Chapter Sixty-Nine: A Different Kind of Gathering

Captain Lu Biao entered the banquet hall, his eyes sweeping ceaselessly over the crowd in search of familiar faces. It didn’t take long for him to spot two figures among the throng—men of utmost importance to him.

He grabbed a passing attendant, took a glass of wine from the tray, and trotted over eagerly. The two men, deep in conversation, nodded and smiled upon seeing Lu Biao approach; they knew best what changes had occurred in him.

The first to speak was a man built like a tower, his skin dark, beard thick and full, lips robust, eyes fierce and sharp, his hair slicked back with meticulous care. Despite the extra-large suit, his broad, hairy chest was barely concealed. This was Tu Bei, Chief Director of the Inner City Defense Office.

Tu Bei slapped Lu Biao on the back with his massive hand, producing a dull thud. Lu Biao nearly stumbled, almost spilling his wine, which drew hearty laughter from Tu Bei. “Hahaha! Lu Biao, congratulations! From now on, you’d better keep pace with us!”

“Yes, yes, I’ll follow your lead in all things!” Lu Biao replied, draining his glass in one gulp, then pouring himself another and respectfully raising it to the man beside Tu Bei.

This second man was slender, with delicate features, thin lips, narrow eyes, and a cold, sinister glint in his gaze. He was Wan Qianfeng, Chief Director of the Inner City Patrol Office.

Wan Qianfeng spoke in a raspy tone, “I’ll say it again: be obedient, do your job well, don’t let us down after all we’ve done for you. Congratulations!”

“Absolutely, I will. Please believe me!” Lu Biao once more emptied his glass, submissive and eager.

If the Patrol Office managed the security of both the inner and outer city, then the Defense Office was responsible for the capital’s offensive and defensive operations. These two men, together with Captain Lu, were the collective commanders of the City of Energy’s armed forces.

Yet, the Outer City Patrol Office did not have a Chief Director; the head was simply called Captain. To the inner city residents, the outer city was little more than an appendage of the metropolis. Still, the outer city played a crucial role, serving as the first line of external defense. Thus, the Inner City Patrol Office established a branch—the Outer City Patrol Office.

But this branch did not warrant the title of "office," so its head could only be called Captain. Within the Inner City Patrol Office, Lu Biao's rank was merely equal to that of other group leaders.

Nevertheless, Captain Lu Biao had always been obedient and dependable, earning him a reputation as the inner city's most loyal watchdog. Years of unwavering loyalty had finally brought him the recognition of the city's elite.

Lu Biao stood respectfully beside Tu Bei and Wan Qianfeng, listening to their conversation and occasionally chiming in with a smile. When others came to offer a toast, he sipped only lightly, knowing full well their respects were meant for the two men at his side; he was merely included out of courtesy.

After ushering wave after wave of well-wishers, Wan Qianfeng suddenly turned, his gloomy eyes fixing on Lu Biao. He spoke in a low voice, “This year’s Continental Trade Expo is being hosted in our City of Energy. Security in the outer city, Lu Biao, is your responsibility. Remember, the outer city is part of the city’s reputation.”

Lu Biao straightened, eager to please. “I guarantee everything will be as stable as ever!”

Wan Qianfeng made no reply. He neither trusted nor dismissed Lu Biao’s assurances, merely raised his glass in a slight gesture and took a sip. Lu Biao, overwhelmed by the attention, drained his glass once more.

Suddenly, an attendant by the door called out loudly, “Quiet, please! The Young Lord arrives!”

All conversation ceased as the guests turned toward the entrance. The doors were pulled open by attendants, revealing a striking young man at the forefront: clad in white suit, white trousers, and white shoes, standing six feet tall with broad shoulders and a lean frame—a model’s physique. His medium-length hair shimmered golden under the hall’s lights. In his eyes glimmered a nascent arrogance, his lips quirked, hands thrust into his pockets as he strode in.

At his arrival, every female present was visibly excited. In the inner city, none failed to recognize that Young Lord Mosa’s greatest weakness was women. All the beauties in attendance tonight had been summoned by his command.

Should any lady catch his eye, regardless of whether she transformed overnight into a phoenix, she would at least find a highly valuable credit card in her pocket the next day. Truth be told, even without the card, with looks like his, the question of who seduced whom was hardly settled.

Yet rumors circulated that Young Lord Mosa inherited his father’s peculiar tastes. The girls sent to serve his father rarely met a pleasant fate—or rather, no one knew what became of them, for they all disappeared.

Following the Young Lord was a gaunt elder, appearing between fifty and sixty, though his true age was likely concealed. His back was ramrod straight, hands clasped behind him, his expression stern and dignified, rarely smiling. His sharp gaze swept over the crowd, ignoring the frivolous women entirely.

On seeing the elder, the previously haughty dignitaries immediately composed themselves, their faces shifting to expressions of eager flattery, as if “sycophant” were etched upon their foreheads.

In terms of status, the Young Lord was undoubtedly the evening’s central figure. But in terms of power, it was the elder—the chief steward of the City Lord’s Mansion—who was the true authority.

Among the crowd, a woman who had been watching Young Lord Mosa with a sullen gaze quickly dropped her hostile expression upon noticing the steward, adopting the same ingratiating look as the others, cold sweat trickling down her back as she internally sighed, “That was close!”

After surveying the hall, Young Lord Mosa found the one person he most wished to see was absent. His fists, still in his pockets, clenched imperceptibly, tamping down a flare of irritation as he turned to nod at the steward.

The steward returned a cold smile, as if Mosa’s reaction was expected. In his heart, he mused, The invitation to Youya was sent long ago. What a pity, what a pity! To win her heart, it takes more than a handsome face...