Underground level three. The Emperor's private booth.
Heavy carved copper doors swung open.
Sound waves crashed over her, thick with alcohol and nauseating perfume—even more suffocating than the livestream chaos she'd just escaped.
Ning stood in the doorway.
Still in her dust-stained black dress from kicking down doors, she radiated the lethal chill of an unsheathed blade.
At the booth's center, a cluster of designer-clad trust fund brats circled a gambling table in drunken revelry.
They were playing "hot potato."
Except they weren't passing a potato.
They were tossing around a dark red rosewood box sealed with official tape.
Her mother's ashes.
"Catch it! Don't drop it or we'll have to sweep up the mess!"
"Haha, that old Jiang hag never saw a place this classy in her lifetime! We're giving her a proper send-off!"
Cruel laughter pierced the air.
The box arced through space, crashing heavily at the feet of a silver-haired man.
Lin Zifeng.
The Lin family's bastard son. Her stepmother's rabid attack dog.
He lounged against the sofa, arm wrapped around some woman, thick Cuban cigar smoldering between his fingers.
Seeing Ning enter, he didn't move.
Didn't even lift an eyelid.
From that lazy position, his cigar-holding hand dropped down.
The glowing red tip pressed precisely against the rosewood lid at his feet.
*Hiss—*
Fine wood seared under extreme heat, releasing a barely audible crackle.
Smoke curled upward as an ugly black scar branded the pristine surface.
The room fell silent for a heartbeat.
Ning's pupils contracted to pinpoints.
In her mind, the system's usually monotone voice suddenly turned urgent:
**[WARNING! Host emotional threshold breaching critical levels!]**
**[Heart rate: 145... 160! Adrenaline spiking.]**
**[Friendly reminder: Your heart can't survive a death match. Suggest... bzzt... suggest just kill him already!]**
"Oh, big sister's here?"
Lin Zifeng acted like he'd just noticed her, shrugging with exaggerated surprise.
Instead of picking up the box, he kicked it with his polished shoe tip, eyes venomous as a striking snake.
"Want it back? Sure."
He pointed at the burned box on the floor, then at Ning's knees.
"Crawl over here and lick the ash clean. Maybe I'll be merciful enough to let you take it home."
Malicious chuckles rippled through the crowd.
Everyone waited for the show—watching the once-proud heiress grovel like a dog for her dead mother's remains.
Ning didn't move.
She stared at that black burn mark, her lips slowly curving upward.
The smile was faint but carried a bone-chilling bloodlust.
"Lick it clean?"
Ning repeated softly, voice cold as ice shards.
"Actually, that's excellent advice."
Lin Zifeng thought she was surrendering, laughing arrogantly. "Smart girl! Now crawl—"
*CRASH!!!*
Thunder shattered his laughter.
Ning spun around, grabbing a bottle of Louis XIII from the display case, swinging it in a perfect arc—not at him, but at the fire alarm sensor in the corner!
Glass exploded. Liquor sprayed.
Next second, piercing fire alarms shrieked through the night.
*Hiss-hiss-hiss—WHOOSH!*
Dozens of hidden sprinkler heads erupted simultaneously.
High-pressure water cascaded down like judgment day!
This wasn't rain.
This was a cleansing flood.
"Ah! My makeup!"
"Help! Where's all this water coming from!"
The decadent feast instantly became a drowned rat convention. Screams erupted as the crowd scattered like roaches.
Through the chaos, only Ning moved forward.
Icy water streamed through her hair, soaking her black dress until it clung to her lean, explosive frame.
She walked toward Lin Zifeng step by deliberate step.
Somehow, she'd acquired a heavy wooden chair.
Its legs scraped against marble flooring.
*Screech—*
Like Death sharpening his scythe.
Lin Zifeng snapped out of his daze, exploding with rage. "Ning! You fucking psycho! How dare you ruin my party!"
He shoved away the woman in his arms, relying on years of Muay Thai training as he charged like an enraged bull, fist swinging.
"I'll kill you!"
Ning didn't even blink.
Blue data streams constructed ballistic models in her vision.
**[System assist: Right hook, speed B-. Weakness: exposed lower body.]**
Ning sidestepped.
Movement so fast it left afterimages.
His punch whistled past her hair.
Then she lifted her leg.
The same leg that had demolished the studio door now carried thunderous force, her sharp metal heel driving precisely into Lin Zifeng's knee joint.
*CRACK!*
Bone displacement echoed clearly even through the alarms.
"AHHHHH!!!"
Lin Zifeng's scream tore through his vocal cords as his legs buckled, sending him crashing to his knees.
Both knees hit the floor.
Right in front of the urn.
"I don't like people talking down to me."
Ning's voice cut through the water like a blade, drilling into every ear.
Lin Zifeng writhed in cold sweat, right hand instinctively bracing against the floor as he tried to rise. "Bitch... the Lin family won't let this..."
"Want to kill me?"
Ning tilted her head, eyes dead as winter.
She slowly raised her right foot.
The sharp stiletto heel hovered above his supporting hand.
This hand.
The same one that had burned her mother's final resting place.
"Let's see what's harder—your life, or my heel."
Down.
Grind.
*Squelch—crunch.*
Metal piercing flesh, grinding against finger bones with nauseating precision.
"AHHHHHHH!!!"
Lin Zifeng's screams shredded his throat as he convulsed like a dying fish.
But he couldn't pull his hand away.
That foot was rooted there, pinning his palm to the floor.
Ning's expression remained blank as her ankle twisted with deliberate cruelty.
Ten fingers connected to the heart.
Agony beyond description.
The trust fund brats cowering in corners went catatonic. Someone wet themselves.
This wasn't a fallen heiress.
This was a demon crawled back from hell.
"Does it hurt?"
Ning crouched down, grabbing Lin Zifeng's soaked silver hair, forcing his twisted face to look up at her.
"That hand got dirty. Let me fix it for you."
"Since you love playing with fire so much, didn't anyone teach you that fire and water show no mercy?"
Not enough.
Still not enough payment.
Ning released his hair, picking up a jagged wine bottle fragment.
Sharp glass gleamed under the lights.
She aimed it at the major artery in Lin Zifeng's neck.
Murder decided.
Her heart hammered against her ribs, bringing death-like agony as her life force burned away.
**[WARNING! Life force remaining: 00:00:30.]**
Didn't matter.
Even if they died together, she'd drag this animal to hell.
"Die."
Her wrist tensioned, glass spike plunging down!
Just as the sharp point was about to pierce skin—
A large, cold hand reached from behind.
Not to stop her.
But to cover her hand, gently taking the weapon away.
*Clang.*
Glass hit the floor.
Then that hand moved up, softly covering her eyes.
The world plunged into warm darkness.
That familiar scent—cold agarwood mixed with mint—instantly enveloped her, forcibly displacing the filthy smoke and alcohol stench.
Ning's tensed muscles instinctively relaxed at that touch.
Her medicine.
"Dirty your hands, and how will you treat my condition later?"
A man's low, lazy voice murmured by her ear, carrying casual indifference and suffocating control.
Lucien.
When had he arrived?
The legendary germaphobe who'd throw away shoes with a speck of dust now stood in ankle-deep filthy water.
He wrapped one arm around Ning's waist, lifting her bodily from the "slaughter scene" and pulling her against his chest.
Even more shocking—he produced a pristine white handkerchief, frowning with disgust as he wiped a single drop of blood from her hand.
As if it were toxic waste.
"Zhou Yan."
Lucien continued cleaning while speaking without looking back.
His tone was calm as discussing weather, completely ignoring Lin Zifeng writhing at his feet.
"Clear the room."
"Don't let this trash dirty Consultant Jiang's eyes."
Synchronized footsteps echoed outside.
Dozens of black-suited guards flooded in, systematically destroying every phone attempting to record.
"Mr... Mr. Pei..."
Lin Zifeng clutched his mangled hand, writhing on the floor. Seeing Lucien was like seeing salvation. "Help me... this crazy woman tried to kill me... I'm from the Lin family..."
"Lin family?"
Lucien finally deigned to glance at him.
That look—like viewing non-recyclable nuclear waste.
He casually discarded the handkerchief that had touched Ning's hand.
White silk drifted down, settling over Lin Zifeng's face.
Like a burial shroud.
Ning leaned against Lucien's chest as endless energy flowed through their contact, her dying heart finally stabilizing.
She bent down, carefully lifting the soaked urn, knuckles white with tension.
Lucien looked down at the box in her arms.
Then at her slightly trembling lashes.
"That hand wasn't damaged thoroughly enough."
Lucien whispered against Ning's ear, voice low but making Lin Zifeng's blood freeze.
"Since Consultant Jiang was too soft-hearted to finish the job, we'll take him back. Find a doctor to treat him properly."
His lips curved in a cruel smile.
"Heal him, then break him. Break him, then heal him."
"Until Young Master Lin learns how to live on his knees."
Ning's head snapped up.
Before she could speak, her usually sarcastic system suddenly flashed a glaring red alert:
**[DING! WARNING! High-energy magnetic field detected!]**
**[Scan source: Urn in host's arms.]**
**[Alert: Hidden metal object detected in urn's false bottom. Preliminary wavelength analysis suggests S-rank main quest key evidence—]**
**['Mother's True Cause of Death'!]**
Ning's pupils dilated in shock.
Something was hidden inside her mother's urn?!