Chapter 19: Intrigue and Deception
The grand hall of Heavenly Realm glittered with excess. Golden hues dominated the decor, soft yet opulent, while a chandelier strung with crystal beads cascaded from the ceiling, casting prisms of light across the marble floors—so polished they mirrored the crowd like a giant mirror. Lining the entrance, a row of hostesses in slit silk cheongsams bowed in unison, their smiles practiced, their voices chiming: "Welcome, honored guests!"
This was Beitian's crown jewel of nightlife, a symbol of power and prestige. Even mid-tier clubs like Infinity KTV paled in comparison. Here, a single drink cost more than Wu Yifan's daily wage, and the clientele—politicians, tycoons, celebrities—moved with the quiet arrogance of those who owned pieces of the city.
At the heart of it all loomed Tang Tianyou, the legendary "Godfather of Beitian." A self-made man who'd built an empire from nothing in 25 years, he owned Heavenly Realm and half the legitimate businesses in the region. From the mayor to street vendors, everyone knew his name—and feared it.
As Wu Yifan and Ye Xiwen stepped through the doors, the buzz of conversation paused. Heads turned—some curious, some calculating—as the owners of Beitian's other clubs sized them up.
"Ye! Long time no see!" A portly man in a pinstriped suit waved them over. "Heard Infinity's killing it lately. Secrets to share?"
Ye smiled, her poise unshakable. "Just luck, Wang. And good staff." She nodded at Wu, who stood beside her, hands in his pockets, his lazy grin masking a sharp awareness of the stares.
"Staff, huh?" A woman in a sequined dress giggled, her eyes raking over Wu. "He's… *cute*. New hire?"
"My assistant," Ye said, her tone leaving no room for further questions.
Wu fought the urge to roll his eyes. *Assistant*, not "security guard." Fancier, Ye had said. Fancier, and infinitely more likely to spark gossip. Sure enough, he caught whispers: *"Is that her boytoy?"* *"Must be—look at him. No way he's qualified."*
But Wu didn't care. Let them talk. He'd learned long ago that rumors were like smoke—here one second, gone the next. Instead, he studied the room, cataloging faces: the man with the diamond cufflinks (probably a drug dealer), the woman with the too-loud laugh (owned three bars, Ye had muttered), the kid in the tailored suit (Zhang Hualei's cousin, if he had to guess).
Then a voice cut through the chatter—high-pitched, sneering, like a rusty saw.
"Well, well. If it isn't Ye Xiwen, slumming it with the big boys."
Ye's smile hardened. "Qian Baoqing. I didn't expect to see you here."
Qian slithered forward, a tall, gaunt man with a pointy chin and eyes that lingered too long on Ye's chest. He owned Dongfang Coast, a rival KTV that had been bleeding customers since Infinity opened. Bad blood ran deep.
"Could say the same about you," Qian drawled, finally tearing his gaze away from Ye to flicker over Wu. "And who's this? Your… *bodyguard*? Bit young for the job, isn't he?"
"Assistant," Ye repeated, her voice cold.
"Assistant!" Qian cackled, loud enough to turn heads. "Fancy title for a pretty face. You sure he's qualified to fetch your coffee, let alone run errands?"
Wu's jaw tightened. He'd dealt with bullies before, but Qian's brand of sleazy arrogance was particularly grating. He opened his mouth to retort, but Ye placed a hand on his arm, a silent warning.
"Qian," she said, "if you've got something to say, say it. Otherwise, get out of my way."
Qian's grin faded. He didn't like being challenged—especially not by a woman. He leaned in, his breath reeking of whiskey. "Just wondering when you'll stop playing tough, Ye. You and I both know—sooner or later, you'll come crawling to me. Dongfang Coast's got room for a pretty manager."
Before Ye could reply, a *screech* split the air.
Tires shrieked against pavement. A black Mercedes sports car—low, sleek, moving at a dangerous speed—barreled toward the entrance. Pedestrians scattered, screaming, diving out of the way as the car swerved, its headlights blazing like twin suns.
And it was heading straight for them.
Thirty meters. Twenty-five. Twenty.
Qian froze, his face draining of color. "N-no… stop…" he whimpered, his legs turning to jelly.
The crowd gasped. Some women screamed, covering their eyes. Wu's heart raced—this was no accident. The driver was aiming for them.
"Move!" he yelled, grabbing Ye's arm and yanking her backward.
But Qian was still in the way, paralyzed with fear. Wu cursed, lunging forward. He grabbed Qian's collar, hauling him off his feet with a strength that surprised even himself (muscle strength ×5 might be gone, but adrenaline worked wonders).
He threw Qian to the ground just as the Mercedes skidded past, inches from where they'd stood. It crashed into a lamppost, metal crumpling with a deafening *bang*.
Silence.
Then chaos erupted.
People swarmed around the car, yelling, taking photos. Qian lay on the ground, shaking, his pants dark with urine. Ye stared at Wu, her eyes wide.
"You… you saved him," she said, disbelief in her voice.
Wu shrugged, his heart still pounding. "Don't want blood on my suit. It cost 6,000 yuan."
But beneath the jokes, he knew—this wasn't random. Someone wanted trouble. And in a room full of sharks, it could've been anyone.
Qian scrambled to his feet, avoiding Wu's gaze. "T-thanks," he mumbled, before scurrying into the club like a rat.
Ye touched Wu's arm, her fingers lingering. "Careful. This isn't over."
Wu nodded. He looked at the wrecked car, then at the club entrance, where shadows flickered.
Whoever was behind this, they'd made a mistake.
They'd underestimated the "assistant."
And now? He was wide awake.
The game was on.