Lin Bei thought buying a phone was simple.

Just walk into the store, pick one, pay, and leave.

Turns out she was way too naive.

The next morning at ten o’clock, Su Chen knocked on her door: “Get up—let’s go buy a phone.”

Lin Bei stuck a hand out from under the covers and gave an OK sign.

Ten minutes later she appeared in the living room, her hair casually clipped with a shark clip, wearing that 29.9-yuan T-shirt and a pair of washed-out, pilled sweat shorts.

Su Chen sized her up from head to toe.

“You’re really going out like this?”

“So what? It’s not like I’m going on a blind date.”

Su Chen opened his mouth as if he wanted to say something, but ultimately gave up. He grabbed the car keys and headed for the door: “Let’s go.”

Lin Bei followed behind, watching his back.

Today Su Chen was wearing a light-blue shirt and dark-gray dress pants, his hair perfectly styled. He looked as fresh and polished as someone straight out of a magazine.

Now look at herself—she looked like she’d just been pulled out of a trash can.

“Brother Su,” Lin Bei suddenly said in the elevator.

“Hm?”

“When I’m with you, do people think I’m your nanny?”

Su Chen glanced at her. “Nannies don’t wear flip-flops.”

“What are those then?”

“Homeless people.”

Lin Bei: “…”

The underground parking lot at Emerald Bay looked like a luxury-car showroom. Porsches, Mercedes-Benzes, BMWs—rows upon rows parked neatly.

Su Chen’s car was a black Porsche Cayenne, so shiny it could reflect your image.

Lin Bei stood by the car, hesitating for a moment.

“My shoes are dusty.”

“I know.”

“So you’re sure I should get in?”

Su Chen opened the door: “Get in. And don’t start touching everything once you’re inside.”

“Even getting in your car has rules now?”

“Even when you come into my house you have to follow the rules—let alone a car.”

Resigned, Lin Bei slid into the passenger seat. The seats were leather, the air conditioning automatic, and even the seatbelt buckle was covered with protective film.

“Did you even put a film on the seatbelt buckle?”

“I did when I first bought it.”

“How long ago was that?”

“Three years.”

“…And you still haven’t taken it off after three years?”

“Why would I? It doesn’t affect how it works.”

Lin Bei was silent for two seconds, then said sincerely, “Su Chen, you’re the most extreme germophobe I’ve ever met.”

“Thanks.”

“This isn’t a compliment.”

“I know.”

As the car drove out of the underground garage, sunlight streamed in. Lin Bei leaned back in the seat, finally enjoying the feeling of riding in a luxury car for once.

“Have you decided which phone you want to buy?” Su Chen asked.

“I have. The cheapest one.”

“But even the cheapest one costs over two thousand.”

“Well, it’s still cheaper than the one I boiled. Mine only lasted a year—it cost 1,800 when I bought it.”

Su Chen tapped the steering wheel with his fingers: “A 1,800 phone—you used it for a year, then boiled it. That’s an average cost of five yuan per day.”

“Could you stop doing the math?”

“You’re the one who’s calculating even more harshly.”

Lin Bei had no reply.

The car pulled into Jiangcheng’s biggest electronics mall. Su Chen spent ten minutes looking for a parking spot—not because there weren’t any spaces, but because he had specific requirements: no spots against walls or pillars, and no big cars parked on either side.

“You’re that particular about parking?”

“The last time I parked next to an SUV, the other driver opened their door and dented my car door.”

“And then what happened?”

“I made them pay three thousand yuan in compensation.”

“…You’re serious?”

“Dead serious. The surveillance footage proved it.”

Lin Bei decided from now on she’d keep her distance from Su Chen’s car.

The third floor of the electronics mall was the cellphone section. Counters for all kinds of brands lined up in a row, and the sales assistants were as enthusiastic as if they’d seen a long-lost relative.

Lin Bei headed straight for the cheapest counter.

“How much is this?” she asked, pointing to a feature phone.

Su Chen’s face turned green: “You want to buy a feature phone?”

End of Chapter 8: Buying a Phone Is an Art