The next morning, Chen Yansen woke up naturally, stretching leisurely.
When he pushed open the door and saw a stack of banknotes neatly placed on the dining table, a smile tugged at his lips.
Old Chen—stubborn but soft-hearted—had wavered last night. He had come back, waving his belt, insisting on cooking a plate of shredded pork.
Chen Yansen had stopped him cold with a simple question:
"If my mother were alive, would you dare hit me?"
He had exploited Old Chen's weakness perfectly.
In the end, Chen Guobin tossed the belt aside and trudged back to his room, dejected.
"Sigh… introducing him to a wife—was I wrong?"
Chen Yansen clicked his tongue, slightly annoyed at Old Chen's lack of self-confidence.
Just then, the phone in his pocket rang. He answered slowly, and Wang Zihao's voice exploded through the line, furious:
"You son of a—Chen Yansen! Are you still not up?!"
Chen Yansen glanced at the clock—9:30 exactly.
"So what?" His tone calm, emotion perfectly measured.
"I've been waiting for you at the crossroads for half an hour!" Wang Zihao shouted, enunciating each word.
"Oh, so what?" Chen Yansen repeated evenly, slipping the driving school tuition money Old Chen had given him into his pocket.
"Didn't you say yesterday we'd meet at the usual place and time?" Wang Zihao sputtered, flustered.
"I said the usual place, not the usual time. I planned to call at ten, didn't expect you at nine," Chen Yansen replied slowly, deliberately.
Wang Zihao froze. Misunderstanding… again. He blushed, caught in the trap of his own assumption.
"Brother Sen, I'm sorry! When will you arrive? I'll buy you breakfast."
"Ten o'clock, I guess," Chen Yansen chuckled, hanging up.
Time management was an art—and a message: in business, in friendship, and in love, trust only yourself.
By the time he arrived at the crossroads, Wang Zihao was squatting against his bicycle, fidgeting, a mix of excitement and anxiety etched on his face.
"Rat, are you stealing people or money?" Chen Yansen teased, gripping the brakes.
"Here… three thousand yuan," Wang Zihao blurted, shoving a wad of cash into his friend's hand.
"What did you say to Uncle Wang?" Chen Yansen asked casually, pocketing the money.
"I told him I wanted to take the driving test," Wang Zihao shrugged.
"Maybe this is what growing up feels like. You wouldn't dare lie like this as a kid. Don't want a license before school starts? Uncle Wang would beat you to death!" Chen Yansen teased.
Wang Zihao shuddered, imagining his father's battlefield-style discipline.
"Don't scare me! I'll have to go pay tuition!" he complained, gritting his teeth.
"I've never made money doing business in my life," Chen Yansen said, patting his best friend, beckoning him to hop in the car.
"Oh, so you've never lost money… Brother Sen, are you serious? You mean you've never lost money?" Wang Zihao pedaled furiously to catch up.
"We're childhood friends. Have you ever seen me do business?" Chen Yansen rolled his eyes with a sly smile.
"Holy crap!" Wang Zihao's mood swung wildly, flashbacks of his father's wooden stick haunting him. Bro, this isn't fair!
Finally, he gave in, following Chen Yansen's confident stride.
Passing the Construction Bank, Chen Yansen casually logged into online banking and transferred 100,000 yuan.
Wang Zihao's jaw dropped. The risk, the confidence—it was staggering. He felt a weight lift off his shoulders.
"We've negotiated with three suppliers already. But only one will be chosen. It depends on sample quality," Chen Yansen explained.
"When do we start selling?" Wang Zihao asked impatiently.
"No rush. Three to five days shortest, seven or eight longest. First, driving school registration." Chen Yansen tossed a USB key into his backpack and jumped into the car.
"But I don't have any money!" Wang Zihao objected.
"I'll pay for it. Who told you to call me Brother Sen?" Chen Yansen grinned, ignoring the complaint, and sped toward Da Xiang Driving School outside the city.
"Brother Sen… you're really like my dad!" Wang Zihao shouted from behind, amazed.
Fifteen minutes later, they entered the registration hall. The air conditioning hummed, and a few middle-aged women chatted casually.
"Excuse me, who do I contact to register?" Chen Yansen asked, knocking lightly on the counter.
"C1 manual 2,500, C2 automatic 2,800. Fill out the forms first, then pay at the finance office," one plump woman instructed, tossing forms expertly.
"Miss, may I borrow a pen?" Chen Yansen leaned forward, smiling warmly.
"You called me 'Miss'? Sweet talker. Want some water?" Her face brightened, charmed by his youthful confidence and direct gaze.
"Not at all," Chen Yansen replied, feigning embarrassment as he took the pen.
The woman handed them iced drinks, still smiling, clearly charmed.
Quickly, Chen Yansen asked questions about instructors, pass rates, and student loads—his curiosity sharp, efficient, and strategic.
"Sister Zhang, let's pay first. Milk tea is on me later," he said, filling out the form with a carefree grin.
"Chen Yansen… you're skilled. Not your first time, huh?" Wang Zihao murmured, impressed.
"Hehe… I never said it was my first time," Chen Yansen replied, chuckling, putting an arm around his best friend's shoulder as they headed to the finance office.