Chapter Fifty-Seven: Damn You, You Bastard

Dugu Ming drove his black Audi to the city’s finest restaurant—Golden Summit Pavilion.

As he steered through the streets, his mind wandered to the middle-aged man who had met him at the airport when he first arrived in Ningxia. Claiming to be a friend of the old man, Dugu Ming wondered whether he could reach him. Either way, he was brimming with questions for that irresponsible fellow.

Upon arrival, Dugu Ming handed the keys to a valet and strode toward the hotel’s grand lobby. Places like this were nothing new to him; though Golden Summit Pavilion was one of the few four-star establishments in Ningxia, it hardly impressed him. Even the iconic Burj Al Arab in Dubai had seen him as a regular guest—so what was this compared to that?

A waitress greeted him at the entrance. Dugu Ming lazily explained he was here as a guest of a Mr. Ximen.

The moment he spoke, the beautiful waitress’s eyes sparkled with admiration. She certainly knew that this Mr. Ximen was no ordinary guest; the manager had specifically instructed her to attend to him with utmost care today.

Having learned Dugu Ming was Ximen’s guest, the waitress reasoned that anyone invited by such a distinguished patron must be even more important. Handsome and refined as he was, her heart fluttered with infatuation.

Dugu Ming, observing her reaction, gave a wry smile. Sometimes, being handsome truly felt like a curse. This wasn’t the first time he’d encountered such situations, which was precisely why he disliked wearing designer brands—he was simply too striking.

With a polite “please,” the waitress led the way.

Meanwhile, in Room 108 of Dormitory 19 at Ningxia University, Zhang Liming, Bai Hanwen, and Zhang Hongtao lay sprawled on the floor, writhing in agony like dying dogs. Before them squatted a middle-aged man, about forty, wearing sunglasses and marked by a long scar across his face. He addressed the three with a hint of regret:

“Ah, I never intended to harm ordinary people. But you brought this on yourselves by offending Young Master Ximen. Do you even know what kind of man he is? Are you blind or simply foolish, unafraid of the tiger?”

Zhang Liming, convulsing in pain, sweat beading on his forehead, bit his lip and managed to ask in broken phrases, “Who... who are you? And... this Young Master Ximen... who is he?”

The man looked surprised. “Who I am doesn’t matter. But you don’t even know who Young Master Ximen is? You’ve got guts, I’ll give you that. Still, people like you aren’t worthy of knowing his identity.”

He paused, then continued, “Before you die, let me enlighten you. Your family may be wealthy, with assets in the tens of millions, but before Young Master Ximen, that’s nothing.” He glanced at Zhang Liming.

“The Ximen family you’ve offended controls the entire Chinese military. Officially, the government commands millions of troops, but in truth, the Ximen family is the real master behind the scenes. Now you understand the kind of people you’ve provoked?”

He sneered, “Not just you, but that arrogant Dugu Ming will suffer terribly as well. Our Young Master Ximen has plenty of time to deal with him. If you’re to blame, blame Dugu Ming—he brought this upon you.” The man’s tone grew wild and unhinged.

“What I injected you with is the Ximen family’s newly developed interrogation serum. Painful, isn’t it? Ha! When Dugu Ming returns and sees you like this, he’ll be so tormented he’ll kill himself. Ha ha ha!” With that, the man turned and vanished, leaving the three to writhe in agony.

Elsewhere, Dugu Ming, led by the charming waitress, arrived at the private suite reserved by Ximen Xiaokun.

At the waitress’s invitation, Dugu Ming pushed open the door.

Inside, the luxurious suite—spanning nearly ninety square meters—contained only Ximen Xiaokun and an unfamiliar elderly gentleman. In the center stood a massive round table, capable of seating fifteen, laden with delicacies from mountains and seas. The floor was covered with exquisite wool carpets, the walls adorned with fine paintings, and a crystal chandelier gleamed overhead. It was the epitome of opulence.

Yet Dugu Ming had seen grander sights. As soon as he entered, Ximen Xiaokun sprang to his feet. “Oh! Isn’t this the renowned Dugu Ming? I didn’t expect you’d actually dare to attend my banquet today.” His tone was arrogant, a stark contrast to his previous sycophantic demeanor.

This was Dugu Ming’s strength: he rarely lost his temper over ridicule or insults. No matter what others said or called him, he seldom reacted. But should anyone dare harm his loved ones, his brothers, or his woman, the consequences would be dire—like the scales of a dragon; touch them and you die. Last time, he’d wanted to kill Ximen Xiaokun because the latter dared bully his beloved, Xuanyuan Linwen.

Dugu Ming smiled faintly. For dogs, one must behave civilly. If a dog bites you, would you bite it back? “Since someone so eagerly invited me to dinner last time, and since I have a penchant for teasing dogs, I thought I’d come see for myself,” Dugu Ming replied, his words sharp and indirect.

“You—” Ximen Xiaokun’s fury surged. The previous incident with Dugu Ming was the greatest humiliation of his life, and now Dugu Ming was openly mocking him again, calling him a dog. He was about to explode when the elderly gentleman beside him restrained him.

“This must be the illustrious Young Master Dugu,” the old man said, rising and forcing a smile. “Young man, it’s best not to be so arrogant. Watch your tongue or you may court unnecessary trouble. Who, exactly, were you referring to just now?” He pressed Dugu Ming, his presence growing oppressive, like a towering mountain. His broad robes stirred without wind, emitting a low, ominous hum. The pressure bore down on Dugu Ming, meant to intimidate him.

Dugu Ming eyed the old man. From the moment he’d entered, he sensed this was no ordinary elder; likely a cultivator, though he couldn’t yet discern his precise rank. For this reason, his earlier rebuke was indirect, cautious.

But as the old man stood up, Dugu Ming distinctly felt the surge of his aura. He sneered, stepped forward, and effortlessly dispelled the old man’s overwhelming presence with a wave of his left hand. Pointing at Ximen Xiaokun with his right, he cursed, “Damn you, bastard! I’m talking about you. So what? I am arrogant—what can you do about it?”

Yes, that was Dugu Ming. If a dog bites him, he won’t bite back. Instead, he’ll smash its head with a hammer, making sure it dies an ugly death.