Fu Jingzhi offered a bitter smile, realizing he had spoken out of turn.
Quan Ying waved his hand, and Fu Jingzhi withdrew.
With his hands shoved deep into his trouser pockets, the man gazed through the glass into the distance. The scenery outside appeared exceptionally tranquil under the sunlight.
A faraway look crept into Quan Ying's eyes, and a helpless, wicked smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.
In broad daylight, the man was normal and harmless. But once night fell—ha! That was a completely different story.
Nevernight City Nightclub.
The lights swept recklessly across the room like flowing neon liquid, pulsing to the rhythm of the music.
The heavy bass thudded blow by blow, as if trying to shock people's very hearts straight out of their chests.
The air was thick with a mingled scent of alcohol, perfume, and hormones.
Whoosh—whoosh-whoosh—whoosh-whoosh-whoosh—
Right at that moment.
Below the stage.
The surging crowd of men let out deep-throated screams that instantly ignited the entire nightlife venue.
At the center of the stage.
A sexy beauty wore a sheer black mesh one-piece miniskirt that barely covered her crucial parts, vaguely outlining her exquisite and curvaceous figure.
The neckline plunged aggressively low—so low it held nothing back—revealing a deep cleavage that gleamed with fatal temptation under the flashing lights.
She stood atop a pair of ten-centimeter black stiletto heels, which made her naturally long and straight legs all the more visually striking.
Every sway of the sexy beauty's body seemed as though it would shake off the meager scraps of fabric clinging to her.
The men down below had long since lost their wits to her dance moves.
They stared intently at the stage, their eyes burning with intense desire.
Excited screams, shouts, and whistles rose and fell across the venue, pushing the atmosphere from one climax to another.
In a booth directly facing the center of the stage.
A man sat sprawled on the sofa with his legs spread wide, the space between his thighs unashamedly revealing his current indulgence.
His half-closed eyes were inscrutable, seemingly staring straight at the beauty on the stage, yet perhaps not.
He held a cigarette clamped between his lips, twirled it casually in his fingers, took a suave drag, and then slowly exhaled a ring of smoke.
His other hand held a wine glass, swirling it a few times before he downed the amber liquid in one gulp.
A fierce, burning light flickered in his eyes. To anyone else, his gaze seemed entirely filled with intoxication and immersion.
He was a regular here.
The music stopped abruptly. The sexy beauty finished her final move, then stepped off the stage on her ten-centimeter black stiletto heels.
Immediately afterward, the pounding, dynamic music started up again.
The beauty walked straight toward the man in the center booth. Her bewitching gaze locked onto him, burning so fiercely it felt as though she could pierce right through him.
The bodyguard standing beside the man remained calm and composed—this kind of scene was still small-scale. He glanced at the man beside him and just as quickly withdrew his gaze.
When the beauty reached the man, she leaned over slightly, planting one hand naturally and seductively on his thigh. With one fluid motion, she slid right into the seat beside him.
He lifted his eyes slightly, his gaze carrying a murderous chill, and spoke in a voice cold to the bone:
"Sit if you're going to sit, but keep your hands to yourself."
His voice wasn't loud, but the irritation leaking through his tone was unmistakable.
The beauty's hand, which had been tentatively caressing the man's thigh, suddenly froze.
The smile on her face stiffened in an instant.
She was used to this sort of treatment.
Usually, she wouldn't even dare touch him, no matter how many times she had fantasized about it; she had just gotten too high dancing tonight and couldn't help herself for a second.
She quickly recovered her composure, a seductive smile curving the corners of her mouth as she slowly withdrew her hand. That hand paused mid-air for a fraction of a second before she casually rested it on her own lap.
She turned her head to look at the man. His strikingly handsome face made her wonder if his lips were soft, if they were warm; just looking at them made her want to lean over and latch on.
Marilyn's unbridled gaze drifted lower, toward his half-open black shirt. At this distance, she could clearly see the chest muscles hidden beneath. She didn't even need to touch them—just looking told her they were hard as rock.
Her gaze slid further down to his abdomen, completely devoid of an ounce of fat. She desperately wanted to reach out and pull off a sneak attack, to cop a feel of those abs.
But she didn't have the guts!
She kept her eyes fixed straight ahead, staring so hard her gaze almost seemed to drip.
He looked to be in his early twenties.
Suddenly, her face felt like it was burning, her throat went dry, and she found she couldn't even swallow her own saliva.
The man seemed to sense that gaze and swept a piercing look her way. She pouted, awkwardly shifting her eyes away so she wouldn't have to meet his directly, and picked up her wine glass with a trembling hand, attempting to take a sip of alcohol to cover up her embarrassment.
Why did a man like this come to watch dancing every single day, yet never flirt with, hug, or grope any woman?
She had even asked the other madams and her sisters, and they all said they had never seen it.
He only watched the dance. He never hit on girls, never touched women, and never let other women touch him.
He stayed until the early hours of the morning before leaving, yet had never been seen taking any woman away with him.
It seemed he existed as a special anomaly in Nevernight City.
Marilyn pondered: could it be that he couldn't get it up?
That shouldn't be the case; just looking at him made her mouth water enough to fill a basin.
Then maybe he just couldn't perform.
Even she didn't believe that thought.
Her expression looked a mixture of unwillingness and anticipation, as if she were brewing the next round of confrontation.
"Marilyn, Lord Quan doesn't like sultry types like you; he prefers pure ones like me." With that, a woman dressed in a school uniform hurled herself directly onto Quan Ying.
Through his half-open shirt, the woman's hand pressed straight against his hard pectoral muscles.
Quan Ying reached out and shoved the woman away directly, his tone fierce:
"You can watch, you can talk, you can drink. But touching me—no! If you don't understand the rules, get lost."
The schoolgirl looked momentarily awkward, but she poured a glass of wine to the brim. "Lord Quan, I'm sorry. I'm new here and don't know the rules. It won't happen again."
With that, she raised her glass and downed it in just a few gulps.
To ease the awkwardness, Marilyn plucked a grape from the fruit platter and offered it to Quan Ying's lips.
The man slanted a glance at her, parted his lips slightly, and took the grape.
She still knew the rules: feeding was fine, drinking was fine, talking and laughing were allowed, but this man did not permit anyone to touch his body.
He looked wicked, but he wasn't completely wicked!
"Well now, Miss Marilyn, you see, I'm just a soft-hearted guy. Why don't you move over to my side? I guarantee my thighs are much nicer to touch than his!"
Gu Yanzu, a regular at Nevernight City, held a bottle of hundred-thousand-dollar cognac in one hand and a glass in the other. With slightly unsteady footsteps, he plopped down right beside Marilyn.
After setting the bottle down.
His hand instinctively felt its way up Marilyn's fair thigh while his other hand draped over her shoulder, his head cocked as he stared straight at her chest.
Marilyn knew who he was—powerful, influential, and wealthy. She didn't dare offend him, yet her body instinctively squirmed away with resistance.
She said timidly, "Brother Zu, don't be like this."
"Marilyn, you're not being fair here. I've invited you over several times, and you never come sit with me. Since you're new, I let it slide because you didn't know the rules. What's this? Now that I've come looking for you myself, you're still not going to give me the honor?"
Gu Yanzu's hand slid viciously into her ultrashort skirt.
His hand was pinned down by Marilyn.