The night, accompanied by a massive downpour.
During the thunderous and lightning-lit night filled with a chilling aura as if the Dragon King himself were enraged, the rain fell relentlessly. The rustling of the tree branches, swayed back and forth, adding an eerie element to the scene.
In the dimly lit darkness, a menacing-looking man held an electric baton, adjusting the voltage to its highest setting.
Eyeing the man kneeling on the ground, his body splattered with blood, the menacing man projected an aura of death as he said, “If you still refuse to pay back the money…”
He hovered the electric baton above the man's head, his thumb lightly touching the switch, a harsh and merciless glint flickered in his eyes, “Once I press this switch, you'll be off to meet King Yama!"
the King of Hell in Chinese mythology
A thud—
The middle-aged man on the ground twitched all over, spurted a mouthful of blood, staining the dim ground beneath him.
“No... No…” a woman was tossing and turning on her bed, her eyes tightly shut.
Fine sweat originated from deep inside her, seeping down her forehead, soaking the bed pillow.
“Ah! …” Abruptly, she sat up straight, fingers clutching the blanket desperately.
The silent bedroom echoed only with the pounding heartbeat and the sound of erratic breathing.
The scenes from her dream were too vivid, and the woman was still in shock.
Suddenly, she grabbed her phone, dialing urgently her father's numbers.
The call connected after one ring, and a trembling voice filled with desperation was projected through the signal into the other person’s ear, “Dad, where are you?”
"Dad?" The person on the other side furrowed his brows and glanced at the unwavering man, "Your daughter?”
Upon hearing a stranger pick up the phone, Zhan Lan's whole being jolted. It seemed as if she expected someone was being coerced over the line. She bit her lower lip, quaking.
"You... let my father go! I'll give you any amount of money."
"One million. Not a cent less."
One million?
Is that much demanded?
Just as Zhan Lan was taken aback, a familiar roar sounded from the other end of the line. "Lan Lan, don't worry about me!"
The composure that Zhan Lan forced upon herself collapsed in an instant at Zhan Haoran's trembling voice. Big tears rolled down her cheeks.
"Ah! ..." Those on the other end savagely shocked Zhan Haoran again. He couldn't withstand the strong current and let out a painful scream.
Zhan Lan screamed in terror at her father's agony. "Please, stop torturing my father! I... I'll get the money right away."
"That's fine. I'll give you one more day. If I don't see the money by tomorrow, be prepared to collect a corpse. Remember, I only want cash."
"Don't... worry..." Zhan Haoran's weak voice abruptly ended with the hang-up.
Zhan Lan was already sobbing uncontrollably. After a moment, she wiped away the tears flooding her eyes, and stubbornly got up from bed to get dressed.
How could she not worry?
In this world, she only had her father as a relative. If she lost her father, what meaning would her life have left?
She had heard that the "Emperor's Club" was the most luxurious gathering place for the wealthy in Hai City...
Zhan Lan, attired in a sexy yet modest dress, arrived at the entrance of the DiHao Clubhouse. Even though her legs are trembling with fear, she didn't hesitate and stepped in.
In the glittering neon hub of the club, the intoxicating aura of youthful hormones permeated the air. Strip shows and wet body dances became the focal point of this group of frenzied youngsters' screaming passion.
Subconsciously, Zhan Lan found a dim corner to settle down in, but no sooner had she sat down than a man carrying a glass of wine approached and sat close to her.
The man, reeking of alcohol, casually draped his arm around Zhan Lan's shoulders, his words suggesting a frivolous manner, "Are you alone, miss? Why don't you spend the night with me?"
Zhan Lan's body stiffened instantly, suppressing the urge to fling his groping hand away and the churning acidity in her stomach.
In order to save her father, she had no choice but to debase herself, "Do you have a million?"
Her crystal-clear eyes radiated a thirst for money, causing the man to halt mid-action and brazenly assess her body.
The feeling of being treated as a negotiable commodity made Zhan Lan feel deeply humiliated, but she couldn't back off. All she could do was pretend to be unaffected under his lewd gaze.
Just as he was hesitating, a man, attired in a black shirt and black trousers, hurried over, stirring up a cold wind.
His height of 192cm made him exceptionally striking—a perfect sculpture painstakingly crafted by God himself.
His striking eyebrows, slender eyes harboring inscrutable depths, and thin lips subtly pursed gave him the appearance of a hawk in the night—aloof yet intimidating, exuding a potent arrogance.
Such a man had the deadly allure of poppy, driving people to madness with the sweetness of his charms.
The bar erupted into enthusiastic chatter, the atmosphere charging up even higher at his presence. Someone exclaimed in awe, "My God, isn't he the mysteriously elusive owner of the DiHao Clubhouse, Young Master Qin?"