[Cloud City · Brother Long's Gambling Den]
Stepping through the doors was like crossing into another world.
The lobby was all glitz and gold—crystal chandeliers cascading from the ceiling, scattering prismatic light across red carpet so plush it swallowed their footsteps. Uniformed attendants wove through the crowd, each wearing a smile polished to professional perfection.
And then there was the sound.
Dice clattering against felt. Chips clicking together. Somewhere a cheer erupted; somewhere else, a string of curses. At one table, a man sat perfectly still, staring at his cards while beads of sweat formed along his hairline.
Yin Wuwang surveyed the room.
Just as he'd expected—no different from the gambling dens in the Demon Abyss. But seeing it firsthand hit harder than he'd imagined. The air was thick with a restless, febrile energy, a cocktail of sweat, cheap perfume, and bottom-shelf liquor. The gamblers hunched over their tables, foreheads slicked with perspiration, were identical to the rogue cultivators who'd lost everything in the Demon Abyss dens—same desperation, same glazed-over eyes.
Chen Wan's mother once sat in a chair just like those, betting away her son's future one chip at a time.
Little Deer Assistant 9527's voice piped up in his mind: "Casinos, um... I think you're not allowed to take photos? Or bring phones? Honestly, I'm not really sure. Just be careful. This place seems like trouble."
Yin Wuwang ignored it. His attention was locked on the surroundings. No soul-probing arrays or heart-reading arts in this world, but old habits died hard—he maintained his vigilance all the same.
Especially since—he shifted closer to Xie Qingyan without thinking.
Fuguang stood beside him, his expression still as autumn water. The man seemed utterly impervious to the surrounding opulence, simply observing the room with quiet, clinical focus.
"Mr. Shen. Mr. Jiang." A man in a dark suit approached, his tone neither warm nor cold. "Brother Long is upstairs. Follow me."
No "please."
Yin Wuwang raised an eyebrow. Manners of a barnyard animal.
The two followed him into the elevator and rode it all the way to the top floor. Brother Long's office sat at the end of the corridor, behind a pair of heavy wooden doors carved with elaborate patterns. Two hulking men flanked the entrance, their gazes slicing over the newcomers like razors.
The doors swung open, and Yin Wuwang's eyes swept the room in an instant.
The office was large—expensively decorated and utterly tasteless. One entire wall was floor-to-ceiling glass overlooking the city. Several calligraphy scrolls hung on the adjacent walls, their brushstrokes bold and aggressive, radiating new-money energy. In the corner sat an enormous fish tank where several golden arowana glided back and forth in lazy circles.
The man behind the desk was in his fifties.
Brother Long.
His hair was slicked back with enough product to grease a wok, and he wore a loud floral shirt with a gold watch the size of a small clock strapped to his wrist. Flesh bunched across his face, his eyes squeezing into narrow slits whenever he smiled—like a well-fed old fox surveying its territory.
But Yin Wuwang caught what lay beneath. Those eyes harbored a sharp, predatory glint. Not just a businessman. A dangerous one.
"Well, well—Consultant Shen." Brother Long didn't bother standing, just leaned back in his chair with an air of casual condescension: "What wind blew you my way?"
Xie Qingyan's expression didn't shift by a fraction: "Brother Long. We'd like to ask about Chen Wan."
"Chen Wan?" Brother Long's eyes narrowed a hair. "He's dead. What's that got to do with me?"
"We heard the bar was mortgaged to you."
"So what?" Brother Long tipped back further, crossing one leg over the other: "Debts get paid—that's how the world works. His mother owed me; her son paid up. You see a problem with that?"
Yin Wuwang's brow creased. He'd crossed paths with plenty of ruthless characters in his time. Brother Long barely registered—a clown prancing on a stage far too big for him.
"We're just trying to understand the situation," Xie Qingyan maintained his composure: "How much did Chen Wan owe you?"
"That's my private business." Brother Long's smile turned cold. "Consultant Shen, last I checked, you're not a cop anymore. I'm under no obligation to answer your questions."
His gaze crawled over Xie Qingyan, a mocking smirk tugging at his lips: "Word is you got booted from the force. Tsk, tsk—not doing so well for yourself, huh? Playing private detective now, wandering into my place poking your nose where it doesn't belong—"
His expression turned frigid: "Who do you think you are?"
Xie Qingyan didn't respond—but Yin Wuwang felt the person beside him stiffen, barely perceptible, a tension that tightened through his frame like a bowstring being drawn.
Fuguang didn't like being spoken to that way. And neither did he.
"Brother Long." He spoke up, his voice deceptively mild: "I'd suggest you show some manners."
Brother Long turned to look at him, appraised him from head to toe, then laughed.
"And who's this?" he asked Xie Qingyan, the mockery dripping thick: "Your little errand boy?"
Little Deer Assistant 9527's voice erupted in Yin Wuwang's head: "This guy is way too full of himself! Should we... beat him up? There are no security cameras in here, and he runs a gambling den—it's not like he can call the cops..."
Yin Wuwang didn't respond. But something shifted behind his eyes.
"I'll say it one more time." His voice dropped to barely above a whisper, each word pressed through clenched teeth: "Show some manners."
Brother Long held his stare for several seconds—then threw his head back and roared with laughter.
"Ha! Kid, do you have any idea where you are? Do you know who I am?" He was practically wheezing between guffaws. "You waltz onto my turf and tell me to be polite?"
He flicked his wrist. The two heavies at the door stepped inside immediately, planting themselves between Yin Wuwang and Xie Qingyan.
"I suggest you know your place." The laughter vanished from Brother Long's face like it had never been there, replaced by pure ice. "Finish your little Q&A and get out. Don't think being some 'special consultant' gives you the right to throw your weight around here."
Yin Wuwang sized up the two thugs. One stood around six-three, built like a tank, fists the size of dinner plates. The other was shorter but had a killer's stare, and the bulge at his waistband left little to the imagination.
By mortal standards, these two could probably hold their own in a fight.
But—
Yin Wuwang smiled.
"Fuguang," he said. "Step aside. I need to stretch my legs."
Xie Qingyan glanced at him, said nothing, but took two measured steps back. He knew what it meant when this man smiled like that.
It meant someone was about to have a very bad day.
[End of V2_Chapter 24]
Next: Three seconds. Two thugs. One very cooperative Brother Long.