When Lucy Ansley's call came in, Henry Ronan was leisurely chatting over warm wine with business acquaintances at the club.
The man crossed his legs, his well-defined fingers bringing the wine cup to his lips for a sip.
Even though he was dressed simply in a white shirt and black trousers, his entire demeanor was serene, yet he had the presence of a silent ruler, so strong it was impossible to ignore.
As the phone rang suddenly, the people chatting around instinctively held their breath and fell silent.
Henry Ronan glanced at the caller ID, picked up the phone, and stood up, "Excuse me for a moment."
"No problem, take care of your business."
The crowd watched the man leave, and the atmosphere in the private lounge eased considerably.
"Everyone, did you hear about the Ronan Family matriarch arranging a matchmaking meet for Ninth Lord?"
"I heard long ago. The Ronan Family has many offspring in this generation, with serious internal strife. The old lady favors Ninth Lord; in my view, the matchmaking is a front to find a family with suitable status for a marriage alliance, not only solving lifetime matters but also increasing his power play advantages, killing two birds with one stone."
"That's all well and good, but do you think... Henry Ronan would easily follow the family's arrangements?"
If he could be easily manipulated, he wouldn't be known as the notoriously ruthless Ninth Lord.
For a moment, everyone exchanged looks, harboring their own agendas.
...
Under the pine and cypress trees outside the club courtyard, Henry Ronan stood with one hand in his pocket, patiently listening to the call, while his subordinate Thomas Chapman waited not far away.
Lucy Ansley asked if there could be a discount.
The man looked at the distant Roman architectural complex, an amused look in his eyes, "Sure."
There was a few seconds of silence on the other end, followed by Lucy Ansley's flat tone, "Thank you, please arrange the treatment as soon as possible, goodbye."
Henry Ronan listened to the disconnection tone, a deep meaning flickering in his long, dark eyes.
Though ill, her actions and style are indeed straightforward and efficient.
The man's upright figure lingered for a moment before instructing Thomas Chapman to notify Robert Harris to start arranging treatment next week.
...
As night fell, a light rain began again in the city.
An autumn rain, an autumn chill, as the saying goes, and the dead leaves of sycamore trees drifted lightly with the autumn breeze and drizzle.
However, in this desolate late night, a live streaming app designed specifically for coders was causing a stardom-like frenzy.
Because the 'Coding God,' revered by many newbie coders as a pipe dream, had logged on again.
This app had been developed for less than a year but was widely popular in the programmer community.
Soon, as the clock's hand reached nine, the 'Coding God' started a live stream.
As the screen lit up with the computer's boot animation, the coders were in a frenzy.
[User123: Guys, he's here, he's here, bringing with him advanced code]
[It's Your Fault] sent keyboards x10.
[MaseratiLove] sent 3 Maseratis
[CrapAtYourCorner: Guys, in three minutes, the number of viewers broke thirty thousand, the Coding God is truly awesome]
[LongLegs: It's at seventy thousand now]
[CodeLessEatBuns] sent Golden Castle x10
...
The comment section was ablaze, resembling a coder's carnival.
Yet, no matter how wildly everyone was posting or sending gifts, the mysterious 'Coding God' continued with regular operations unperturbed.
The mystery and widespread discussion likely stemmed from the fact that 'he' never showed his face or spoke during the live streams. Each session, you could only hear the crisp clatter of a mechanical keyboard and see lines upon lines of high-level code displayed on the screen.
With undoubtedly robust skills, he attracted countless fledgling coders to admire and emulate him.
At this moment, in an old house on Cloudsea Road, a faint yellow light glowed inside as Lucy Ansley sat at her computer, coding and watching comments simultaneously, multitasking with ease.
The warm yellow light on her face dissipated the daytime gloominess, adding a touch of lively charm.
However, within half an hour, several unfriendly comments appeared on the public screen.
[HahaSoFunny: Coding God, more like a pretentious fool, everyone pathetically kissing his ass]
[HahaSoFunny: Just a spectator, can't use it, what's so advanced about this code?]
[HahaSoFunny: Made my system almost crash after uploading, garbage]
[MaseratiLove: Haha, come meet me offline if you dare?]
[ForeverYoung: Protect our Coding God.]
[User123: Go, go, go—]
[HahaSoFunny: You all fools, uninstalling, bye bye]
Lucy Ansley's brows furrowed slightly, and her coding speed slowed down.
External opinions and slander wouldn't affect her; what she truly cared about was the deep-seated code in her mind being dismissed as worthless.
Soon, someone appeared in the live stream to mediate and rationally asked a question.
[5GSurfingZhang: Coding God, what is the specific application scenario of your code? If there's no practical application, aren't you scamming for rewards? (Dog head emoji to stay safe)]
Having never responded to a comment during a live stream, Lucy Ansley for the first time felt the urge to explain.
But a fan was quicker than she was.
[MaseratiLove: To the person above, who's missing your little tips? A blind guess would be developing code for holographic projection or AR enhanced reality, waiting for the Coding God's response.]
[...]
The messages kept increasing, with a wide range of opinions.
Finally, Lucy Ansley stared intently at the ID of [MaseratiLove] and for the first time posted a reply: @MaseratiLove, can you spot any issues in the first seven segments of the code?
The live stream momentarily lagged, and the coders went wild, frantically spamming comments.
[MaseratiLove: Aaaah, I can't believe I got a reply. Chosen one·Maserati·selected by the Coding God·Love.]
[MaseratiLove: Can't see any issue. If there is a problem, it must be the fault of the code, not the Coding God. (pinching bridge of the nose)]
The flicker in Lucy Ansley's eyes dimmed upon seeing this message.
In the remaining time, she no longer responded to any comments, until half-past eleven at night, completing the two-hour live stream before logging off.
The background stats showed that the rewards from this live stream amounted to 780,000.
The mechanical keyboard hanging on the Little Green Car had sales commissions of 17,000 for this period.
True to the rumors, this mysterious figure, lauded as the 'Coding God,' single-handedly sustains this newly developed programmer streaming app.
...
On the other side, at Cloud Summit Road No. 177 villa district, the vintage Western architectural complex, established in the 1930s, displayed unique historical and heritage value alongside the old mansions.
Deep within the courtyard of one of these mansions lay a natural hot spring, with mist swirling around the edges, occasionally punctuated by soft conversations.
At this moment, Henry Ronan, bare-chested, sat in the pool, his sculpted arms resting against the pool wall, his head slightly tilted back, the dim light casting his rugged, handsome features in a warm glow.
At the hot spring poolside, Finn Bennett clad in a luxurious suit, leaned against a stone platform teasingly, "Your family's old lady is brilliant with this move, using a matchmaking gimmick to help you distinguish friend from foe. Indeed, the old ginger is hotter."
As the eldest grandson of the Bennett Family, Finn Bennett had known Henry Ronan since childhood. Both were brought up in wealthy high society, fully aware of the inner court struggles.
Henry Ronan closed his eyes, relaxed his brows, and replied with a voice both leisurely and lazy, "The old lady is killing two birds with one stone; the matchmaking may not just be a stunt."
"I..." Finn Bennett's curse was unspoken before Thomas Chapman hurried over from the front yard, "Ninth Lord, that person... streamed again tonight."