Though Yang Chen already knew Lin Ruoxi was filthy rich, he never expected her garage to span two floors, holding over ten luxury cars. Mercedes-AMG SL series, Audi R8, Maserati Quattroporte, Lamborghini Aventador, even a Ferrari Enzo—everything was there.
Naturally, Yang Chen wouldn't pick a supercar. These vehicles barely logged 10,000 kilometers in their lifetimes—not because they couldn't go farther, but because driving them was too flashy and wasteful. Beyond racing, their speed served no purpose.
"Miss never uses these cars—they're gifts from business partners. She barely drives them. Take whichever you like, Mr. Son-in-law," Auntie Wang said with a smile.
Yang Chen had long wondered what his beautiful wife did for work, but dared not ask Auntie Wang. It would make their marriage too suspicious if he didn't even know her job. He'd have to ask Lin Ruoxi herself later.
After circling the garage, he spotted a relatively low-key coupe: a milk-white BMW M3. It was the pinnacle of urban sports cars, with a top speed of over 300 km/h. But in Lin Ruoxi's garage, it was the least conspicuous option by far.
"I'll take this one," Yang Chen said, pointing to the M3.
Auntie Wang frowned in confusion. "Mr. Son-in-law, why not pick something nicer? This is the cheapest car here."
Cheapest at over 1.2 million yuan? Yang Chen smiled. "This one's fine. Flashy cars draw too much attention. Better to keep a low profile."
"No wonder Miss chose you—you're rare. Most young men flaunt their wealth, but you hide it." Auntie Wang nodded approvingly, fetching the BMW keys from a corner of the garage.
Yang Chen slid into the driver's seat with practiced ease. The automatic garage door rolled up. After bidding Auntie Wang goodbye, he shot out like an arrow.
Auntie Wang watched him leave, sighing softly. "Young people these days… I just don't get them."
It had been over half a year since he'd driven regularly, but Yang Chen's skills hadn't faded. The M3's exceptional performance shone on Blue City's roads, weaving through traffic effortlessly at over 100 km/h—shockingly fast for the city. A few traffic cops spotted him speeding, but he was gone before they could react.
In half an hour, Yang Chen reached his old apartment building. Climbing upstairs, he found his door ajar. Frowning, he suspected an intruder—but inside, he found a familiar figure: Li Jingjing!
She wore an embroidered white blouse and a cool emerald chiffon skirt, her black hair tied in a ponytail. Strands fluttered in the breeze from the window, making her look pure and otherworldly.
The girl was mopping the floor diligently. Though Yang Chen's apartment had few belongings, it was dusty.
Seeing him return, Li Jingjing's face lit up. Her cheeks were flushed from cleaning, like a summer fairy. "Brother Yang, you're back!"
Warmth flooded Yang Chen's heart. Before her internship, Jingjing had cleaned his place often. Now she had a job, yet she'd still come during her lunch break. Filled with guilt and pity, he stroked her soft ponytail. "Jingjing, stop cleaning. I'm moving out."
"Moving? Are you leaving Blue City?" she asked anxiously.
Yang Chen hesitated, then told the truth. "No—I got married. I'm moving in with my wife, but we're still in Blue City."
Li Jingjing's face paled. Tears glistened in her beautiful eyes, but she quickly wiped them away. Her trembling shoulders betrayed her turmoil.
After a long silence, she looked up, red-eyed, forcing a smile. "Congratulations, Brother Yang. Your wife… she must be beautiful, right?"
Yang Chen's chest tightened, but he knew prolonged pain was worse. He had to be cruel. Thinking of Lin Ruoxi's stunning face, he nodded without thinking.
Despair flickered in Li Jingjing's eyes, but she calmed herself, forcing a bitter smile. "You're mean, Brother Yang—keeping such a big secret. But… I wish you both happiness. I… I should go…"
Watching her flee like a frightened rabbit, Yang Chen's heart ached. "Jingjing, I'll visit you at the academy soon. Work hard."
She paused for a moment, whispered a faint "okay," and ran downstairs.
Long after she left, Yang Chen lit a cigarette and took a few deep drags. His melancholy faded, replaced by a sharp resolve.
He trusted his memory—he'd locked the door before leaving. That meant someone had broken in. Two possibilities crossed his mind: First, a secret government agency was investigating him. But that made no sense—they'd confront him directly if they wanted to act. Second, Chen Feng, who'd failed to frame him at the police station, was now targeting his home.
"Some people just won't learn until they hit rock bottom…" Yang Chen muttered coldly, then began packing.
He folded his clothes into an old bag, then walked to the bathroom. Punching a hole in the whitewashed wall, he pulled out a small black wooden box and tucked it into the bag.
Finished packing, he stepped outside, glancing back at the old apartment where he'd lived for half a year—committing the scene to memory.
He raced back to Longjing Garden. After parking, he took the small elevator into the villa. Inside, a stunning figure lay on the sofa, watching a new Korean drama on the massive TV.
Her hair was piled high, her fair neck delicate—even her back was breathtaking. It was his new wife, Lin Ruoxi.
She was so absorbed in the drama's romantic scenes that she didn't hear him come in.
Yang Chen smirked. Who knew his cold wife loved sappy Korean dramas? His gloomy mood lifted. He walked over and wrapped his arm around her shoulders. "My dear wife—give your husband a kiss!"
