—where he both fought people and tracked down Wang Hu—then he had indeed worked hard. But as for the company matters this morning, could anyone have been more leisurely than him?

Man, you should really check your conscience before you speak!

Yang Changfeng, however, didn't think he hadn't contributed. With the air of a war hero, he stared and said, "Don't tell me you're just now asking the kitchen to start. It's too late for that! Didn't I tell you to prepare food early?"

Ma Siwei felt aggrieved. *I thought you were joking! This is Charen, not a street food stall! Everyone who comes here would rather starve than display such crudeness.*

Is this man a freak?

It seemed today's reservation at Charen had been a complete waste. Had she known this, she could have just picked a restaurant. This man was simply not the type to be brought to a place like this!

All of her good spirits were instantly crushed by Yang Changfeng’s boorish complaints about hunger. Ma Siwei felt dissatisfied, but she did not show it. She knew that no matter how vulgar the man opposite her was, he was not someone she could criticize to his face.