Chapter 20: The Era of Living Together (Part Two)

Yang Changfeng wanted to retort to Chen Aijia, mocking someone for what they're not good at by flaunting your own strengths is truly beneath contempt.

More importantly, this kind of mockery not only fails to achieve its effect, but actually earns you even more disdain from others—so what's the point?

He chuckled softly and said, "People in upscale restaurants really are so refined, aren't they?"

There was another sentence he didn't utter aloud.

Unlike some who merely imagine themselves refined.

Chen Aijia felt a surge of satisfaction; she knew well that this sort of disdain only made her seem petty, but so what?

The psychological pleasure she gained was immense—and that was enough.

She ate heartily, and even felt that if image weren’t a concern, she could easily polish off two portions herself and properly celebrate this rare victory.

After their meal, Yang Changfeng generously allowed Chen Aijia to bask in her triumph; he didn’t disturb her good mood.

Yet, when it came time to settle the bill, Yang Changfeng was irked.

Seeing Chen Aijia retrieve her bank card from her small handbag, clearly intending to pay by card, Yang Changfeng signaled to the waiter and said, “Check, please.” Immediately, the diners in the restaurant looked down on him.

Chen Aijia snapped, “You could at least say ‘pay the bill’; why must you use such a tacky phrase to highlight your own lack of refinement?”

Damn it, what kind of world is this? “Check” is considered tacky, “pay the bill” is chic—does it really make a difference?

Many people knew Chen Aijia, and out of deference for her, they merely cast mocking, unfriendly smiles at Yang Changfeng; no one scolded him outright for being uncouth.

Did they really think he couldn't understand their French conversation?

Glancing at Chen Aijia, Yang Changfeng rose and walked toward a nearby table where a man and woman sat.

The pair appeared to be of vastly different ages: the man was in his thirties, impeccably dressed—a true “gentleman” by local standards; the woman was at least fifty, and the two were quite intimate. Clearly, the man wasn’t a big boss, nor was the woman a pauper.

They were conversing in French in low voices; Chen Aijia didn’t catch it, but Yang Changfeng did.

The man’s expression betrayed no hint of mockery, but his words were venomous. Translated, he said: “What a bumpkin. I can’t understand how the great Ms. Chen’s standards could be so low—any random man would be more presentable than this one, wouldn’t they? Is this bumpkin the only one who can satisfy her requirements?”

He even chuckled twice, seemingly harmless, but paired with certain gestures, it wasn’t merely sleazy—it was downright disgusting.

The older woman sneered, “She couldn’t resist, so perhaps she just picked any man. You’d better be careful, don’t let this little upstart seduce you—I’ve treated you well enough.”

Yang Changfeng walked over and tapped his finger on their table.

The man turned with a sly smile, glanced at Chen Aijia, and with a mocking expression, asked in French, “Is there something the lower class needs help with?”

The older woman snickered, “Oh, he might really need help. You should try giving him a franc; it might mean a lot to him.”

Chen Aijia hadn’t come over yet, and the pair clearly assumed Yang Changfeng couldn’t understand French, speaking without restraint.

They just didn’t dare let Chen Aijia overhear.

Although this man seemed to be some old acquaintance of Chen Aijia, they’d heard her recent remarks to the waiter—she was mocking him.

Two other waiters hurried over, reaching out to block Yang Changfeng, and warned him in Mandarin: “Sir, please don’t disturb our guests while they dine, or we’ll have to ask you to leave.”

Yang Changfeng replied coolly, “Then what if they’re disturbing our meal? How would you handle that?”

The two waiters had overheard the pair’s conversation; the smiles on their faces betrayed them.

They grinned, “No, sir, what we heard was them discussing today’s weather—not anything related to you. Please…”

With a swift motion, Yang Changfeng slapped both waiters across the face, hard enough that neither ordinary man could endure. They fell back, faces up, lips split, blood trickling from the corners of their mouths.

Chen Aijia was terrified, rushing over to grab Yang Changfeng, exclaiming, “Are you crazy?”

A group of waiters immediately surrounded them. A blond, blue-eyed foreigner rushed forward, brandishing his fists in threat: “Sir, if you can’t give me a satisfactory explanation, I’ll have to make you pay the proper price. Now, please give me a reasonable explanation!”

Chen Aijia held onto Yang Changfeng; though she was furious, she absolutely refused to let him be threatened by a mere restaurant floor manager.

“Enough, you stay out of this,” Yang Changfeng shook her off, grabbed the man by the collar, and, sneering, repeated every word of the earlier French conversation in flawless, standard Northern French pronunciation.

The cadence and accent stunned Chen Aijia.

What—what was going on?

How could he understand French?

The man and the older woman were equally shocked.

Wasn’t he a bumpkin? How could he speak French?

The floor manager was momentarily taken aback, his gaze instantly dropping to Yang Changfeng’s hand gripping the man’s collar.

“Sir, I’m call—” he rushed over, trying to get the pair to leave quickly. Clearly, the two guests had spoken ill of Yang Changfeng and provoked him, and the two waiters had simply assumed that this plainly dressed man couldn’t speak French, so they refused to testify for him.

Yet no one expected Yang Changfeng not only to refuse to let the matter drop, but to slap the manager as well.

“Now you think it’s time to talk to me in Mandarin?” Yang Changfeng said coldly. “Do you even know where you are? You’d better figure it out!”

He first spoke this final sentence in Mandarin, then switched to English, repeating it first in a London accent, then in a New York accent, followed by Italian, Arabic, even Japanese and Korean.

“Are you still looking for excuses to prove I don’t understand and am causing trouble on purpose?” Yang Changfeng glanced at the older woman, then repeated her earlier words in French to Chen Aijia, finally saying, “Do you still think I’m just stirring up trouble? If you insist, then you can leave right now. I never let a slight go unavenged—I will make them pay!”

Damn it, don’t you know I could curse out the Eight-Nation Alliance and never lose? Foreign languages make someone sophisticated? For me, learning your bird languages is no harder than eating or peeing!