Chapter 101: Unfortunately, You Chose the Wrong Opponent

“Ah… hahaha!”

Zhuo Yiji flinched for a moment, then began laughing aloud as if someone had just told him the funniest joke in the world.

“Kid, are you the clown that a circus monkey sent?” he shouted, jabbing a finger at Qinchuan’s nose. “If you’re out here begging for death, I’ll grant you your wish. You all go in together and tear this thing apart. I won’t believe he can hide in that turtle shell his whole life. But be careful when you move—don’t hurt my Goddess Tan.”

Whenever a beautiful woman was involved, Zhuo Yiji suddenly became very sharp. Though he had no idea how Qinchuan had become entangled in this, from the whole sequence of his actions he could tell Qinchuan had no intention of harming Tan Shuying’s life.

Qinchuan had grabbed Tan by the neck to force him out, and as for what he was ultimately aiming for, it was likely connected to his brother.

And probably revenge. After all, Zhuo Yihu, in his rise as the underworld boss of Binhai City, had offended many people and made many enemies. Coercing the brother was the perfect line of attack.

“You picked the wrong opponent,” Zhuo Yiji said, his tiny eyes flashing with a knowing certainty, and he snapped his fingers. Dozens of black-clad guards appeared from the villa once more.

“Although my ties with my brother are not widely known here, my brother has always been careful. How could he ever fail to foresee someone would come for me? These men are his top-tier elites. No matter who sent you, don’t think you can leave this place alive today.”

A flash of ferocity crossed Zhuo Yiji’s eyes. In his mind Qinchuan was already a dead man. Publicly, the enemy of his brother could not be left breathing. Privately, someone who dared to grab his goddess was beyond forgiveness.

“So what can we do now? In this situation, there’s no way out,” Tan Shuying said, panic rising in her chest. More than thirty broad-shouldered henchmen had already gathered outside. Even if Qinchuan seemed capable, one good fighter couldn’t stand against such numbers. Today she almost felt doomed.

Qinchuan, however, remained completely relaxed, smiling slightly as he said, “If you can give me two more kisses for good luck, maybe I can knock them all down.”

“Here we go again,” Tan Shuying muttered darkly, beginning to suspect Qinchuan was mad.

In a life-and-death crisis, isn’t the natural human instinct to protect one’s own life above all else? This man, whenever anything happened, could only think of making a move on a woman.

“Did you ever do a remake of *The Nine Celestial Dragons*?” Qinchuan asked suddenly.

Tan Shuying, confused, nodded obediently, though her eyes seemed to ask how a remake of some old drama could possibly matter in this moment.

“Then let me give you a live demonstration of what it looks like when the hero makes his entrance from the speakers above him,” he said.

He quickly adjusted the car’s music system. The 3D surround effect erupted instantly, and as luck would have it, the tune that came on was the theme from the old *Nine Celestial Dragons* adaptation.

As the music swelled, Qinchuan first returned Tan Shuying to the driver’s seat, then slowly opened the car door and stepped out, standing among the black-clad guards with the effortless arrogance of a leading man in a TV drama.

“Good appearance, good aura, but I wonder if it’s actually useful?” Tan Shuying judged silently.

Zhuo Yiji had already retreated out of the crowd out of habit. Seeing Qinchuan descend of his own accord filled him with relief. He had worried these blunt-handed men might accidentally hurt Tan Shuying; now that fear was gone.

“Go in together and break this dogged fiend. I’ll turn him into a man-pig!” Zhuo Yiji barked.

As if a mountain had fallen, his order sent thirty-odd hulking guards rushing in with a roar, surrounding Qinchuan.

As Zhuo Yiji had promised, they were indeed Yihu’s elite men—ferocious, precise, and brutally efficient. They struck directly at Qinchuan’s vulnerable points, without frills or wasted motion.

“Someone, turn up the music,” Qinchuan told Tan Shuying from inside the sports car.

Her lips twitched hard. She didn’t truly believe music could grant a buff, but Qinchuan was her only hope of escaping this lion’s den. Reluctantly, she raised the volume. It reached the chorus of the theme just then.

“Drink the wind, kiss the rain, bury the setting sun without ever hesitating…”

As the chorus began, Tan looked up and saw Qinchuan vanish from where he had been.

“Cross mountains and chase the sea, tread snowbound paths, and still not lose all hope…”

By the second line, the five or six men at the front who had rushed Qinchuan were hurled backward, crashing heavily to the ground.

Qinchuan’s figure darted through the crowd like lightning. Each time a fist connected with flesh, one man flew out and dropped, no longer able to continue the fight.

“Lift the cup with a flower in hand, still the arrogance of the crowd in a single turn; with these two eyes, no hundred arms—or even a thousand hands—can defend…”

By the time they reached the middle of the chorus, over half of the more than thirty bodyguards had already fallen. Qinchuan showed no sign of stopping; then again his body disappeared from sight.

“These sands roll and the waters writhe, laughing in wild delight; one brief bite of lust leaves a maiden’s love buried deep…”

When the chorus reached its final line, all the black guards were down. Qinchuan had arrived before Zhuo Yiji, his right hand extended, gripping the man’s throat hard.

The music faded away. Outside, only the painful groans of the fallen guards remained.

Tan Shuying’s beautiful eyes brimmed with shock and disbelief. Instinctively she pinched her own thigh hard; the sharp, piercing pain confirmed this was no illusion.

“This… this is too insane!” she said.

When she looked again toward the slender figure not far away, flashes of light and color seemed to dance in her gaze. Since ancient times, there has been the saying that beautiful women love heroes. Tan was no exception. She had played in many wuxia dramas, and in every one, whenever the heroine was cornered, the hero would arrive in a blaze of providence.

But those scenes had always belonged to fiction. To witness them here, vividly and in flesh, could surely set anyone’s heart adrift.

Wei Dapeng stood stunned as well, eyes wide. Even after being subdued by silver needles, he had guessed Qinchuan had some skill, yet he had never imagined he possessed this terrifying a level.

And to think he had once threatened Qinchuan—had the old fox lived so long that he grew so complacent?

As for Zhuo Yiji, terror was now his only feeling. Qinchuan’s grip on his neck wasn’t especially tight, yet he still felt as if he were suffocating. It was the fear of an ant before a top-tier predator.

“You just said you wanted to turn me into a man-pig?” Qinchuan asked with a smile.

A fierce desire to live sparked unprecedented wit in Zhuo Yiji. His voice trembled as he explained, “Not that—what I meant was a hostage, an exchange, just as with your captive.”

Zhuo Yiji’s face had gone paper-white; tiny beads of sweat trickled down his forehead, and even the flesh on his puffy cheeks trembled violently.

“All right,” Qinchuan said, tapping his plump cheek with teasing insolence. “That explanation is barely acceptable. But I know there’s still rebellion in your heart. How about this: call your brother now. Let him call in more men, bring more weapons, and come to rescue you. Would that suit you?”