There was a saying at the table.
A full cup of wine was an offering for the dead.
The steak knife in Qin Hongyi’s hand had already flipped, its tip aimed straight at Zhao San’s carotid artery.
Su Rou stood up from her chair outright, a low growl rumbling in her throat like a beast guarding its food.
Gu Chen, however, pressed down on Qin Hongyi’s hand.
He picked up the overflowing glass of red wine, not drinking it, just swirling it in his fingers.
Dark red liquid left bloody streaks along the inside of the glass.
“Zhao San, when you used to carry bags for Gu Chen, didn’t he ever teach you the rules?”
Gu Chen’s voice carried a chill that seeped straight into the marrow.
At the two words “Gu Chen,” Zhao San instinctively shuddered—the kind of servile fear carved into his bones.
“Tea for seven, rice for eight, wine for ten—that’s an offering for the dead.” Gu Chen toyed with the glass.
“What, are you in such a hurry to go down and see your master?”
“Who the hell are you?”
Zhao San sobered up halfway. This woman’s tone was way too eerie.
“Who I am doesn’t matter.” Gu Chen stood up and walked right up to Zhao San.
Even in a woman’s body, the aura he unleashed still crushed Zhao San completely.
Gu Chen extended two fingers, pinched the gaudy tie around Zhao San’s neck, and lifted it with clear disgust.
“What matters is that abandoned chemical plant in South City three years ago—the dried-up well that got filled in… has the cement inside set completely yet?”
Zhao San’s brain felt like a grenade had been shoved inside and detonated.
His fleshy face turned deathly pale. His legs shook like chaff in the wind.
The decanter slipped from his hand and smashed to the floor with a clang, splashing red wine all over his pants like blood.
This was the biggest death trap of his entire life!
Back then, to climb higher, he had helped a collateral branch of the Gu family handle some dirty work.
The matter had been kept extremely secret—only he and the one who ordered it should have known.
The only other person who might have caught wind was the Gu family crown prince, who was supposed to be dead and buried.
But Gu Chen was dead!
“You… you…”
Zhao San’s teeth chattered.
Looking at the radiant beauty before him felt like staring at a ghost crawling out of hell.
“Shh.” Gu Chen raised his index finger to his lips.
“Don’t make noise. If this gets out, do you think that collateral Gu family member will protect you to cover it up, or will he stuff you into another well?”
Zhao San dropped to his knees with a heavy thud.
No hesitation whatsoever.
The sound of his knees hitting the floor made even the onlookers wince.
“Grandma… no, Ancestor! I was wrong! I have eyes but failed to recognize Mount Tai! Please spare me!”
Zhao San kowtowed while slapping his own face, hitting himself hard enough to swell his cheeks in just a few blows.
The lackeys behind him were stunned speechless.
Their usually arrogant Third Master Zhao had been scared into kneeling by a few words from a woman?
Who the hell was she?
Gu Chen ignored the groveling mutt on the floor.
He twisted his wrist and slowly, deliberately poured the full glass of red wine onto the floor right in front of Zhao San’s knees.
The dark red liquid pooled into a puddle.
“This wine is the one you offered,” Gu Chen said, eyes lowered.
“Since it’s an offering for the dead, don’t waste it. Drink it.”
Zhao San stared at the wine mixed with dust and glass shards on the floor. His stomach churned violently.
But he didn’t dare refuse.
The woman in front of him was too terrifying.
The secrets she knew could wipe out his entire family.
“I’ll drink! I’ll drink!”
Zhao San dropped flat to the ground like a dog, stuck out his tongue, and began licking the wine stains off the floor.
Glass shards sliced his lips and tongue. Blood mixed with wine flowed into his mouth, fishy, sweet, and pungent.
The private room fell into a deathly silence, broken only by the disgusting sounds of Zhao San swallowing.
Su Rou squatted on her chair, head tilted as she watched the scene, pure confusion in her eyes.
Her brain, reduced to nothing but killing instincts, simply could not comprehend why this fat piece of meat was licking dirty water off the ground.
“That’s enough. Get lost.” Gu Chen tossed the empty glass onto the table with distaste.
“Don’t let me see you again. You’re an eyesore.”
Zhao San scrambled away as if granted amnesty, crawling and rolling toward the door.
He didn’t even dare turn back to pick up the shoe that had fallen off.
The door closed.
Qin Hongyi calmly cut another piece of steak and popped it into her mouth.
“Feeling better?”
“Just so-so.” Gu Chen pulled out a wet wipe and cleaned his hands.
Touching Zhao San’s tie had left his fingertips feeling greasy.
“Trash like that doesn’t even qualify for me to lift a finger. Pure dimensional suppression. Boring.”
“What was that well in South City about?” Qin Hongyi asked.
“Something that old bastard Gu Zhen did.” Gu Chen sat back down and placed a piece of braised pork into Su Rou’s bowl.
“I kept Zhao San alive back then because I wanted a living witness. Never expected the dog to be so tough that he’s still breathing today.”
Su Rou swallowed the braised pork in one gulp, eyes narrowing happily, oil glistening all over her mouth.
“Still, tonight’s meal isn’t going to be peaceful.” Gu Chen sighed.
The moment the words left his mouth, the private room door was knocked on again.
This time it wasn’t a thug. It was the lobby manager from earlier.
He carried a tray holding a black-and-gold card. His attitude was even more respectful than before, bordering on fearful.
“President Qin, and this… young lady.”
The manager presented the card with both hands. “Our club owner asked me to deliver this. He said… returning it to its rightful owner.”
Gu Chen looked at the card.
It wasn’t an ordinary membership card. It was Listening Rain Pavilion’s supreme token—only three existed in all of Beijing. After Gu Chen’s “death,” this card should have been canceled long ago.
“Who is your boss?” Qin Hongyi narrowed her eyes warily.
“The boss said an old friend has returned, and the rain at Listening Rain Pavilion finally has someone who understands it.”
The manager kept his head lowered, not daring to say more.
Gu Chen picked up the card and ran his fingers over the patterns.
On the back was an extremely inconspicuous character: “Mo.”
Gu Chen’s fingers paused.
The Mo family.
The most mysterious, most reclusive hidden clan in Beijing.
He had never had any dealings with the Mo family. He had never even seen the face of their legendary young master.
Why would they know he had come back?
Why would they know that inside this female body was Gu Chen’s soul?
“Interesting.” Gu Chen smiled, slipping the card into his bag.
“Thank your boss for me. Tell him I heard the rain. But if it pours too hard and soaks my shoes, I’ll tear the house down.”
The manager wiped cold sweat from his brow and retreated.
Qin Hongyi stared at Gu Chen. “Another romantic debt you racked up outside?”
“Wrongly accused.”
Gu Chen spread his hands.
“Even in my last life, someone of that caliber was probably out of reach. Looks like it’s not just rats in the gutter watching us—there are eagles in the sky too.”
“Eagle or rat, doesn’t matter.”
Qin Hongyi stuffed the last piece of steak into her mouth, elegantly wiped her lips with a napkin, and stood up.
“Anyone who blocks the road dies.”
She rose, grabbed her coat, and draped it over her shoulders with the swagger of a female bandit.
Outside the window, the rain had gone mad, slamming against the bulletproof glass like someone was pelting a gravestone with stones.
The back seat of the Maybach was spacious enough to lie across, yet the air pressure inside felt so low it was hard to breathe.
Su Rou huddled in the corner, using the leather armrest as a chew toy.
She gnawed on it with gusto—crunch, crunch—her neat little white teeth actually leaving marks on the imported calfskin.
Gu Chen ignored the husky currently dismantling the car.
He leaned against the seatback, long legs crossed, fingertips playing with the black-and-gold card the manager had delivered.
The card was light, yet its texture felt wrong.
It wasn’t metal or plastic.
It felt warm to the touch, even carrying an extremely faint pulse like a heartbeat.
“Stop the car,” Gu Chen said suddenly.
The driver slammed on the brakes. The inertia sent Su Rou’s forehead slamming into the front seatback with a thud.
The silly girl let out a yelp, clutching her head with a wronged expression and about to bare her teeth, but one sharp glare from Qin Hongyi turned her back into a well-behaved quail.
“What is it?” Qin Hongyi turned her head. The passing lights outside reflected coldly in her eyes.
“This card is alive.”
The moment Gu Chen finished speaking, his fingertips clenched hard.
The originally rigid black-and-gold card suddenly caved in like soft mud.
The inconspicuous “Mo” character on the back instantly turned blood-red.
That red wasn’t dye—it was flowing blood.
Before Gu Chen could fling the thing away, a row of fine, dense barbs shot out from the card’s edge like the mouthparts of a blood-sucking leech and stabbed straight into his fingertips.
“Mm?”
Gu Chen let out a muffled grunt but didn’t let go. Instead, he gripped it tighter.
It hurt.
But the pain wasn’t from torn flesh.
An overwhelmingly domineering stream of information surged through the blood vessels in his fingertips like a forced injection, hammering straight into his brain.
The sound of rain and traffic outside was instantly cut off.
Gu Chen’s vision went black.
Countless gray-white noise points exploded across his retinas, piecing together shaky, old black-and-white images.
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