The life of a world-class tycoon is all about indulgence. If he wants to eat authentic food, he just flies there directly—there's no need to settle for the subpar versions in the U.S.
To be honest, Mavi had tried American food before, but it didn't even compare to the street food he enjoyed in his past life.
On the plane, Jennifer curiously asked, "Mavi, why did you suddenly decide to fly to China just for a meal?"
She had no idea what an authentic Manchu-Han Imperial Feast was like. If she did, she wouldn't have asked.
Watching as the Gulfstream G200 slowly took off from the airport, Mavi simply responded with two words: "For nostalgia."
Jennifer rolled her eyes and turned away in disdain. "What nostalgia could a Russian guy like you possibly have for food? Unless… are you?" But no matter how she looked at him, he didn't seem like it.
Mavi shook his head to himself. It had been too long since he had eaten truly authentic food. As he reminisced about familiar flavors—zhajiang noodles, sweet and sour pork, Peking duck, soup dumplings—his mind flooded with precious memories from his past life.
Of course, the food he usually ate couldn't compare to the grand imperial banquets of old. The Manchu-Han Imperial Feast consisted of 108 dishes—54 from the south, 54 from the north—featuring the rarest delicacies, and it took three days to finish.
Back then, emperors dined on exotic ingredients like elk nose, fish bones, sturgeon roe, monkey head mushrooms, bear paws, snow frogs, deer tendons, deer whips, and leopard fetuses. Many of these are now highly protected species, and the emperor only took a single bite of each dish! The sheer extravagance of it all was enough to make anyone shake their head in disbelief.
Even securing a reservation at the Tingli Pavilion, a prestigious restaurant, required connections. No matter how wealthy someone was, it didn't guarantee them a seat—after all, the restaurant primarily served national leaders and distinguished foreign guests.
The direct flight from Washington to Beijing took about 14 hours. Mavi and Jennifer slept during the trip, and when they woke up, it was already 8 a.m. Beijing time.
Stretching in his seat, Mavi glanced at Jennifer, who was still sleeping under a blanket. Then he turned to the window and saw that the plane was now flying over Beijing.
Looking at this land, once his homeland, Mavi—now a Russian businessman—felt a complicated mix of emotions.
Their Gulfstream G200 private jet soon landed at Beijing Airport, where Jennifer, now awake, rubbed her sleepy eyes.
A motorcade was waiting outside the civilian terminal. The two of them, along with their bodyguards, had to walk through the terminal's corridors to meet their local security team.
Along the way, many curious onlookers stared at the two of them, this "fairy-tale couple."
To the locals, Mavi and Jennifer were nothing more than foreign tourists. This was precisely why Mavi had been hesitant to return—this feeling of being an outsider was too unfamiliar.
That said, in the year 2000, foreign visitors to China were still relatively rare, especially wealthy Russians like Mavi. Many saw him as a golden opportunity—a potential investor who could help boost the GDP and meet economic targets. The motivations were clear to anyone who understood how things worked.
"Mavi, what's that red knot?" Jennifer asked, tugging at his sleeve while pointing at a souvenir shop display. This was her first time in China, and everything seemed new and fascinating to her.
"That's a knot, a traditional handcrafted decoration," Mavi explained casually. His answer made Jennifer even more impressed—he knew even this?
"Wow, you sure know a lot," she said, trusting him completely. She had followed him to a foreign country without hesitation, without even worrying that he might sell her off somewhere.
Mavi chuckled, his expression carrying a hint of complexity.
In the year 2000, Beijing was still under rapid development, with many construction sites scattered across the city.
At that time, most people in China had little concept of luxury cars. In their minds, brands like Mercedes-Benz and BMW were already top-tier, and only the wealthy could afford them.
However, the car prepared to pick up Mavi and Jennifer wasn't a Mercedes or a BMW—it was China's pride, the extended Hongqi CA7460 luxury sedan.
With a 4.6L V8 engine and a maximum power output of 198 kW, the Hongqi CA7460 was often referred to as the "Rolls-Royce." Only the most prestigious figures in the country were entitled to ride in one.
The sleek Hongqi sedan was parked outside the terminal, its hood adorned with a small red flag. The license plate indicated it belonged to the consulate—police rarely stopped such vehicles.
Four black Mercedes-Benz W140s, commonly known as "Tiger Head Benzes," were stationed at the front and back. Beside each of them stood two sharply dressed bodyguards.
With such an imposing lineup, it was obvious to passersby that this convoy was waiting for someone important.
"Holy crap, that's a flagship Hongqi! And with four Benzes as escorts? This kind of setup even outshines Beijing's top playboys!" a local Beijinger remarked to his girlfriend, clearly well-informed.
His girlfriend, wearing bright red lipstick and sporting a perm reminiscent of a poodle, turned to look. Like many others, she decided to stay and watch the spectacle, eager to see who was being picked up.
Whether in 2019 or 2000, gathering to watch a scene unfold had always been a tradition. In the year 2000, life was slower-paced—there were no smartphones, no WiFi. Watching a commotion had become one of life's simple joys.
So when Mavi and Jennifer finally walked out of the terminal, they were met with a crowd of curious onlookers surrounding the Hongqi convoy. People pointed excitedly at the cars, discussing how luxurious the Tiger Head Benzes were and how even their own factory bosses wouldn't dare buy such vehicles.
Jennifer, confused by the spectacle, glanced around at the bystanders. She thought maybe something had happened to their car. She had no idea what they were saying, as they spoke in a language she couldn't understand.
Mavi, however, understood perfectly. It was just people gathering to chat and watch out of curiosity—if someone in the front row had brought sunflower seeds, the scene would have been complete.
"Sir, should we disperse the crowd?" one of his bodyguards asked, seeing that the people were blocking the way.
"No need. Let's just go through normally."
Among those present, whether they were his Russian or American bodyguards, no one understood China better than Mavi.
Besides, he had no intention of flaunting his status or power in front of his fellow countrymen. That would be distasteful, and it wasn't in line with his low-key and reserved nature.