Chapter Eight: My Car

"Sigh! If only that M5 down there were mine. I'd drive it right over and stomp Wang Ze's face into the ground," Yang Xiaofan said, half-laughing, half-crying.

"If you could really drive that car, would you go for it?"

"Stop dreaming. I'm going to take a shower. I still have to have dinner with Lili tonight," Yang Xiaofan replied, unable to hide a frown. Lili was Gu Hao’s girlfriend, but she wasn’t much of a person—always caked in heavy makeup, materialistic to the core, not the kind of woman fit for a life together. He’d tried to talk sense into Gu Hao many times, but Gu Hao never listened.

"Alright, since you have plans, I’ll head over by myself."

"Yeah. I’ll take a shower first," Gu Hao said, ducking into the bathroom.

Yang Xiaofan drove alone to the hotel where the gathering was held. The parking lot was packed, but when the security guard spotted him, he didn’t shoo him away. Instead, he smiled warmly and said, "Sir, the inside parking is full, but you can park your car on the lawn by the entrance. I’ll watch it for you—no traffic tickets, I promise."

"That works. Thank you."

"You’re welcome, it’s my job."

Yang Xiaofan couldn’t help but marvel at the power of money. If he’d driven a luxury car to the BMW dealership, the salespeople probably would have greeted him with beaming smiles.

He entered the private dining room, where many classmates had already gathered. As soon as he arrived, Qin Nuanyu hurried over to greet him. Tonight she wore a deep green accordion-pleated long dress; the rich color only highlighted her fair, delicate skin. Her swan-like neck and graceful collarbones exuded subtle allure.

Yang Xiaofan couldn’t help but sigh. A beautiful woman could entice a man no matter how modestly she dressed.

"Yang Xiaofan, you’re here."

"Yeah," he nodded.

After what had happened at lunch, his relationship with Qin Nuanyu had improved considerably. This drew more than a few envious glances from those around them—and a measure of jealousy, too. After all, with a beauty like Qin Nuanyu, there was no shortage of admirers.

Just then, an untimely voice sounded in Yang Xiaofan’s ear.

"Yang Xiaofan, since there’s nothing wrong with your head, shouldn’t you return the donations everyone gave you?"

Yang Xiaofan looked over. The speaker was Wang Ze. A local whose family got rich from demolitions, he always acted like some second-generation tycoon. Clinging to his arm like a mangy dog was his girlfriend, Wang Qian, her face caked with heavy makeup.

Both of them were shallow, narrow-minded, and money-grubbing—truly a pair of like-minded souls wallowing in the same mire. Normally, Yang Xiaofan had no conflict with Wang Ze, but now that his relationship with Qin Nuanyu had just warmed, Wang Ze immediately swooped in. Anyone could guess why.

"I know—it was all a misunderstanding. Still, I’m grateful that everyone was willing to help me out. Besides returning the money, tonight’s dinner is on me."

Wang Ze’s smug smile froze instantly. He’d meant to embarrass Yang Xiaofan, but unexpectedly, Yang Xiaofan had handled it with such ease. And now he was treating everyone to dinner, stealing the spotlight in an instant.

That’s exactly what happened. The classmates were instantly energized, almost electrified.

"Xiaofan, you rock!"

"Brother Fan, I love you!"

...

Qin Nuanyu was a little surprised as well. "You came into money that quickly?"

Yang Xiaofan smiled faintly. "I didn’t expect it either. The money I borrowed from you at lunch—I’ll transfer it back right away."

"Alright."

Seeing the two laughing and chatting, and remembering how Qin Nuanyu had lent him money at noon, Wang Ze clenched his fists, a flash of jealousy in his eyes. He already had Wang Qian, but she was nothing compared to a goddess like Qin Nuanyu. As a self-proclaimed wealthy kid with a BMW 5 Series, even he hadn’t won Qin Nuanyu’s heart—so how could some nobody like Yang Xiaofan possibly succeed?

"Yang Xiaofan, don’t squander a little windfall. With your background, you should be saving to build some capital," Wang Ze remarked in a patronizing tone, as if doling out advice would make him feel better.

Yang Xiaofan was about to snap back when, suddenly, a waiter burst in, slightly out of breath.

"Excuse me, whose is that brand-new BMW at the entrance? Could you move it, please? We have a guest who needs to leave."

Wang Ze cleared his throat, regaining his arrogance. "Sorry, that should be my car."

A classmate asked, curious, "Why is your car parked right at the entrance?"

Before Wang Ze could reply, Wang Qian cut in, "Well, the lot was full, so the guard told us to park there. After all, it’s a BMW—traffic cops usually don’t bother with those."

The comment was music to Wang Ze’s ears, stoking his vanity to the fullest. In his excitement, he gave Wang Qian’s backside a little squeeze. She didn’t care; anything to please Wang Ze—perhaps even get him to marry her, so she could become a rich lady someday.

But just as they were basking in their self-satisfaction, the waiter spoke again. "It’s not your car. I recognize yours—it’s the base model, a BMW 525. My dad bought the same one; it’s not even four hundred thousand yuan after taxes. That car outside is a brand-new BMW M5, which costs about two million. You could buy four or five of yours for the price."

A hush fell over the room.

"Whose car is it, then?"

As everyone wondered, Yang Xiaofan cleared his throat. "I believe that’s my car. Would you please help me move it?"

Wang Ze snapped, "Stop joking! That’s an M5—way pricier than mine. You couldn’t possibly afford it!"

Wang Qian chimed in, "Exactly. Don’t fool around, Yang Xiaofan. If you upset the owner and get beaten up, you’ll have no one to complain to."

Yang Xiaofan didn’t even bother to look at the two of them. He simply reached into his pocket and produced the car’s crystal key.

Instantly, the room fell silent. All eyes were fixed on the luminous, futuristic key in Yang Xiaofan’s hand.

"Holy crap!"

The waiter grinned. "Yes, that’s the key. I’ll move the car for you right away." With that, he hurried off, leaving a roomful of stunned students in his wake.

Everyone stared at Yang Xiaofan, swallowing hard. Driving a car worth three or four hundred thousand at most inspired only mild envy—after all, with a loan, most people could manage it. But Yang Xiaofan’s car was another matter entirely. Two million at the very least—who would dare buy a car like that without assets of at least tens of millions? People needed homes too; who would sink all their money into a car?