Chapter 7: Locking in the Demolition Zone Early (Please Collect)

After leaving the finance office, the two of them each held a new driver’s license study guide.

“Want to come over to my place for lunch?”

Wang Zihao pulled out his phone, checked the time—it was exactly eleven—and realized there was no way to make it to the hospital for the physical in time.

“Forget it, next time.”

Chen Yansen waved his hand, slammed the brand-new driver’s guide into the bike basket with a clang, then swung onto his bike and pedaled off toward the city center.

“There were too many people earlier, so I didn’t dare ask—why pick Instructor Huang? Didn’t Sister Zhang already tell you he’s got a terrible temper and yells like a demon?”

Wang Zihao rode beside him, looking deeply worried.

Normal students chose instructors with good tempers and patience; Chen Yansen did the exact opposite, deliberately picking the one with the worst reputation.

“Instructor Huang has the highest pass rate among his students, which proves his teaching is solid. More importantly, he currently has the fewest students.”

Chen Yansen smiled faintly and explained slowly.

Fewer students mean longer practice time and shorter waiting periods for both the second and third driving tests—this was the only way to get his license before school started in September.

But he didn’t mention the deeper reason: Huang Bo had repeatedly made students cry, yet was never fired—mainly because his older brother, Huang Daxiang, owned the driving school.

Huang Bo’s real name was Huang Erxiang; the brothers’ names were plain and unadorned—one simple and honest, the other slick and worldly.

Chen Yansen knew this so well because in his past life, his own driving instructor had been Huang Daxiang.

“Could it be that all the stupid, clumsy students got scared off by his yelling, so the pass rate looks artificially high?”

After long thought, Wang Zihao reached a conclusion.

“You’re incredibly smart.”

Chen Yansen burst into silent laughter, staring at him, then nodded seriously in agreement.

“Holy shit, then I’m switching instructors!”

Wang Zihao’s face drooped, clearly reluctant—he didn’t want to be yelled at to tears.

“But you just said Instructor Huang only yells at stupid, clumsy people—you’re not in that category!”

Chen Yansen grinned, his expression earnest and sincere.

“That’s true.”

Wang Zihao nodded, accepting Chen Yansen’s logic, instantly confident, and broke into a wide grin.

At Qipan Street, one headed north, the other turned right.

But this time, Wang Zihao had learned his lesson—he confirmed with Chen Yansen again that the physical was after 2 p.m., then pedaled home.

“Old Chen probably hasn’t eaten yet—I’ll drop by and mooch a meal.”

Chen Yansen rode, watching the street scenes pass by, slowly entering Beiyi Alley.

When he parked his bike, he saw Chen Guobin sitting on a small stool, eating rice from a takeout box while reading the newspaper.

Actually, Old Chen could cook.

But his cooking was terrible—Chen Yansen could barely tolerate it as a child, but after middle school, he ate at Wang Zihao’s on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, and at the school cafeteria the rest of the week.

“Signed up yet?”

Chen Guobin paused his chopsticks as his son approached.

“Yeah, I’m going to the county hospital for the physical this afternoon with Wang Zihao.”

Chen Yansen pulled a folding stool from behind his pile of books, plopped down opposite Old Chen, his eyes fixed on the man’s takeout box.

“Didn’t eat lunch?”

Between father and son, this much unspoken understanding still existed; Chen Guobin asked casually.

“Thought it had been a while since we ate together.”

Chen Yansen picked up a copy of “Huahuo,” flipped through it idly, speaking in a flat tone.

“How about we go out for a meal?”

Chen Guobin’s heart warmed; he offered the suggestion willingly.

He’d noticed his son’s recent changes and wanted to ease their tension.

“No need—I’ll just have what you’re having. Give me a portion.”

Chen Yansen shook his head, pointing at Old Chen’s green pepper and pork slices over crispy rice.

Chen Guobin didn’t press; he pulled out his phone and called a nearby food stall.

“I heard rumors the higher-ups plan to boost tourism—Salt Company’s old apartment blocks will likely be marked for demolition.”

Chen Yansen set down the magazine, speaking casually.

“Who told you that? Probably just gossip—someone trying to trick people into buying those old buildings in town. Whoever buys is a fool.”

After placing the order, Chen Guobin turned and scoffed—he didn’t believe it for a second.

Five years ago, someone had spread the same story with absolute certainty, inflating prices for shabby houses in Xicheng from 50,000 to 80,000 per unit—only to find out it was all fake news planted by real estate agents.

“Do you remember Meng Jie from our class?”

Chen Yansen felt speechless, but he understood Old Chen’s thinking—the old district’s apartment blocks were mostly dilapidated, with outdated wiring and clogged sewers.

Everyone feared them; even ghosts would be terrified.

Anyone with extra money chose to buy property outside the city, even if the location was worse—just to live comfortably.

“I remember—small, like a boy.”

Chen Guobin squinted, trying to recall.

“Her dad’s the branch manager of the Agricultural and Livestock Bank in Anfeng Town.”

Chen Yansen put on an act, lowering his voice deliberately, speaking slowly and clearly.

“Is that reliable?”

Chen Guobin glanced at Chen Yansen—his expression was genuine—and sat up straight, taking it seriously.

He knew his son’s nature—even if he was a bit of a troublemaker, he never lied about important things.

“Absolutely reliable—she’s my girlfriend now.”

Facing his father’s scrutiny, Chen Yansen looked perfectly calm, though his words were utterly absurd.

“Pfft! What did you say?”

Chen Guobin stared, dumbfounded, spraying rice out of his mouth.

If he remembered right, his son’s secret crush had always been a girl named Zhou Keyuan.

Because of that, Zhang Li had even come to the school to talk to him.

“Would a father-in-law cheat his son-in-law? I suggest you buy both upstairs units in our building—wait for demolition later.”

Chen Yansen paused, letting Old Chen absorb it, then added:

“Alright, I’ll look into it later.”

Chen Guobin couldn’t openly contradict him—his son sounded so convincing—so he agreed for now, though his gaze toward Chen Yansen grew increasingly strange.

His son was dating the bank manager’s daughter?

And a tomboy at that!

Chen Guobin didn’t understand, but he respected it—he didn’t want to ruin this rare moment of father-son warmth.

“Old Chen, your rice dish’s here.”

A shout from outside interrupted his thoughts.

“Coming!”

Chen Yansen patted his belly, held down the rising Old Chen, and hurried outside.

Chen Guobin watched his son’s back, muttering softly: “Maybe dating isn’t so bad—feels like Yansen’s grown up.”

Old Chen smiled contentedly, then suddenly thought: Her family’s well-off—she probably looks down on Chen Yansen. Could she be planning to make my son her husband-in-law?

“No, no.”

Chen Guobin muttered to himself, squirming on the stool like an ant on a hot pan.

“Got a nail in your butt?”

Chen Yansen, carrying the takeout box, turned and saw his father’s discomfort—he burst out laughing.

“N-no!”

Chen Guobin flushed, denying it immediately.

“Old Chen, you really should find a wife. Eating takeout every day isn’t healthy.”

Chen Yansen shoveled food into his mouth while reminding his father.

“If it’s unhealthy, why are you eating it?”

Chen Guobin didn’t explode—he just rolled his eyes, annoyed.

“I’ll eat it for one or two years tops—what about you? Want to eat this for life?”

Chen Yansen looked up, dead serious.

“Eat and get out! How did I end up with a brat like you?!”

Chen Guobin snapped, leaping up and yelling.

“Fine, fine—I’m leaving!”

Chen Yansen grabbed his box and wolfed down the food, finishing it in three bites.

He tossed down his chopsticks, wiped his mouth, and bolted.

Chen Yansen had urged Old Chen to buy property slated for demolition not because he wanted to profit from the millions in compensation—but because Old Chen was stubborn to a fault.

In his past life, even when Chen Yansen was wealthy beyond measure, with more money than he could spend, Old Chen had never asked him for a single cent.

Chen Yansen understood—Old Chen had been hard all his life, hated asking for help, even from his own son—even if the money was offered freely.

"Old Chen, old Chen, I've gone to great lengths to make you a first-generation rich man."

Chen Yansen whistled softly, walking into the summer breeze, smiling quietly.

(End of chapter)