Forty minutes later, the car stopped inside a private western restaurant nestled in a secluded alley.
The carved Red Gate and the tortoiseshell sculptures carried a strong sense of European antiquity.
The lobby was adorned with French velvet sofas and exquisite palace lanterns, resembling a hall of art.
In a second-floor private room, a receptionist in butler attire brought them red wine.
He Chen swirled the glass and leaned back on the high-backed sofa, looking at Feng Yi, "Does your father have any inside information about this fireworks festival?"
Feng Yi still sported the gentlemanly manner, took his time unbuttoning his cuffs, and replied with a smile that was not quite a smile, "From what he said, it seems that Charlman may use it as a means to solidify his connections. Who would dare to refuse an invitation from the Ducal Residence?"
He Chen snorted with amusement, "Get me an invitation. It's about time I see what kind of stuff Charlman is made of."
