Chapter 23: The Neurotic Young Nobleman

The Cayenne was pressed tightly against the curb, inch by inch squeezing the taxi’s parking space—clearly a deliberate act. The newcomer wore a smile that was both aloof and disdainful, staring unblinkingly at Yang Changfeng inside the taxi. There was no mistaking it: he had come to stir up trouble.

Yang Changfeng watched Chen Aijia’s reaction in the rearview mirror. For reasons he couldn’t quite name, seeing her apparent aversion to this so-called Young Master Sun filled him with satisfaction.

A beautiful woman, moments ago laughing and chatting with him, was now engaged in lively conversation with another man who, truth be told, looked quite decent. That alone was enough to make any man feel annoyed.

Does he look down on me?

Yet, even though Chen Aijia seemed reluctant, she had no choice but to exchange polite words with Young Master Sun. To Yang Changfeng, this was problematic.

Was this guy some kind of super rich second-generation heir, or perhaps the scion of an untouchable official?

Damn it. Compared to these privileged types, Yang Changfeng had to admit he fell woefully short.

A top-tier Cayenne, a custom-tailored suit, a gem-encrusted watch—garish, perhaps, but undeniably expensive.

For the first time, Yang Changfeng felt the weight of money—not hundreds or thousands, nor tens of thousands, but sums so vast they could crush a man beneath them.

He stroked his chin, pondering his situation. Aside from his own skills, he had nothing that could reliably earn him wealth.

Maybe he could become a mercenary?

The thought surfaced, only to be immediately suppressed. Even a king among soldiers is at the bottom in mercenary circles. To make real money, you had to be a leader or start your own mercenary company.

Yet, neither path promised a happy ending.

What about an agency for security services?

No money, no connections—it seemed doomed from the start.

Suddenly, Young Master Sun’s mocking laughter rang in his ears. The man sneered, “Hey, is this your bodyguard, Aijia? You really don’t treat your people well. At least buy him some proper clothes. Eiffel is a high-end restaurant, you know. Bringing someone like that in, aren’t you afraid he’ll embarrass you?”

He spoke with a distinct Beijing accent.

Yang Changfeng glanced at Young Master Sun: about five-foot-ten, well-built, clearly someone who worked out regularly, handsome and radiating a sunny aura. It was just his mouth that was insufferable.

Chen Aijia offered a wry smile, “Young Master Sun, you’re as sharp-tongued as ever. This is Yang Changfeng… he’s, well, a friend of mine. Why aren’t you staying in Beijing, what brings you here?”

Sun raised his brows playfully, grinning, “Oh, alright, since he’s your friend, I’ll cut him some slack. I started an entertainment company recently. Couldn’t stand being in Beijing, got fed up with a bunch of bumpkins, and the old man warned me not to cause trouble with those idiots. Figured this place is great—talented people, good atmosphere—so I came over for a few days of fun.”

What was this about?

He wasn’t pursuing Chen Aijia?

Then why bother with the taxi?

Yang Changfeng noticed the taxi driver’s growing impatience, though he didn’t dare drive away. After a moment’s thought, he held out his hand to Chen Aijia, “Pay up.”

She snapped, “What now?”

He pointed at the driver. “We’ve held him up for several minutes—how can you not pay? You’re meeting an old classmate, right? Why not give the driver the fare, and I’ll go ahead.”

With a stomp of her foot, Chen Aijia dragged Yang Changfeng from the car, tossed fifty yuan at the driver with an apology, and urged him to leave quickly.

Clearly, she knew Young Master Sun all too well, worried that this reckless man might damage the taxi—the driver’s livelihood depended on it.

Sun leaned against his Cayenne, eyes half-lidded, saying nothing. Only after the taxi sped off did he sneer, “Another bumpkin. Running away? As if I’d stoop to his level!”

Chen Aijia laughed, “Of course, Young Master Sun, you’re not the type to waste time with ordinary folks. Why don’t I treat you to dinner?”

His expression soured instantly; he climbed into his car and, with evident displeasure, tossed her a curt “Boring,” before his Cayenne silently shot forward, disappearing down the road.

Chen Aijia breathed a sigh of relief, patting her chest and muttering, “Thank heaven, the lunatic didn’t snap today.”

Was he really that frightening?

“You don’t understand. His father is a committee-level official. He’s never cared about consequences, only his mood. Back when he was still a student, the principal’s child mouthed off, so Sun smashed up the principal’s house. He didn’t care about the principal’s connections—he forced him into prison. People call him a mad dog behind his back. If you cross him, you’re doomed.” Chen Aijia spoke with lingering fear, patting her chest several more times.

Damn, she really is well-endowed.

Yang Changfeng silently admired her, but he found himself appreciating Young Master Sun as well.

This wasn’t a man who bullied the weak and fawned over the strong. He was sharp-tongued, but not unreasonable. When he boxed in the taxi, he’d been careful—it looked like intimidation, but it was only a scare.

For people like him, frightening others was a pastime.

But why did Chen Aijia still remember the incident so vividly?

Just because this privileged heir had punished another official?

Chen Aijia snorted, “You don’t get it. People with status aren’t supposed to be so crude. Civilized folks talk things out, don’t they? Sending someone to prison with brute force—it’s breaking the rules. No one in our circle wants anything to do with him; when they see him, they hide.”

Yang Changfeng chuckled, a hint of sadness in his heart.

So, in Chen Aijia’s mind, sending someone who deserved prison there, but by rough methods, was breaking the rules.

To hell with the rules.

“I actually think the guy’s got spirit,” Yang Changfeng said deliberately.

Chen Aijia laughed coldly, looking at him as if he were an idiot.

She couldn’t be bothered to teach him how to become one of the elite.

The Cayenne swept arrogantly back around. Chen Aijia hurriedly replaced her demeanor with a pleasant smile—the transformation so quick that Yang Changfeng barely had time to feel scornful.

Looked down upon, but unable to fight back, so forced to play nice?

“Kid, can you drive?” Sun ignored Chen Aijia, tilting his chin at Yang Changfeng, his tone as arrogant and flippant as ever.

Yang Changfeng nodded. The man immediately pointed at him, “Then get ready. I’ll come find you in a couple days. Damn it, this dump is supposed to produce talent. Think it’s so easy to wreck my car?”

Chen Aijia hadn’t been wrong: he really was a lunatic, and a total nutcase.

He hadn’t even made himself clear—what did he want?

Startled, Chen Aijia rushed to intervene, “Young Master Sun, that won’t do. He’s never been to your racing meets. He’d only embarrass you. Don’t make it hard for him. If you’d like, I can ask some local racers for you?”