True to his word, early the next morning, Eddie got up bright and early, ready to go car shopping.
When Creeper heard about his plan, he grinned and said, "Perfect timing. Your ID documents are ready too. Let's swing by St. John's and pick up your PR card while we're at it."
Originally, Eddie hadn't planned on buying a car so soon. Sure, he needed one eventually—after all, he was now a multimillionaire fishery owner, and not having a decent car was starting to look a bit embarrassing. But his initial plan was to wait a few days until the Lees held their auction in Ottawa and pick one up there. Now, with Creeper's ancient car finally giving up the ghost, it gave him the perfect excuse to bump the purchase up on his to-do list.
St. John's, located on the southeast corner of Newfoundland Island, is the capital of Newfoundland and the island's largest city and port. Facing the vast Atlantic Ocean, it serves as a key hub on the North Atlantic route and is home to the world-famous cod fisheries. The city is infused with the salty scent of sea breeze and the timeless rhythm of waves, radiating a sense of weighty freedom and history.
Eddie and Creeper took a passenger ferry to St. John's. The straight-line distance from Gubidetown was only around 500 kilometers, a few hours' journey by sea.
Standing on the deck, Eddie faced the wind, eyes closed, letting the icy Atlantic wind slash across his face. The salty ocean scent filled his lungs, invigorating his spirit. All around, there was nothing but the deep blue expanse of ocean. White-capped waves surged continuously, lapping against the hull. Occasionally, seagulls flapped overhead, carving graceful arcs across the clear blue sky.
"You really like the ocean, don't you?" a voice came from beside him.
Eddie opened his eyes to see a middle-aged gentleman standing next to him, dressed in a nineteenth-century style English waistcoat and coat. He exuded a refined air and spoke with eloquence.
"I do. Why wouldn't I?" Eddie smiled. "It's the cradle of life, and where most life on this planet ultimately returns."
Creeper chuckled and joined in, "Eddie, I'm more and more glad I brought you to Newfoundland. I'd bet anything that BE Fisheries will make a glorious comeback in your hands."
The gentleman nodded with a smile. "The ocean never betrays those who love her. She always gives generously to her devoted children."
He introduced himself, "A pleasure to meet you, Eddie. I'm William Hamley."
Eddie politely reached out to shake his hand.
"Our town mayor," Creeper casually added from the side.
Eddie's smile immediately widened, his handshake firmer—this was clearly someone worth knowing.
Meeting the mayor was just a pleasant little interlude on their journey. Once they arrived at Port St. Louis, Creeper took Eddie straight to the immigration office. After verifying his information, Eddie received his new identification card—his permanent resident card, or "Maple Leaf Card."
The card was the size of a credit card, with an orange-red maple leaf background. On the left was Eddie's photo, where he looked like a carefree young man straight out of high school—a goofy grin plastered across his face.
After lunch, they headed to the largest car dealership in St. John's—Polaris Auto City. The place was more like a massive showroom, filled with various brand dealerships under one roof. The air was thick with the scent of rubber and new car interiors, and the sound of tires squealing softly on polished concrete echoed through the hall as customers browsed.
Eddie already knew something peculiar about Canada—despite being a developed nation with vast lands and a strong dependence on automobiles, it didn't have its own car brand. It wasn't hard to understand why: the country was sparsely populated, and winters were long and harsh. Cars were essential. But with the United States as its neighbor—home to the world's largest car manufacturers—Canada had long been reduced to a de facto automobile colony. American and European brands had carved up the market, leaving little room for homegrown manufacturers.
As Eddie and Creeper stepped into the showroom, a young salesperson promptly approached them, bright-eyed and full of enthusiasm.
"Good afternoon, sir. I'm Tiger, a service consultant here at Polaris Auto City. Is there anything I can help you with today?"
Creeper pointed to Eddie and said, "My friend here is looking to buy a car. Please show us around."
Tiger asked with a friendly smile, "Do you have a preferred type? SUV? Jeep? Sedan? MPV? Or maybe a truck?"
Eddie's eyes lit up—he suddenly remembered his dream of owning a sports car. "What's the best sports car you've got? How much is the Audi R8 these days?"
Tiger's eyes instantly gleamed—this guy knew what he was talking about. Mentioning an Audi R8 right off the bat? Definitely someone with money.
You see, while Canada is full of cars, practicality takes precedence here. People care more about fuel efficiency and durability than brand prestige. German cars used to be all the rage for their safety, but with rising fuel prices, Japanese brands had taken over due to their efficiency. As for sports cars? Canada might have the fewest sports cars of any developed country. With slippery, snowy roads and brutal winters, sports cars were more of a liability than a luxury—just a money pit sitting in a garage.
Creeper, of course, knew all this. He quickly jumped in, "Eddie, maybe skip the sports car? Go for an SUV or a sedan. No need to sacrifice practicality just for looks."
Eddie nodded after a moment's thought. "You're right. Let's look at SUVs then."
Too boring for sedans. Too rugged for jeeps. Not going for sports cars. An SUV was the perfect middle ground.
Tiger perked up, shifting gears immediately. "Then may I suggest the Honda XR-V, Toyota Land Cruiser, Mitsubishi Pajero, or perhaps the Lexus RX or Infiniti QX80? These are all top sellers in their respective categories. Excellent safety ratings, great comfort, and very fuel-efficient…"
He went on to explain models ranging from CA$20,000 economy options to CA$400,000 luxury behemoths—clearly a seasoned pro.
But as Eddie listened, he began to frown. Then he cut in sharply: "Wait a second—all those are Japanese brands, right?"
"Yes, sir," Tiger replied with a smile. "Japanese cars are extremely popular here. Efficient, reliable, sleek—"
"Nope," Eddie interrupted, shaking his head firmly. "No Japanese cars. And no Korean ones either. Show me American or European brands."
Though he was now living abroad, Eddie was still a hot-blooded Chinese guy deep down. If something was worth boycotting, he'd boycott it—even when buying a car. Especially when buying a car. And now, with money to burn, he could put his values into action.
Tiger paused for a split second before regaining his composure. "If you're looking for top-tier American vehicles, then I strongly recommend Cadillac. It's a symbol of American automotive excellence—pride of Detroit. Both luxurious and powerful. Might I suggest taking a look at the Cadillac Presidential One?"
Under Tiger's guidance, Eddie and Creeper walked into the Cadillac section, where row upon row of sharp-shield-emblem vehicles gleamed under the lights.
Though foot traffic was sparse in the Cadillac showroom, the moment Eddie set his sights on the Presidential One model, the staff sprang into action like they'd just chugged a double espresso. Coffee and cookies were brought out in record time.
"This car is nearly six meters long," Tiger began enthusiastically. "Over two meters wide and tall. Looks like a sleeping beast, doesn't it? But just look at that paint finish, the craftsmanship… and the interior? It's basically a presidential suite on wheels. If you're sitting inside, sir, you are the president!"
Eddie had never owned anything fancier than a cheap Chinese hatchback. The moment he sat inside the beast, his eyes sparkled. Beige leather and brown wood accents created an atmosphere of executive luxury. The rear seats were fitted with electric massagers, heated footrests, a mini bar, and even a built-in home theater system. This wasn't just a car—it was a mobile palace.
The Cadillac dealership manager also came out personally to pitch: "The Presidential One runs on a 6L V8 engine, delivering 248 kilowatts of power. A perfect blend of speed and authority. If you want something that makes a statement, this is it."
The more Eddie heard, the more tempted he became. His eyes involuntarily drifted toward Creeper.
Creeper shrugged with a sly grin. "I'd suggest checking a few other places before you decide. It is nearly 300,000 Canadian dollars."
But then he added, grinning wider, "Though I can already tell—you've made up your mind. Your eyes say it all. This car's already yours."