It was over before Brother Long could process what was happening.
The taller thug reached out to shove Yin Wuwang—and in the next instant was airborne, slamming into the far wall hard enough to shatter one of the calligraphy scrolls into splinters of wood and torn paper.
The second thug went for his waistband. His fingers had barely grazed his belt before an invisible force flipped him like a ragdoll—the back of his skull cracked against the marble floor, his vision went black, and he was out cold.
Start to finish: under three seconds.
Brother Long froze. His jaw hung slack as he stared at his two best men crumpled on the floor like discarded sacks, his brain refusing to catch up with what his eyes had just witnessed.
How... how was that possible? The kid was tall, sure, but he was lean as a reed—where the hell did that kind of strength come from?
Yin Wuwang rolled his wrist, faintly disappointed. No spiritual energy meant no real satisfaction in a fight. Back in the cultivation world, these two wouldn't have survived a flick of his finger. Still, this mortal body packed more punch than expected. Not bad for a vessel without a single drop of qi.
He walked toward Brother Long.
Brother Long shrank back instinctively, his chair wheels screeching against the floor. His hand darted under the desk for the panic button—but Yin Wuwang was faster.
Crack.
A hand clamped down on Brother Long's wrist. The grip was iron, the kind of pressure that made bones grind and cartilage scream.
"Brother Long." Yin Wuwang loomed over him, a smile still playing at his lips, but his eyes held all the warmth of a winter grave: "Now—what did I just say?"
Cold sweat erupted across Brother Long's forehead. Thirty-plus years running this den, and he'd crossed paths with every brand of dangerous man this city had to offer. But he'd never encountered eyes like these. Those weren't human eyes. Those belonged to something else entirely—something that had seen violence on a scale he couldn't fathom.
"You—what do you want?" His voice came out shaking. "Do you know what happens when you lay hands on me? I run this whole—"
"Pfft." Yin Wuwang couldn't help it—he laughed.
"You run this whole what?" He tilted his head. "Go on. I'm listening."
Brother Long opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Yin Wuwang's grip tightened another fraction, and something deep in his wrist produced a sound that bones were never meant to make.
"I asked you a question." Yin Wuwang's voice remained impossibly soft, almost tender, as if coaxing a frightened child: "How much did Chen Wan owe you?"
"T-ten million!" Brother Long practically screamed it. "His mother owed me ten million!"
"How much did the bar cover?"
"Three-fifty! Three and a half million!"
"And the rest?"
"He—he paid me forty-five thousand a month! Five years straight!"
Yin Wuwang nodded and released his grip.
Brother Long snatched his wrist back, cradling the already-swelling joint, eyes blown wide with terror.
"Continue." Yin Wuwang settled into the chair across from him, crossed his legs, and adopted a posture even more imperious than Brother Long's had been moments ago: "Did Chen Wan have a girlfriend?"
Brother Long hesitated. Yin Wuwang simply looked at him.
One look. That was all it took.
"Yes!" he blurted. "Five years ago—he had one!"
"Name?"
"Surnamed Zhou—Zhou Wen!"
"Tell me about her."
Brother Long swallowed hard, his voice unsteady: "The girl was... pretty. Very pretty. When Chen Wan came begging me to extend his repayment deadline, I said—I told him to bring his girlfriend in as a dealer. Let her work the tables to help pay down the debt."
Yin Wuwang's eyes narrowed. Making the girlfriend deal cards to cover debt—that wasn't in any police file.
"He refused," Brother Long went on. "Flat-out refused. Wouldn't hear of it—said he'd do anything, but that girl wasn't setting foot in here."
"And then?"
Something strange crossed Brother Long's face—like he was savoring a memory he found amusing.
"I was furious." He cracked his knuckles. "A man who owes me money, trying to set conditions?"
He paused, and a sleazy grin spread across his face: "But I've got a buddy who took a real shine to that face of Chen Wan's. Offered a hundred thousand for one night with the kid."
Brother Long's tone oozed satisfaction, like he was recounting some personal triumph: "So I told Chen Wan—you want to keep your little girlfriend safe? Fine. One night with my buddy, a hundred grand off the debt, and I'll agree to your terms."
"He agreed?"
"He agreed." Brother Long smiled. "For that woman, he'd do anything."
Another piece of the puzzle slotted into place. Yin Wuwang processed it coolly. Shouldering his mother's debts, selling his own body to shield his woman—until eventually even his price tag had been set for him. This kind of thing was common enough in the Demon Abyss; nothing new there. But Brother Long's tone—bragging about it like some battlefield trophy—that scraped against his nerves. A mere mortal, preening in front of this sovereign.
"What happened after?"
"After?" Brother Long shrugged. "He mortgaged the bar to me. Stayed on as manager, paid me back month by month."
"And Zhou Wen?"
"No idea." Brother Long waved a hand. "Once Chen Wan signed the bar over five years ago, the girl vanished. Never showed her face again. Word is..."
He dropped his voice conspiratorially, as if sharing a delicious secret: "Word is the girl went crazy. Lost it after Chen Wan dumped her."
"How so?" Xie Qingyan asked.
"Couldn't tell you." Brother Long shook his head. "Not my problem. All I needed was for Chen Wan to keep paying on schedule."
He thought for a moment, then added: "I did ask him once, actually—where'd Zhou Wen go? He wouldn't say. Every time anyone so much as mentioned her name, the color drained right out of his face and he'd find some excuse to leave."
A click of his tongue: "But credit where it's due—that kid could work. Five years, and he'd paid back over two million. A few more years and he might've actually cleared the whole debt."
"Too bad he's dead," Yin Wuwang said.
"Yeah." Brother Long spread his hands in a gesture of helpless regret. "Real shame. I was counting on him to finish paying."
Yin Wuwang studied that expression—grief not for a dead man, but for an outstanding balance—and the corner of his mouth curled. This one reminded him of Jingming Daozun. Same obsessive love of money, same respectable facade stretched over a rotten core—the old hypocrite had killed and plundered behind closed doors plenty of times. A man dies, and all Brother Long mourns is the debt that went with him. Cut from the exact same cloth.
He stood, looking down at Brother Long from his full height: "One last question."
Brother Long shrank into his collar: "Ask."
"After Chen Wan mortgaged the bar—what else did you make him do?"
"Wh—what do you mean?"
"I mean—" Yin Wuwang's voice dropped to barely a murmur, intimate as a shared secret— "besides managing the bar. What else?"
Something flickered across Brother Long's face—caught, but not ready to confess.
"I don't know what you're—"
"Brother Long." Yin Wuwang cut him off. "My patience has limits."
Brother Long looked into those temperature-less eyes and swallowed.
"He... he would sometimes keep clients company. Overnight." The words tumbled out in a rush. "Some of them were generous—liked him, tipped well. It was completely voluntary! I asked him very politely about it. If he'd refused, how could I have possibly forced him?"
"What kind of clients?"
"Men... women. Both."
Yin Wuwang asked nothing more. He had everything he needed. Besides, Brother Long had no motive to kill Chen Wan—dead men don't repay debts.
"Let's go." He turned to Xie Qingyan.
Xie Qingyan nodded and turned for the door.
Yin Wuwang followed, but paused on the threshold.
"Oh—one more thing." He didn't look back. "Your two men will be laid up for about a month."
"Consider the medical bills a gift. A little something to mark our first meeting."
[Cloud City · Streets]
Outside the gambling den, the two walked in silence.
The evening sun spilled its last light across the pavement, stretching their shadows out long and thin behind them.
Yin Wuwang ran the numbers in his head. Ten million in total debt. The bar covered three and a half million. Five years of monthly payments at forty-five thousand—roughly two and a half million, plus the hundred thousand from that one night. The arithmetic checked out. That left over four million still outstanding. At forty-five thousand a month, Chen Wan had been looking at another eight or nine years of payments, minimum.
He reached over and tapped Xie Qingyan's shoulder: "What are you thinking?"
Xie Qingyan shook his head, was silent for several seconds, then spoke.
"Zhou Wen." A pause. "Brother Long said she went crazy. Five years ago, right after Chen Wan signed over the bar."
"Mm."
"The woman with the beautiful voice—the one who manipulated Zhang Yunxiang into killing Chen Wan." A few more seconds of silence. "Could there be a connection between her and Zhou Wen?"
Yin Wuwang understood where he was going with this.
"Chen Wan. Zhou Wen. That woman—"
"Yes." Xie Qingyan's voice carried quiet certainty. "There has to be a link between them."
Yin Wuwang nodded. They had Chen Wan's story now. The next step was finding Zhou Wen.
"Let's go," Xie Qingyan said. "Back to the agency. Time to look into Zhou Wen's whereabouts."
Yin Wuwang followed, watching that lean silhouette walking ahead of him.
He didn't say anything more. Not because the story had gotten to him—he'd witnessed far worse in the Demon Abyss. It was just that this garbage script's worldbuilding was turning out to be more interesting than he'd expected. An NPC written with this many layers of misery—that hack author had at least some talent when it came to making people suffer.
But that was the extent of it. However tragic the plot, it was still someone else's story. Crack this case, get Fuguang out of this world, and then tell him that this sovereign has loved him for a lifetime—now that's what actually matters.
[End of V2_Chapter 25]
Next: Zhou Wen—who is she, where is she, and what really happened five years ago? Time to dig deeper.