Chapter 54: Good Gift

Dongfang Cheng stumbled back to the reception room, his chest burning with nausea and uncontainable rage, threatening to consume him from within.

The hollow, numb gazes, the grotesque contortions, the girls stripped of their souls—those images clung to his mind like maggots, inescapable, slicing through his nerves like a rusted blade.

He stormed to Kiryu’s plush, fur-lined sofa, snatching a pricey bottle of red wine from the cart. Ignoring high-society etiquette or ideal serving temperatures, he pried off the cork with his thumb and chugged. The cold, fruity liquid, sharp with tannins, scorched his throat and stomach, briefly quelling his urge to vomit and cooling his near-insane fury.

Half the bottle gone, he wiped the spilled wine from his lips with his hand. His chest heaved, his usually distant black eyes now bloodshot with rage.

One bottle’s not enough. Far from it.

Defiantly, he grabbed a lighter-colored wine, yanked off the cork, and guzzled again. He needed the physical burn and mental numbness to glue his fraying nerves together.

Two bottles down, drunkenness surged like a tide. His cheeks flushed unnaturally, his vision blurred, the world wavering like rippling water. His steps faltered, and he gripped the bar counter to steady himself.

“Ugh… drank too fast, damn it—”

A provocative perfume scent hit him, cloying like the incense in Kiryu’s chamber but more vivid, more sickening, like a flower blooming on a corpse. His stomach churned.

Click, click, click.

High heels tapped the marble floor, each step deliberate, elegant, pounding like a heartbeat.

A woman in a fiery red gown sauntered in, her voluptuous figure swaying, the high slit revealing long legs in black stockings. Dongfang Cheng squinted through his drunken haze, recognizing her—Duhuang’s mayor’s wife, the “perfect woman” of charity galas and newsreels.

Over forty, she looked twenty-eight under crafted lighting and makeup, her face and figure untouched by age, radiating mature allure. Unlike her wholesome TV persona, she now seemed fresh from a 3 a.m. club.

“Oh, isn’t this Master Lin’s little cutie?” Her voice dripped with charm as she approached, her nauseating perfume inescapable. She lifted his drooping chin with a blood-red manicured finger, her touch teasingly gentle, like soothing a startled animal.

“Drinking alone is so dull. Want big sister to show you something more exciting?” Her finger guided his gaze down her smooth neck to the plunging neckline of her gown.

Dongfang Cheng’s pupils narrowed. He jerked his head away, dodging her saccharine smile and nearing lips. His alcohol-roughened voice dripped with disgust. “Ma’am, you’re married. Can you act normal?”

“Cute little brother, saying no while your body’s practically begging me,” she giggled, her laugh sharp and fake, like nails on glass, grating his ears.

“You know,” she purred, licking her lips, her gentle newsroom eyes now twisted with excitement, “every word, every move I make is streaming live through this earring’s micro-camera to my dear mayor, enjoying his opera at Duhuang Grand Theater. He loves watching me ‘meet’ others in these refined settings. It’s his exclusive thrill—ultimate control.”

Dongfang Cheng’s aggression flared with the alcohol. “Figures a politician could spin impotence into poetry. Let me guess—your brother Kiryu, the male servants, the bodyguards—they’ve all cuckolded that old creep, right? Why not have a son? Might spice things up.”

“Oh, you’re sharp,” she laughed, unfazed, making her seem viler. “But we do need a pretty, stubborn boy like you. That face is just my type. Come on, don’t be shy—let big sister pamper you…”

Dongfang Cheng burst into hoarse, manic laughter, startling her. Her hand froze mid-reach.

He stared at the gaudy chandelier, laughing until tears welled.

This woman’s shamelessness shattered his limits. Morality? She didn’t care. She and her ilk stole those girls’ lives, crushing their dignity, wearing jewels worth a worker’s lifetime earnings.

His laughter stopped, his drunken eyes turning icy. He faced her, her excited pupils widening, and flashed a sinister smile. “If the mayor loves thrills, let’s go all out.”

“Oh?” Her interest piqued.

“Let’s crash Duhuang Grand Theater, give him a real, one-of-a-kind live show.”

She licked her lips, thrilled by the drunken, dangerous boy. Unnoticing that, beyond his seductive smile, his eyes were cold as unsheathed blades.

“Count me in, darling!” She grabbed his arm with surprising strength, dragging him out to her waiting red convertible.

This was the strongest killing intent he’d ever felt.

He was done.

These “elites”—cloaked in power and wealth, preaching compassion while acting worse than beasts—trampled dignity, turned dreaming girls into playthings, and mocked the pain of the masses as party banter. They applauded fake virtues in theaters while hiding blood and despair in secret rooms.

Ouroboros, the city government—if they were all scum, he’d crush them.

Let them pull the curtain on their own funeral at their lavish galas. Let their ugliness, hypocrisy, and arrogance burn to ash with their pride.

His ace? A strange app Lin Feng slipped onto his phone during a repair, with nonstop GPS and HD audio. This “gift” would stun Duhuang City.