"You look like we're sneaking off for a secret rendezvous," Jiang Hai joked as he stepped out of the car and saw Dilia peeking at him through the iron gate. He couldn't help but chuckle—this felt like something out of a movie, and he certainly hadn't come here for a date.
"Haha, but it is a private meeting, isn't it?" Dilia teased, flashing him a mischievous smile.
Despite already working, Dilia was still young—only nineteen this year. In the U.S., age is counted strictly by birthdays, unlike in China where "virtual age" can add a year or two. So yes, Dilia was still very much a young girl, both in spirit and appearance.
While her private life was a little on the carefree side, that was common in the U.S., and overall, she was still a decent person.
"I'm here to see your dad. Is he home?" Jiang Hai asked as Dilia opened the gate to let him in.
"There's a sick horse in town. He went to check on it—should be back soon. Come in and sit down, I'll give him a call," she said, leading Jiang Hai into their small villa.
After Jiang Hai settled on the couch, Dilia picked up her phone and called her father, Bob George.
"Well, bad news. He won't be back for at least an hour," she said with a pout after hanging up. Jiang Hai paused for a moment, then nodded—waiting an hour wasn't too bad.
"I guess I'll wait, then."
"But what are we going to do for an hour?" she asked, walking closer and blinking at him playfully. "We can't just sit here watching TV..."
Jiang Hai immediately understood what she was hinting at. And sure enough, before he could object, she had already thrown herself at him, planting a kiss on his lips while her hands wandered with purpose. It seemed the next hour wouldn't be so uneventful after all.
An hour passed in the blink of an eye. Jiang Hai and Dilia now lay on the couch, sweating and entangled. She rested against his chest, her eyes closed and a satisfied smile playing on her lips.
To be honest, Dilia really liked Jiang Hai—his wealth, his physique, even his charm. But his personality? Not so much. In her eyes, he was too passive, too reserved. He wasn't "partner material" in the long run. Of course, she also knew Jiang Hai would never truly consider her a long-term partner either.
"Huh, I really love you to death," she murmured, pressing a kiss to Jiang Hai's chest.
Jiang Hai gave her a slightly awkward smile. What was he supposed to say to that?
Just then, the rumble of an old pickup truck engine sounded outside.
Dilia's expression changed instantly—she knew that sound better than anyone.
"Hurry up! That's my dad's truck! If you don't want to be on the receiving end of his shotgun, get dressed! And oh god, the smell in here…"
She sprang to her feet while Jiang Hai quickly scrambled to put his clothes back on. Thankfully, it was late April, and the weather was warm. Jiang Hai had only been wearing a pair of thick outdoor pants, a sweater, and a jacket—easy enough to throw back on.
Dilia, however, had a harder time. Her outfit included a buttoned vest that took longer to fasten. As soon as Jiang Hai finished dressing, he grabbed a cushion and fanned the air, hoping to disperse the lingering scent.
But it was too late. They could already hear the front door opening.
"No time!" Dilia hissed. She finally got her clothes on and dashed upstairs, returning moments later with a bunch of dried herbs and flowers. She lit them with a lighter, and a strong scent—eerily similar to the one in the room—began to fill the air.
"What is that?" Jiang Hai asked, confused. The aroma was... oddly familiar.
"Shhh!" Dilia hushed him, then placed the smoking herbs on the table.
Just as she did, Bob George walked through the front door. He wrinkled his nose at the scent in the room, but upon spotting the smoldering bundle on the table, he chuckled and turned to Jiang Hai.
"Jiang Hai! You're here. Don't just stand there, sit down. Dilia, burning chestnut flowers in broad daylight?" he added, turning to his daughter.
Jiang Hai looked at Dilia, puzzled.
"It's because of the mosquitoes, Dad. And you still haven't changed the screens! You make so much money and can't even fix that?" Dilia shot back, half-jokingly.
"Haha! I'm just saving for your dowry, in case you end up with some poor guy!" Bob George laughed. "Or maybe I should find you a stepmother first. Alright, enough chatter. Jiang Hai, sit down."
"I'm gonna go change," Bob added, sniffing himself. "Went to check on a horse with dysentery—got covered in manure. I smell awful."
As he disappeared upstairs, Jiang Hai finally relaxed.
"What's the deal with these chestnut flowers?" he asked, pointing to the smoldering herbs.
"They repel mosquitoes—and they smell just like you know what," Dilia replied with a mischievous grin. "When I was little, my parents used to burn this stuff when they… well, you know. Tsk. They thought I didn't notice."
Jiang Hai burst out laughing. It was absurd, but also strangely clever.
Soon enough, Bob George came back downstairs, now dressed in fresh home clothes.
"Sorry to keep you waiting, Jiang Hai. So—what brings you here?"
Americans didn't usually beat around the bush, so Bob went straight to the point.
"I think Mayor Wallis mentioned it already. I'm looking to purchase the nearby pastures," Jiang Hai said seriously.
Bob George and Dilia both looked at him in surprise. So the rumors were true.
Unlike in China, where people have a deep emotional attachment to land and homes, Americans are generally more pragmatic. Selling land wasn't seen as betrayal or shame—it was just business.
Still, the sheer scale of what Jiang Hai was proposing was shocking.
"Are you serious?" Bob asked after a pause.
"I am," Jiang Hai said with a confident smile.
"Well, it's not ancestral land or anything, so technically, I don't mind selling. But since we're friends, I'll be honest with you. Tourism around here has really picked up lately, and the horse farm's doing well—it brings in steady income. So giving this place up would be a bit of a loss…"
"I've thought of that too," Jiang Hai replied. "That's why I'm only interested in the land on this side of the highway. You could move the farm across the road. I'm sure Mayor Wallis would help with the paperwork. And I'll offer you a good price."
"Go on…" Bob said, intrigued.
"The land around here goes for about $1,700 an acre. Since Winthrop is now considered a development zone, I'll offer you $2,000 per acre. Your farm is 30 acres, so that's $60,000. I'll give you $40,000 more for the house and facilities—total of $100,000."
It was a fair offer. A few years ago, this land wouldn't have fetched even $50,000. And now Jiang Hai was offering double.
In fact, Jiang Hai began to realize his earlier $50 million estimate to buy up all the manors nearby might have been too generous.
But Bob George shook his head.
"Jiang Hai, I can't sell it at that price."
Jiang Hai remained silent. He had expected there would be more to it.
"Two weeks ago, Carlett Company approached me. They first offered $80,000. When I turned them down, they came back last week and offered $120,000. I don't know why they value my land so much, but friendship is friendship—and money is money. I think you understand."
Jiang Hai was surprised. $120,000? This property wasn't worth that on land alone. Even if you included the horses—worth over $200,000 themselves—this deal seemed inflated.
"Alright," Jiang Hai said, his tone serious. "Let's not talk numbers yet. I'll match and exceed their offer—$150,000. But I have a request. If you're willing to help me, take me to meet the other landowners. We're all from the same town, and I won't let anyone get shortchanged."
He paused.
"To be honest, I could earn back $500 million with this land, but I don't want to be a sucker. And I also want to know what Carlett is up to. But I don't have time to play games. I'm heading to Europe soon, and I need everyone's agreement before I leave. No land can be sold before I return."
(To be continued.)