Chapter Twenty-Four: The Price of Being a Hero

Just as Liu Jian was acting wantonly, intent on crippling the middle-aged man's right hand, Lin Feng suddenly spoke in a calm, haunting tone. "Liu Jian, if I were you, I wouldn't do this."

"Ling Feng, what right do you have to give orders here? What, are you scared? If you are, then get lost! Didn't you see this bastard harassing our female colleague?" Liu Jian shouted in anger, jabbing his finger at Lin Feng's nose, his face twisted with disdain and contempt.

"Isn't that right? What's wrong with Liu Jian standing up for a colleague? I used to think you were just a useless leech, but I didn't expect you to be spineless as well! Are you even a man?" Ke Feng spoke up righteously, as if possessed by the spirit of Guan Yu, brimming with heroic indignation.

The two female colleagues were still sobbing pitifully in the arms of Liu Suxu and Li Yating, their faces streaked with tears. Lin Feng's words instantly drew the ire of the whole crowd.

"Lin Feng, at first I thought you were at least a man in some sense, but to think you're this kind of person!"

"Exactly! We misjudged you! You're nothing but a coward without a backbone!"

"Coward!"

The crowd, led on by Ke Feng, lost control of their emotions and hurled furious accusations at Lin Feng, even cursing him outright as a coward.

Seeing this, Lin Feng only shrugged.

As the saying goes, kind words cannot save a damned soul.

Even if that man had indeed harassed a female colleague, what right did Liu Jian have to take justice into his own hands? This was a society ruled by law, not a primitive jungle where might made right.

Everything must proceed according to the law. Call the police if it's necessary. Punish him if it's warranted.

Moreover, how could Liu Jian be so sure that this man had no background? Someone who could book a princess at the top floor of the Imperial Phoenix Pavilion and get dead drunk was unlikely to be just an ordinary nobody.

If the man had powerful connections, it wouldn’t matter if Liu Jian played the hero on his own, but if trouble arose, everyone would be implicated.

"Hmph, coward. With your kind of uselessness, the best you’ll ever be is a live-in son-in-law, a sad excuse for a man," Liu Jian sneered, his spirits lifted by the crowd’s condemnation of Lin Feng. Every now and then, he glanced at Li Yating, determined to play the hero in front of his goddess.

"Die, you filthy pervert!"

"Wait! I'm with Young Master Wang! If you don’t want to die, stop right now!" The greasy man gasped for breath, finally regaining his senses. He roared out, trying to invoke the name of his backer.

But Liu Jian, heady with adrenaline and his desire to impress his goddess, cared little for such threats.

"Young Master Wang? Well, I'm Young Master Liu! Remember this: today it's me, Liu Jian, Young Master Liu, who's going to cripple your right hand!"

"You—! You’re begging for death!"

The greasy man screamed in agony as the heavy wooden chair came crashing down, instinctively raising his right arm to defend himself.

But the chair’s force was overwhelming. It smashed straight into his raised arm, breaking it with a sickening crack that thundered in his ear.

"Ahhh—!"

"My hand... my hand..."

The greasy man’s right arm hung limply at a grotesque angle, blood streaming down his face as he wailed and sobbed uncontrollably.

"Ke Feng, throw him out," Liu Jian commanded, tossing aside the shattered chair with a flourish.

"Yes, Young Master Liu!" Ke Feng straightened his back and promptly strode over, grabbing the middle-aged man by the few tufts of hair he had left. He dragged him to the door like a rag and kicked him out with a single motion.

With a grand flourish, he shut the door, dusted off his hands, and swaggered back inside.

"Young Master Liu, you were truly magnificent today! Compared to some cowardly wretches, you were like a god descending from heaven. You should have seen that filthy pervert grovel and beg—what a sight! Come, let’s toast Young Master Liu!"

Ke Feng, the loyal lackey, immediately began singing his master’s praises and belittling Lin Feng as soon as he returned to the table.

Under his lead, the dozen or so members of the sales department all raised their glasses to Liu Jian with reverence, and then turned to glare at Lin Feng, hurling abuse and calling him a coward.

Liu Suxu’s heart fluttered like a caged bird. She had always secretly admired Liu Jian, and now she was utterly captivated by his “heroic deed.”

"Young Master Liu, a toast to you!" she said, feigning a toast and then falling into his arms, her eyes brimming with seductive charm.

In high spirits, Liu Jian forgot all about Li Yating, wrapping his arm around Liu Suxu’s waist and drinking heartily.

Lin Feng, on the other hand, was ostracized by everyone. Ke Feng even shouted out, "A coward like you isn't fit to sit at our table!"

Amidst the scorn and jeers, Lin Feng remained as calm as still water, quietly making his way to the balcony to sip his wine alone.

…

Meanwhile, on the top floor of the Imperial Phoenix Pavilion, inside the Phoenix Chamber.

A young man lounged boldly on an Italian handcrafted leather sofa, with two scantily clad, alluring women coiled around his waist.

The young man's hands roamed freely over their bodies, their flirtatious moans and sultry expressions filling the air.

Compared to the Emperor’s Hall where Lin Feng and the others were gathered, this private suite was three times as large and far more opulent.

There were Ming dynasty blue-and-white porcelain vases, Qing dynasty cloisonné enamel bottles, landscapes by Zhang Daqian, portraits of court ladies by Tang Yin, and a Persian cashmere carpet.

The entire room radiated understated luxury.

Standing respectfully to one side was Sister Yun, the hotel’s general manager.

"Haoyang, you can't just let this go! Those bastards in the Emperor’s Hall are truly despicable. All I did was grope a couple of women—no one got hurt! Look what they’ve done to me!" wailed the greasy man, now cradling his ruined right hand as he sobbed before the young man on the sofa.

"We grew up together, over twenty years of friendship. You can’t just stand by and let them bully me!"

"Xiao Yun, find out who’s in the Emperor’s Hall," the young man instructed coolly.

"Yes, Young Master Wang," Sister Yun bowed, though inwardly she mused, "This Liu Jian really has no fear. To lay a hand on Young Master Wang’s childhood friend—does he even know who he’s messing with? Young Master Wang is Wang Jishen’s only son, heir to the syndicate, a man second only to the city’s most powerful. Only top-tier scions dare cross him; no one else in Binhai City would even think of it. Looks like Liu Jian is signing his own death warrant tonight."

Wang Haoyang offered a few words of consolation to the sobbing man, but his gaze soon turned icy. "Chachai, take some men and seal off the Emperor’s Hall. Don’t let a soul escape."

"Yes, Young Master Wang!" From the shadows stepped a dark-skinned, powerfully built man.

His limbs were long and his muscles sleek and taut, especially his calves, which bulged with corded power, the bones standing out beneath the skin. Clearly, he was a Muay Thai expert, the kind who had trained from childhood.

The deadliest weapons of Muay Thai are the knees and shins. To forge legs of steel, practitioners kick coconut trees a thousand times a day and apply secret medicinal oils.

Every day, their shins are fractured and healed, over and over, until they possess legs capable of killing.

"Let’s see who dares to provoke me tonight," Wang Haoyang said coldly, rising from the sofa with the greasy man at his side.

Chachai and Sister Yun led the way, and a squad of elite syndicate enforcers surged forth, marching toward the Emperor’s Hall like a gathering storm.