The hairs on the back of Chi Xingran's neck stood on end.
Before he could make a run for it, two six-foot-three bodyguards in black suits seized an arm apiece.
“Hey, hey! Easy! This hoodie cost nine ninety with free shipping. You paying if you rip it?” His feet flailed twice in midair. Like a feral cat held by the scruff, he was bundled helplessly into the back of a black stretch Rolls-Royce.
The car was unnervingly quiet.
Assistant Zhou sat in the front passenger seat, coldly studying in the rearview mirror the oddball who had derailed Mr. Zong's entire schedule.
Chi Xingran made himself right at home. He settled cross-legged on the broad leather seat and even poked the onboard refrigerator. “Buddy, got any Coke? The cold kind. Roasting that fake socialite back there left my throat smoking.”
Zhou's mouth twitched. Silently, he passed back a bottle of imported mineral water. “Mr. Chi, please remain quiet. Mr. Zong is in the car behind us. We are going to his private residence.”
“Sure. A chauffeur service. Now that's what I call treatment.” Chi Xingran gulped down more than half the bottle, as carefree as though he were heading on vacation.
Half an hour later, they reached a sprawling penthouse high above the city center.
The elevator doors opened, and the mingled smell of fir and concentrated disinfectant hit him.
The gleaming marble floor was clean enough to serve as a mirror. The entire living room was as cold and sterile as an operating theater.
Zhou got out first to lead the way. At the entrance, he expressionlessly handed over disposable slippers in sterile bags. “Change your shoes. Turn left and disinfect three times. Return anything you touch to its original position. The margin of error must not exceed one centimeter.”
Chi Xingran blinked at the dazzling white handmade rug.
A lot of rules, huh? Too bad breaking rules was his favorite pastime.
The next second, he flicked off both battered knockoff canvas shoes!
Thwack!
One sailed in a perfect arc and landed squarely on the custom white entryway cabinet. Street mud on its sole left a glaring black mark.
The other lay across the center of the doorway, its toe pointing crookedly at the ceiling.
One foot bare, the other wearing a yellow sock with his big toe poking through a hole, Chi Xingran swaggered onto the six-figure rug.
He didn't just step on it. He ground his feet into the cotton-soft pile twice and sighed in delight. “Oh, man, I'm exhausted! This is like walking on marshmallows. So soft!”
Behind him, Zhou sucked in a breath. His glasses nearly slid off his nose as he turned to stone.
Mr. Zong's severe germ aversion and compulsive need for order were a notorious nightmare throughout the business world!
Last month, a business partner had casually set a briefcase down five degrees out of alignment. Mr. Zong had canceled their three-hundred-million-yuan project on the spot.
This brat had flung a worn-out shoe onto the pristine white cabinet and dared defile the handmade Persian rug with a holey sock?!
Palms sweating, Zhou hastily pulled a Breach Penalty and Personal Injury Compensation Acknowledgment from his briefcase. He intended to force Chi Xingran to sign and fingerprint it before the bodyguards broke his legs and threw him out.
But Zong Wen, entering as he unbuttoned his jacket, merely stared at the torn sock on the rug.
A vein at his temple jumped twice. His knuckles whitened at his sides, his fists tightening with an audible crack.
Savage murderous intent churned in his deep black eyes. The temperature plunged to freezing.
Chi Xingran could practically feel the bone-chilling cold at his back.
He patted his backside, turned, and met those almost man-eating eyes with a sly little fox's grin. “Mr. Zong, want me to give you a couple of stomps too? Great stress relief!”
Zong Wen closed his eyes briefly and forcibly suppressed the fury boiling in his chest.
“Throw away the shoes. Replace the rug.” His voice was frighteningly hoarse, carrying the cold of a storm held in check. He walked straight past Chi Xingran toward the sofa. “Zhou, get him some water. Don't let him touch anything.”
Zhou stood rooted to the spot, his jaw nearly hitting the floor.
No explosion?
Not even a single order to get out?!
Looking at his famously ruthless boss, Zhou quietly slid the penalty document back into the very bottom of his briefcase.
The sun really had risen in the west.
Chi Xingran flopped into the leather sofa. He was just finding a comfortable position to roll around in when the smart entry system let out a piercing alarm.
Then a smiling, cultured voice drifted through the intercom. “Wen, I heard there was a little mishap during your blind date. Your second uncle couldn't help worrying, so I've brought some tonics to settle your nerves.”
The lock clicked. Someone had used backup access privileges to open it directly from outside!
A middle-aged man in a bespoke light-gray suit and gold-rimmed glasses strode in.
It was Zong Zeyu, president of the Zong Charitable Foundation and Zong Wen's second uncle.
Two attendants from the family estate followed him. His expression of concern was flawless, but his eyes swept the living room the moment he entered.
At the sight of Chi Xingran sprawled barefoot on the sofa, a trace of malice and triumph flickered through his gaze.
“Wen, Miss Lin comes from a scholarly family. She's always been such a delicate girl.”
Zong Zeyu sighed and walked to the center of the room, his voice heavy with an elder's pained disappointment.
“I know you have a temper. Being harsh with your staff at work is one thing. But she came on a date with you in good faith. How could you frighten her into running out of the restaurant in tears, even losing her shoes? If this reaches the old patriarch at the family estate, how are the senior shareholders who support you supposed to defend you at next week's board meeting?”
With a few airy remarks, he laid all the blame on Zong Wen while painting him before the attendants as a violent incompetent unfit for responsibility.
Zong Wen sat in an armchair, his face thunderous, terrifying hostility roiling in his eyes.
He had heard far too many such sanctimonious accusations growing up. But with the Zong family's competing factions keeping him in check, his opponent occupying the moral high ground, and no solid evidence to counter him, he had usually been forced to swallow the injustice.
“Pfft.”
A spectacularly ill-timed snort broke the oppressive silence.
Chi Xingran sat cross-legged on the main sofa, holding a half-bitten lollipop he had produced from somewhere. He raised an eyebrow at Zong Zeyu. “Second Uncle, right? Impressive stage you've built. Shame your singing's awful. That fake-innocent act's been steeping in five-spice for fifteen years. The stink goes straight to my brain.”
Zong Zeyu's expression shifted. Brow furrowing, he snapped down at him, “Where did this feral brat come from? No manners whatsoever! Who are you, a lowlife like you, to interfere in the Zong family's affairs?”
“Zong family affairs aren't my business. Con artists setting people up for extortion? Those I know all about.”
Unhurriedly, Chi Xingran took a black voice recorder from his hoodie pocket and twirled it deftly between his fingers.
It was something he always carried while running a street stall, to protect himself against extortion by municipal enforcement officers and local thugs.
“You... What are you doing with that cheap recorder?” An ominous feeling began to stir in Zong Zeyu.
Chi Xingran pressed play.
Lin Rourou's shrill, spiteful voice instantly echoed through the spacious living room from the high-fidelity speaker.
“How much is Zong Zeyu paying you to work this hard? Two hundred a performance, and he won't even throw an extra chicken leg into your boxed lunch, huh?”
“You filthy beggar! Got a death wish?”
Next came the clear exchange Chi Xingran had coaxed out of her on the recording.
“...Uncle Zeyu said that as long as I get pictures of Zong Wen hitting me, he'll transfer two million in cash next month and help me land that leading role!”
The recording stopped abruptly.
A deathly silence fell. Even the air seemed to solidify.
The two attendants behind Zong Zeyu exchanged looks, their faces a picture.
Zong Zeyu went from white to livid. Beads of cold sweat covered his forehead. His lips trembled as he pointed at Chi Xingran, struggling for words. “You... You fabricated that recording! This is slander! A blatant frame-up!”
“Slander?”
Chi Xingran rolled his eyes and opened fire like a machine gun.
“My livestream was running the whole time in that room! Thousands of people online saw that fake socialite trying to scam someone with a nine-ninety bag, shipping included! You keep calling her a well-bred young lady. So does the esteemed president of the Zong Charitable Foundation now specialize in introducing professional con artists to his nephew?”
He stepped closer, grinning shamelessly. “Imagine if someone compiled all this and emailed it to the old patriarch. I've even thought of a headline for you: ‘SHOCKING! Wealthy Uncle's Scheme Exposed as Fraud Ring—Twisted Humanity or Moral Collapse?’”
“Think he'll praise your kind heart? Or send the lawyers to arrange matching prison sewing machines for you and Lin Rourou?”
Zong Zeyu's chest heaved. He nearly passed out.
He glared at Chi Xingran, then at the unreadable Zong Wen, whose gaze was dark and fathomless. He knew he had failed to get anything on his nephew today. Instead, he had been stripped completely bare!
“Fine... Very good! Zong Wen, you've found yourself quite the sharp-tongued little bastard!”
He forced the words through his teeth. Without even managing a proper parting remark, he grabbed his briefcase and beat a humiliating retreat, slamming the door behind him.
The door closed with a bang.
Zhou let out a long breath. His look at Chi Xingran changed instantly from someone regarding a dead man to someone beholding a miracle worker.
Chi Xingran bobbed his head smugly, turned to Zong Wen, and held out a hand. Chin lifted, he looked like a young rooster demanding praise after winning a fight. “Well, Mr. Zong? Are my debt-repayment skills worth that million? That performance deserves full marks, doesn't it?”
Seated on the sofa, Zong Wen looked at the attractive face brimming with pride. The faintest curve touched his mouth.
Wild and untamable. A vicious tongue and a sharp mind.
Not only was he unafraid of Zong Wen, he could read the situation instantly and turn it against the enemy.
An unexpectedly excellent blade indeed.
Zong Wen beckoned Zhou over. His voice was low and even, carrying unquestionable authority. “Tell operations to direct the highest-tier traffic from every platform under the group to his account. Give him exclusive featured placement across the network for a full month.”
Zhou straightened and immediately moved to carry out the order.
Chi Xingran's eyes lit up. Promotional traffic worth tens of millions? He was finally going to be filthy rich!
Just then, the battered secondhand phone in his hoodie pocket began vibrating violently without warning. Its shrill buzzing was especially loud in the quiet living room.
He swiped the screen. Notifications were exploding across his personal livestreaming account. His follower count was climbing by more than ten thousand a second, and countless animated gifts burst across the entire display.