047 Codename: The Flower Stabber

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A certain villa on the southern outskirts of Mingzhou City.

Clang.

The sound of a glass shattering against the wooden floor. Immediately after, a voice rang out.

“What did you say? You failed?” The young man’s tone was filled with shock and rage.

Standing before him, a middle-aged man waited respectfully, head bowed, enduring the younger man’s fury.

“Useless.”

The young man waved his hand agitatedly, his face flushed unnaturally red with anger. “You can’t even handle an ordinary high school student? Why do I spend so much money on you people? I might as well just feed it to the dogs.”

The middle-aged man remained silent, knowing that any attempt to explain would only provoke more wrath.

After a long moment, the young man finally regained control over his temper and poured himself another glass of wine. “What about the people you sent?” His tone had returned to its usual calm.

“They died on site,” the middle-aged man replied succinctly, well aware that his employer had no patience for details.

“Hmm.” The young man swirled the wine in his glass, eyes fixed on the spinning liquid, lost in thought.

“Should I send someone else?” the middle-aged man suggested.

The young man hesitated. Clearly, the proposal tempted him. But in the end, he shook his head. “No. Set this matter aside for now. Go handle something else.”

As the middle-aged man exited, the young man narrowed his eyes.

He muttered, “Zhong Yun. It seems I’ve underestimated you.”

“Xiaolu, come in.”

At his call, a beautiful young woman dressed as a maid entered. She kept her gaze low as she approached. “Young master,” she said softly.

Her gentle, sticky-sweet voice made her seem all the more pitiful.

The young man pointed to the floor. “The floor is wet. Clean it up.”

Without protest, the woman knelt down, using her clothing to wipe up the spilled wine.

The young master took two steps, circled behind her, his gaze lingering on her shapely form, a flicker of desire in his eyes.

He downed the rest of his wine, tossed the glass aside, and lunged at her.

A startled, embarrassed cry echoed through the vast, empty villa.

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On the spotless white floor, a glass lay quietly, surrounded by a crimson pool.

Outside the window, the bright moon was slowly devoured by drifting clouds, growing hazy before vanishing entirely.

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Just as Zhong Yun was basking in his immense joy, Chen Wen called.

“Didn’t you say you were going out shopping? Why are you still at home? Hurry up.” In the video call, Chen Wen sat inside a hovercar.

“On my way,” Zhong Yun replied.

“I’ll wait for you on Central Avenue. Don’t be late.” With that, Chen Wen hung up.

Zhong Yun stood up and headed to the bathroom for a shower.

He had originally wanted to cancel his outing with Chen Wen—after all, the assassin’s attack still cast a shadow over him. If he could avoid going out, he would. But now, with the vest in his possession, his confidence had surged. With this, what more was there to fear? If another foolish assassin tried anything, he’d let them taste the “crystallized wisdom” of Earth’s civilization—the infamous Ten Tortures of the Manchu.

After his shower, he put on the protective vest, fastened his bracelet, dressed in casual clothes, and headed downstairs feeling refreshed.

Just as he opened the door, Yang Siqing appeared out of nowhere. “Where are you going?”

Zhong Yun was startled. “Damn, can’t you walk with some noise? I’m going out for a bit.” With that, he stepped outside.

“I’m coming too,” Yang Siqing announced, trailing behind.

Knowing he couldn’t stop him, Zhong Yun simply let him follow.

They took a taxi to Central Avenue. As soon as they stepped out, they were met by the bustling crowds.

Central Avenue was the heart of Mingzhou, the city’s most vibrant street, lined with all the nation’s famous brand stores.

Towering buildings flanked the road, streams of people flowed past, and enormous panoramic advertisements played overhead, featuring women who were pure or seductive, gazing down at the crowd like benevolent giants.

“Zhong Yun, over here!” As soon as Zhong Yun stepped out of the taxi, he heard Chen Wen call. Turning, he saw Chen Wen across the street, waving, a stylish woman by his side.

“You came dressed like this?” As Zhong Yun and his companion approached, Chen Wen couldn’t help but laugh.

Zhong Yun glanced down at his outfit. It seemed fine—just a T-shirt with a cartoon design and comfortable pants. He looked over at Yang Siqing, whose clothes were crumpled and clearly hadn’t been washed in ages. The shirt collar was flipped inside out, one pant leg was rolled up, exposing white socks—he looked just like a country farmer from old Earth.

“Are we supposed to wear suits?” Zhong Yun grumbled. Here, formal wear was much like the old Western suits—just as uncomfortable.

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Besides, I’m only seventeen—why should I wear a suit?

“Actually, this is fine,” Chen Wen quickly amended, noticing Zhong Yun’s distaste for formal attire. “But this guy—if only he could look a bit neater.”

The woman beside Chen Wen was in her early twenties, tall and graceful. Even without heels, she stood half a head taller than Chen Wen. He had chatted her up while waiting for Zhong Yun.

She glanced from Chen Wen to Zhong Yun, puzzled by Chen Wen’s respectful attitude toward this ordinary-looking boy, despite being a wealthy heir in designer clothes and a luxury hovercar.

“Let me introduce you,” Chen Wen said, gesturing to the tall woman. “This is Yin Yin—a charming, youthful professional.”

Then he pointed to Zhong Yun and his companion. “This is my classmate, Zhong Yun. And this is…” When it came to Yang Siqing, he hesitated. Should he say he was Zhong Yun’s savior?

“Bodyguard,” Yang Siqing interjected, his rustic appearance adding a touch of humor.

Yin Yin burst into laughter, her amusement unrestrained. “Your friend is hilarious.”

“Don’t listen to him,” Zhong Yun said, reaching to fix Yang Siqing’s collar. “He’s actually my lifesaver.”

“Lifesaver?” Yin Yin’s eyes widened in curiosity.

“A few days ago, I accidentally fell into a river and nearly drowned. Luckily, this uncle here saved me.”

Zhong Yun spun the tale as he struggled to smooth out Yang Siqing’s wrinkled clothes. The creases were as stubborn as springs—no matter how hard he pulled, they bounced right back.

“Fell into a river and almost drowned?” Yin Yin was even more surprised.

All the city’s rivers were lined with two-meter-high reinforced glass barriers—it was nearly impossible to fall in. She’d never heard of such a thing; it was truly odd.

“Don’t listen to him,” Chen Wen explained. “He almost drowned in a swimming pool. He’s just embarrassed and wants to say it was a river.”

Yin Yin laughed, finally understanding.

“Damn, what kind of clothes are these?”

After wrestling with the stubborn fabric to no avail, Zhong Yun grew frustrated and gave a hard tug. With a ripping sound, a piece of the shirt tore off.

“Uh…” Zhong Yun froze.

ps: We’ve climbed to twentieth place—five more books ahead! Brothers, let’s charge and blast past them!