Zhang Ming couldn't stop thinking about the Qin Province and the design. The performance. The badge. It had him hooked from the moment the first promotional shots dropped, and when he found out it was designed by Haifeng, his idol, and powered by a legit Audi engine?
That sealed the deal. He didn't care what trim level or color it was. Once it launched, he was getting one. He waited for the launch day like a kid on Christmas. Staring at the screen on DongChe.com, he muttered:
"Please let it be cheap. Please let the specs hold up."
When the livestream revealed the 0–100 km/h time of 5.9 seconds, Zhang Ming almost jumped out of his chair.
"No way! That's a full second faster than the Civic!"
He grabbed his bank card and ID, bolted out the door, and made a beeline for the nearest Lichi dealership.
But when he arrived? Chaos. The showroom was already packed with people. The launch had barely ended, and there were buyers everywhere.
"Top trim, performance edition. I'll take it—swipe the card."
"Any performance model, any trim. If it's in stock, I'm buying now!"
"Where's a rep? I don't care about free stuff. I just want the damn car!"
"Faster! Finish the paperwork! I'm about to gap a Civic!"
"Honda Civic, you're done. Qin Daddy's here."
Zhang Ming stood frozen, sweating.
He thought he'd arrived early, but dozens had beaten him there.
Just as panic started, he spotted a familiar face in a Lichi polo.
"Wait… is that Ren Jun?"
It was his best friend from school.
Last he checked, Ren Jun was selling cars at the Bora dealership. When did he jump to Lichi?
Didn't matter.
Zhang Ming rushed over, grabbed him by the neck, and said:
"Good for you, man. Switched teams and didn't even tell your boy?"
"Ow! What the hell—Zhang?! I'm working! If my manager sees—"
"Relax. I need you. Hook me up with a car before they sell out!"
Ren Jun blinked.
"You're buying a car?"
He looked Zhang Ming up and down, clearly skeptical. He knew the guy's finances inside and out.
Zhang shrugged sheepishly.
"I scraped together about ¥100,000. Borrowed some from my folks."
"I'm serious. Let's do it."
Ren Jun cracked a grin.
"Alright. Let's get you rolling."
He came back with a sales contract and a quick pitch.
"Mid-trim performance model. ¥89,900 (≈ $12,375). You're good to go."
"Final price stays firm—no discounts. But I'll throw in everything I can: tinting, mats, full freebies."
Zhang nodded. No hesitation.
"Let's do it."
An hour later, paperwork was done, the card was swiped, the license was processed, and the keys were in hand. Ren Jun led him to the lot.
There it was—a red Qin Pro, fresh off the truck. Zhang reached out and ran his hand along the hood like a sculpture. He climbed into the driver's seat and exhaled slowly.
"Worth it."
Ren Jun laughed.
"Congrats, President Zhang. You're officially a car owner."
"Same dinner spot tonight?"
"Hell yeah. I'm buying. Eat whatever you want."
Zhang pulled out of the lot, easing into traffic. But once he found an empty road, he floored it.
The engine roared. The acceleration hit instantly, pinning him to the seat.
6.2 seconds.
Not bad for a first try, He grinned.
"Now if only I could run into a Civic…"
A white Honda Civic rolled beside him as if on cue—brand new, no plates yet. The driver lowered his window. Aviator shades. Cocky grin.
"Hey, that's a Qin Pro?"
"Heard it's fast. Wanna test that out?"