Chapter 79: Woman, You’re Out of Your Mind!

After Zhuo Yihu firmly latched onto Qin Chuan’s leg, he displayed remarkable efficiency; within just half an hour, his team of professionals had drawn up and printed all the necessary documents for the equity transfer agreement. Lan Xin had originally intended for Qin Chuan to sign, but he flatly refused. She then turned to Lan Jin, but the girl had no interest in business affairs, and besides, the matter hardly concerned her, so she mimicked Qin Chuan’s refusal of Lan Xin’s well-meant offer.

In the end, Lan Xin signed her own name in bold at the end of the agreement. Imagining the future when she could preside over this place with authority, Lan Xin could hardly stop smiling. Lan Jin, however, felt a pang of anxiety—Miss Long, the eldest daughter of the Long family from Yanjing, was about to arrive. Faced with her own brother battered beyond recognition, how would Miss Long react? Would she seek revenge on Qin Chuan?

Although there was an engagement between them, many novels described these heiresses of the elite rejecting or annulling such marriages, after which the protagonist, Qin Chuan, would declare that classic line: “The wheel of fortune turns—as the river flows east for thirty years, then west for thirty more; never underestimate a poor youth,” and would ultimately rise to glory, leaving the regretful ex-fiancée in his wake.

Would Long Wuhen follow the script as well?

If such a thing really happened, how would Qin Chuan face it? After all, novels are but idealized fiction, and the real Qin Chuan had no wizened old master in a ring to lend him aid. Could he endure it?

And if Qin Chuan faltered, what would become of the Lan family?

“Wait... Why did I only think of the Lan family at the end? Could it be that, in my heart, Qin Chuan’s place now outweighs the interests of my own family? Impossible, impossible! It must be an illusion!”

Lost in these wild thoughts, Lan Jin pinched her own thigh hard. The sharp, piercing pain told her that everything was indeed real—somewhere along the way, she had begun to care about Qin Chuan in a way she hadn’t realized.

“Now that the agreement’s signed, Xiao Hu, you should step outside,” Qin Chuan turned to Zhuo Yihu and instructed. “When Miss Long arrives, let her through directly, and no one is to approach the private room without my permission, no matter who it is. You’re in charge of security.”

Zhuo Yihu straightened instantly. The greatest fear of anyone eager to attach themselves to a powerful patron was not being made to work, but being treated as invisible.

“Rest assured, Mr. Qin,” Zhuo Yihu patted his chest in assurance, “with me standing guard, not even a fly could slip by.”

Qin Chuan nodded with satisfaction. Lan Xin had just profited greatly—if he didn’t make a gesture in return, he’d seem ungracious. Moreover, there would always be situations where it was inconvenient for him to act personally; agents like Zhuo Yihu could handle such matters, sparing him needless trouble.

At this moment, Qin Chuan and his group had relocated to the Emperor Suite on the top floor of the Night Unending Bar. Firstly, their previous room had been trashed in the fight; secondly, Lan Xin, as the bar’s new figurehead, was eager to experience the highest tier of service.

It was well known that the Emperor Suite was unique—there was only one in the entire bar, and Zhuo Yihu had always reserved it for entertaining the most distinguished guests. For instance, when he sought to expand his business and needed investment, he invited the renowned Ma Liuyun from China’s business world to this very suite.

Rumor had it that after Ma Liuyun was brought to the Emperor Suite and watched a performance by the Night Unending’s dance troupe, he was so taken that he whistled throughout the highlight, and as for what happened afterwards, well, that was privy to none but those involved.

In any case, three days after his “exchange of dance insights” with the troupe’s members, Ma Liuyun held a press conference and, before a crowd of reporters, officially announced an investment of a billion yuan into the Night Unending’s large-scale commercial plaza.

This story grew ever more exaggerated as it circulated among the business elite. Some claimed that Ma Liuyun, after an indulgent two days with both lead dancers, was thoroughly satisfied; others joked that the old man, feeling young again, stormed through the troupe’s ranks like Zhao Zilong charging through Cao’s camp, making seven sorties in and out among a dozen dancers.

As Lan Xin recounted all this in vivid detail, Qin Chuan’s lips twitched. He’d seen Ma Liuyun on the news: by all appearances, the man was the very picture of someone hollowed out by excess. Judging by Qin Chuan’s medical expertise, even with the aid of stimulants, Ma Liuyun would struggle to keep up with just one partner, let alone take on several at once.

Yet Lan Xin, unable to contain her excitement, called the dance troupe to perform. Only after watching did Qin Chuan finally understand why Ma Liuyun had been willing to invest a billion.

Any one of these dancers would be considered the campus beauty at a university. Especially the twin lead dancers, whose ethereal looks, graceful figures, and enchanting smiles during the performance made them the ultimate embodiment of allure.

Even as Qin Chuan silently recited the mantra for inner calm hundreds of times, certain parts of him still paid the utmost respect to the troupe’s dazzling display.

After three full acts, Zhuo Yihu personally knocked and reported that Miss Long’s car had arrived in the parking lot.

“How many people came?” Qin Chuan asked casually.

“A dozen or more vehicles,” Zhuo Yihu replied gravely. “Two are vans. At least thirty people, all moving like professionals—I’d say they’re Miss Long’s bodyguards.”

Qin Chuan nodded, asked no further questions, and waved for the dancers to leave. Lan Xin, quick on the uptake, excused herself as well. Lan Jin wanted to stay, but Qin Chuan sent her out, claiming he was worried she might get hurt if things got rough.

Faced with such a righteous-sounding reason, Lan Jin couldn’t find an excuse to remain and left reluctantly, glancing back at every step.

In no time, the spacious suite was down to just four: Qin Chuan, lounging with his legs crossed and snacking on sunflower seeds; Long Wudi, still unconscious; and two black-clad bodyguards whose faces betrayed their anxiety and worry.

About ten minutes passed before Qin Chuan heard the distinct click of high heels on the floor. Moments later, the door swung open.

He turned to see two rows of at least twenty black-suited bodyguards march in first. Each was powerfully built, with hard features and a menacing air—clearly men who had seen real combat.

Then, at their center, strode a tall young woman in a simple white suit dress. Her long, shapely legs were sheathed in black stockings, adding a touch of seduction.

She stood a full one-seventy-five in height. Her bright eyes, perfect teeth, and lightly parted red lips radiated a mesmerizing allure. Her long, jet-black hair cascaded down her shoulders like a waterfall.

Her features seemed sculpted with mechanical precision, flawless and embodying all that anyone might desire in a beauty. Though she bore but one face, it seemed to hold a multitude of charms.

But unlike Lin Wanyu’s icy, distant beauty, this woman resembled an emotionless automaton. No matter what might happen, it seemed nothing could elicit even the faintest flicker of feeling from her.

It was the first time Qin Chuan had seen such a stunning woman, yet all he felt was a sense of tedium—no stirring of desire whatsoever.

“Why did you hit my brother?” she asked, her tone flat, as if inquiring about a matter entirely unrelated to herself—simply asking a question.

And yet, within her words, Qin Chuan caught a tangle of sadness, confusion, and anger.

“Woman, you’re ill,” he replied, answering a different question entirely. Then, as if a thought struck him, he added, “And your illness is far from minor.”