"Um... hey... Xiao Zhang, what exactly are you all doing here?" Zhang Jianguo couldn't hold back his curiosity and finally spoke up.
Zhang Tao turned around, only then realizing that Uncle Zhang was still standing there. He quickly explained, "Oh, Uncle Zhang, this is just a company dinner. The outfits are all company-issued—looks pretty official, right?"
As he spoke, the collapsible baton hidden in Zhang Tao's sleeve slipped out unnoticed and clattered to the ground.
He bent down in a hurry to pick it up, tucking it into the back of his waistband before continuing, "To be honest, our company also runs a security firm. Carrying a baton for self-defense is pretty reasonable, don’t you think?"
"Rea... reasonable. Yeah, reasonable."
"But..." Uncle Zhang was about to ask another question when suddenly, the previously laid-back group of men in black seemed to receive some kind of signal. In an instant, their demeanor shifted to seriousness—Zhang Tao included.
Zhang Tao no longer had time for pleasantries with Uncle Zhang. He hurriedly said, "Uncle Zhang, you go on ahead. I’ve got things to handle here."
With that, he joined the gathering of black-clad men on the roadside, marching in an imposing formation toward the only road leading to the lakeside hotel.
At the same time, the group of men in black who had been clustered near the hotel entrance also sprang into action, swiftly forming ranks.
Before long, a human corridor composed of over two hundred black-suited men came into view.
Every three paces stood a young man in black, hands clasped behind his back—a sight both grand and intimidating.
"Holy shit! Who are these people? What kind of VIP treatment is this?"
"No kidding, did some big shot check into the Lakeside Hotel today?"
"Black suits, and that emblem on their chests... looks kinda familiar."
"Isn’t that the Ten Thousand Dragons Society?"
"The what?"
"It’s a gang from the university district. Heard they’re ruthless—even got blood on their hands."
"Damn, that hardcore?"
"Not just that. Rumor has it their boss is actually a woman."
"Seriously?"
"Dead serious. And word is, the last people you want to mess with in the Ten Thousand Dragons Society are the women."
"..."
Aside from the passersby, many diners at the nearby food stalls also set down their chopsticks, buzzing with chatter about the spectacle.
Among them was Zhang Kai and his crew.
When Zhang Kai had gotten the call from Brother Long, the other man had only vaguely mentioned the Lakeside Resort Hotel—but in reality, they were supposed to meet at the food stalls across from it.
If they’d actually been expected to foot the bill at a five-star hotel, these deadbeat hoodlums wouldn’t have been able to afford it. Most small-time gangsters barely scraped by, their pockets perpetually emptier than their faces.
Tonight’s gathering included Zhang Kai, Brother Long, and a few of Brother Long’s lackeys.
Watching the Ten Thousand Dragons Society’s display, their faces were practically green with envy.
Same line of work, worlds apart.
Look at them—suited up, dining at the Lakeside Hotel—while we’re stuck in this drafty food stall gnawing on skewers.
Just a strip of water separating them, yet it might as well have been two different universes: one of golden opulence and clinking glasses, the other of greasy smoke and raucous street life.
"Fuck this. Same damn game, but they’re living large in suits while we can’t even score a private room."
"Yeah, picking this shithole for dinner? Pathetic."
"Brother Long, this kid’s got zero respect."
"Total joke, man."
"..."
Brother Long’s underlings grumbled, their dissatisfaction bubbling up now that they had something to compare themselves to.
Brother Long waved them off. "Enough. Food’s food. Xiao Kai’s one of us—his heart’s in the right place."
Then he turned to Zhang Kai. "How’s the money coming along?"
Zhang Kai stammered, "Brother... Brother Long, about the cash..."
He was flat broke, and the old man at home didn’t have much left either.
Brother Long’s expression darkened instantly. "I’m doing you a fucking favor here, and you still haven’t scraped together the cash? How the hell am I supposed to repay that favor now?"
"Plus, favors like this don’t grow on trees—you burn one, it’s gone. You get that?"
Zhang Kai had met Brother Long at an arcade.
Aspiring to gangster glory, he’d dismissed the small-time street thugs until he overheard Brother Long bragging about his connections—how he could easily get people into real syndicates. Zhang Kai had jumped at the chance, convinced that joining a proper crew was the fast track to money and respect.
Originally, he’d wanted into a crew called the Sky Eye Gang—sounded badass.
But the price wasn’t cheap: a cool five grand just for the introduction.
No job, no income, living off his old man’s pension—there was no way he could cough that up. So he’d stalled.
This time, he’d barely scraped together a few hundred, just enough to cover this lousy meal.
"Brother Long, just give me a few more days. I’ll get the money, I swear," Zhang Kai pleaded.
"Few more days? You think this is some fucking game?" Brother Long snapped. "Listen—I already called in that favor. You don’t pay up, don’t blame me for what happens next."
Zhang Kai hurriedly promised, "Three days. Just three more days, and I’ll have it all."
Brother Long finally gave a stiff nod. "Fine. Three days—last chance."
Truth was, the whole "connections" and "syndicate placement" schtick was pure bullshit—just a scam to milk idiots like Zhang Kai.
Did you really need connections to join a gang?
Maybe sometimes. But usually, if you were dumb enough to want in, someone would take you.
Just as they were about to resume eating, a commotion erupted from the crowd.
Under a mix of awe and curiosity, a convoy of cars rolled in—led by a Maybach 62S.
But what really stole the show was the license plate: ‘11111’, five pristine ones in a row, as if declaring its singularity.
The moment the Maybach appeared, the assembled men in black snapped to attention, eyes blazing as they watched the luxury sedan glide toward the hotel’s grand entrance. Only after it passed did they fall into step behind it in perfect formation.
The whole scene reeked of power.
"Holy hell! A Maybach—never thought I’d see one in person!"
"Heard this thing costs over ten mil."
"Jesus—so whoever’s inside is basically riding around in a moving mansion?"
"Nice metaphor, but you’re lowballing it. Villas in Bright Pearl City go for two or three mil tops—this car could buy four or five."
"No fucking way!"
"This has gotta be the first eight-figure ride in our city, right?"
"Absolutely. Never seen a Maybach around here before."
"Hell, I’ve been to Demon City and still never spotted one."
"Hey, any guesses who owns it?"
"Probably that Ten Thousand Dragons Society’s female boss, right?"
"Damn, having money is fucking awesome!"
"Wait, no—it's more like the underworld is where the real money's at!"
"Suddenly I wanna join the gang life. Still got a shot at it?"
"............."
As the crowd buzzed with chatter, the rear door of the Maybach was respectfully opened by a subordinate dressed in black.
A young woman stepped gracefully out of the car, clad in a sleek double-breasted black coat. The gilded dragon emblem on her chest gleamed under the sunlight, radiating an aura of cold elegance and untouchable mystique.
In an instant, silence fell—both by the hotel and across the lake.
Nearly two hundred young men in black uniforms stood in dense formation outside the hotel. As one, they bowed their heads and greeted her in unison, their voices thunderous enough to shake the skies.
"Young Mistress!"
"Young Mistress!"
"Young Mistress!"
"........."
For that fleeting moment, even the million-dollar Maybach faded into the background.
Because right then, everyone bore witness to a presence so commanding, it effortlessly eclipsed the allure of any luxury.
