"You're no longer Mr. Feng from before. Wake up. This place isn't somewhere you can afford anymore."
"The Feng family's assets have been auctioned off over the past two days. Looks like Mr. Feng is sleeping on the streets tonight. What a pity. If Mr. Feng is willing to lower himself and lick my shoes clean, maybe I'll let you crash in a dog kennel tonight—how about it, Mr. Feng? Hahaha."
Outside the club, a few spoiled brats laughed arrogantly, their gloating expressions undisguised.
At the bottom of the stairs, a boy clenched his fists tightly, his bloodshot eyes fixed on the laughing group.
"What are you glaring at? Glare at us again, and I'll dig your eyeballs out. Still think you're the young master of Feng Group? Wake up already—your family is finished."
"Shut up!" Feng Yueyang screamed like a madman and charged at them, throwing himself into a fight.
Two fists are no match for four hands, especially with his untrained, frail body. It didn't take long for him to be surrounded, punches raining down on his chest and back like a storm.
Feng Yueyang's teeth almost tore through his lips as the metallic taste of blood spread in his mouth. The physical pain paled in comparison to the despair consuming his heart.
Just days ago, he had been the first young master of Feng Group, commanding respect in Spring City—these scumbags wouldn't have dared utter a word against him.
But overnight, everything changed.
His father was dead, the company bankrupt, assets auctioned off. He'd fallen to the level of a stray dog, humiliated by those who used to grovel before him.
Maybe it'd be better if it all just ended here, Feng Yueyang thought in despair.
The group finally grew tired of the beating, leaving him with some foul curses before ordering the security guards to toss him away from the entrance so he wouldn't disturb their business.
Feng Yueyang was discarded into the roadside flowerbed like a tattered rag.
No one knew how much time had passed. Just as he thought he might really die, a cold voice pierced through his thoughts.
"Hey, still alive?"
Feng Yueyang smiled bitterly in his heart. Truly, a fallen tiger will always be mocked by dogs.
Weakly, he opened his eyes. Under the dim streetlight, his gaze collided with a pair of pitch-black eyes—like a swirling vortex that seemed to suck in his very soul.
While he was lost in thought, the person reached out to check his pulse, quickly nodding with satisfaction.
"Your body's beaten up pretty badly. If you stay in this flowerbed overnight, they'll be collecting your corpse in the morning."
When Feng Yueyang tried to speak, all he could muster was a violent coughing fit. His chest throbbed painfully—damn Li Liang had aimed every kick at his heart. He would remember this. Revenge is a gentleman's duty.
But bitterness crept back in as he thought of his sorry state—how was he supposed to take revenge like this?
"Get up. You're not going to die."
The person's tone was indifferent, and Feng Yueyang even detected a hint of disdain.
With difficulty, he propped himself up and asked, "You... What do you want?"
A broken man with nothing left—his only asset now was his halfway-decent appearance.
Could this stranger be after his body?
Immediately, Feng Yueyang hugged himself defensively, glaring at the person with hostility.
The stranger was dressed all in black, making it impossible to discern any features.
If things went south, he was ready to fight to the death.
His thoughts spiraled out of control, only for the stranger to turn and walk away.
After taking two steps, they glanced back at him and said, "Do you really want me collecting your corpse tomorrow morning?"
Feng Yueyang hesitated before following after them suspiciously.
The stranger led him to the club's back entrance and, without further explanation, said, "Wait here."
In the next moment, the figure vanished into the shadows.
"What the hell..."
Feng Yueyang shivered involuntarily. This was starting to feel like a ghost story.
Not two minutes later, something suddenly thudded down at his feet, startling Feng Yueyang out of his stupor as he leaned against the wall. Squinting in disbelief, he realized it was a person.
The newcomer groaned in pain, and Feng Yueyang's sharp ears soon identified him as none other than Li Liang—the same bastard who had mocked and beaten him so mercilessly earlier.
Standing nearby, the stranger crossed their arms and said nonchalantly, "Do you need me to spell out what you should do?"
Feng Yueyang rolled up his sleeves and let his fists fly at Li Liang's face.
Screw nuance—this felt right. He'd start with brute force.
Within moments, Li Liang was reduced to a semi-conscious pile of flesh, slumped on the ground like a beaten dog.
Flexing his sore knuckles, Feng Yueyang muttered, "Thanks."
The stranger took out their phone and made a call. "Is this 120? Someone needs urgent medical assistance behind Crown Club."
Feng Yueyang: ...
What kind of ridiculous move was this?
Shen You'an hung up the call. "Let's go."
Feng Yueyang hobbled after them. "Why did you help me? Who are you, anyway?"
Shen You'an tossed him a piece of paper.
Under the streetlight, Feng Yueyang studied it. It turned out to be an employment contract.
When he saw the employer's name, his pupils shrank, and he unwittingly crumpled the thin paper in his hand.
Employer: Feng Chi. Employment: Danhuang is contracted as a personal bodyguard for Feng Yueyang. Duration: 1 year. During this period, the bodyguard is responsible for the employer's personal safety. Breach of contract incurs a penalty of 20 million.
The document carried the private seals of both parties.
A pen was handed to him. "Sign it."
Feng Yueyang's eyes reddened as he looked up. "When was this arranged?"
Shen You'an raised a brow. "Your father had foresight. He prepared for what was coming. Don't let him down."
Fingers trembling, Feng Yueyang picked up the pen and signed his name under "Third Party."
Once signed in duplicate, Shen You'an glanced over the documents, folded one copy, and tucked it into their pocket.
"Alright. From today, you're my employer. During the next year, I'll ensure your safety. But if you happen to die accidentally...well, since you don't have an heir, we'll burn the penalty fee for you."
Feng Yueyang's face twitched. "Thank you, I guess?"
"You're welcome."
A sedan pulled up by the curb. Shen You'an opened its door and beckoned, "After you, Mr. Feng."
Gritting his teeth, Feng Yueyang climbed inside.
Shen You'an joined him, and the vehicle steadily rolled away.
"Where are we going?" Feng Yueyang asked, his voice trembling with the unease of someone imagining kidney theft.
The driver handed over a stack of documents from the passenger seat, passing them to Feng Yueyang.
Instinctively, Feng Yueyang glanced at Shen You'an, who nodded in response.
Only then did he take the pile and begin reading.
The further he read, the darker his expression became. "So it was really him."
Despite his tendency toward indulgence, Feng Yueyang wasn't a fool. Ever since his father's company began spiraling into disaster, suspicions had planted seeds in his heart, though he'd lacked proof.
Now, clutching these documents, veins pulsed visibly on the backs of his hands.
Through gritted teeth, he hissed: "Xie Beichun, I, Feng Yueyang, am sworn to destroy you."
With a sudden thought, he snapped his head toward the person sitting beside him.
Their figure was shrouded in shadow, gender ambiguous, wholly enigmatic.
"Why are you helping me?"
"So you do have some brains. Ever heard the saying, 'The enemy of my enemy is my friend'?"
Feng Yueyang narrowed his eyes, the dim cabin thickening with tension.
Right now, he had no other choice.
Trusting the stranger seemed to be his only option.
Extending his hand, he said, "Let's work together."
The stranger didn't reciprocate the handshake, instead tossing something into his hand.
Feng Yueyang instinctively caught it. Upon closer inspection, he nearly dropped it in shock.
It was a gun.
The cold, heavy feel confirmed it wasn't a toy replica.
"I'm busy and can't always be by your side. Keep it for self-defense."
Once the initial wave of astonishment passed, Feng Yueyang regained his composure.
Men have a natural affinity for firearms. The moment his hand touched the gun, something deep in his spirit stirred.