An Feng’s comfortable new life was just beginning, but he had overlooked one important detail: the kitchen was completely empty.
No food, no utensils, nothing.
So for dinner, he joined his vineyard employees.
Or, to put it more accurately, the boss showed up to eat with his staff.
He didn’t mind at all.
They chatted late into the night using a mix of broken English, gestures, and patience.
‘My classroom English is basically useless here,’ An Feng thought.
Old John spoke relatively clearly, but the younger workers threw around so much slang and abbreviations that half the time he had no idea what they were saying.
With Old John’s help, An Feng posted a recruitment ad for a private English tutor online.
The pay was generous—two thousand US dollars per week—but he set clear conditions: the tutor must speak Chinese, live locally, and preferably be female.
‘No way I’m doing daily lessons with another guy.’ The next morning, after another communal breakfast, An Feng picked up a broom intending to clean the house.
Instead, he ended up standing by the empty infinity pool, staring at the perfect blue sky.
‘This weather is screaming for a convertible…’ Jessie, one of the female vineyard workers, volunteered to drive him into the city.
An Feng accepted — he didn’t want to deal with city parking and traffic in his big F-150 while shopping for a sports car.
Jessie would get overtime pay and fuel reimbursement, so everyone won.
“Thank you, Jessie.
It’s really inconvenient without proper transport around here,” An Feng said as he buckled his seatbelt.
“No problem at all,” she replied.
“Small towns don’t have great public transport.
Where are we headed?” “I want to buy a car.
Which is closer — San Francisco or Los Angeles?” “LA is better if you’re looking for luxury cars.” “Then let’s go to LA.” The drive was long, but talking with Jessie made it enjoyable.
She was younger than him and had been working since high school.
She had a boyfriend who worked in a bar and shared many real stories about life in America.
An Feng listened quietly.
‘The struggle is real for most people here.
Good thing that’s not my situation anymore.’ Jessie dropped him off in Beverly Hills.
An Feng waved goodbye and began walking, feeling the energy of the place.
‘Time to see what money can actually do.’ His first stop was the Ferrari and Maserati dealership.
Thanks to his American Express concierge, he had an appointment waiting.
A friendly blonde saleswoman greeted him warmly the moment he gave his name.
“Mr.
An, we have a wide selection of Ferraris and Maseratis.” “I want a convertible,” An Feng said.
He looked at several models.
The Ferrari 458 Spider was tempting, but he had already seen two on the road and one parked outside — it felt a little too common.
Instead, he gravitated toward the Ferrari California.
After a test drive with the roof down, the 4.3-liter V8 engine roared to life with a glorious sound.
Acceleration was sharp, the handling precise, and the open-top experience on California roads felt incredible.
‘This is addictive,’ he thought, gripping the steering wheel.
‘The power, the sound, the wind… I could drive this every day.’ “I’ll take the red one in stock,” he said decisively.
The entire process was smooth and respectful.
In the end, the California convertible cost him around 1.5 million RMB after conversion — a fraction of what a comparable car would cost back home.
He drove out of the dealership with the top down, a big smile on his face.
The V8 sang behind him as he merged into traffic.
‘I used to window-shop these cars online.
Now I’m driving one through Beverly Hills.’ He continued his shopping spree: a pair of GUCCI sunglasses, a sharp suit, leather shoes, and a luxurious Vacheron Constantin platinum watch.
By the time he left the stores, his whole appearance had transformed.
‘Not bad.
I almost look like I belong here.’ On the way back to the vineyard (with Jessie following in the F-150), An Feng suddenly pulled over and called his bank concierge.
“Hey Lei, can you help me get an invitation for a McLaren P1?” “Please hold for a few minutes, Mr.
An.” Five minutes later, the concierge called back.
“We can secure a black P1 from another client who changed his mind, but it requires full payment upfront.” “No problem,” An Feng replied calmly, though his heart was racing.
‘Let’s see how good their service really is.’ He turned around and headed to the McLaren dealership.
The sales team, noticing the red Ferrari and his phone call, treated him like royalty.
The P1 was a limited hypercar — one of the “Holy Trinity” alongside the Porsche 918 and Ferrari LaFerrari.
It would take at least six months to a year to build and deliver, but An Feng signed the check for 1.2 million US dollars without hesitation.
As he left the dealership, he finally understood what Anthony had meant: “For the rich, America is heaven.”