“What are you touching? You got chili oil all over my face!” Lu Mingfei shouted.
But in the instant Lu Mingze’s hand touched his forehead, Lu Mingfei felt an indescribable warmth. It wasn’t just because his hand had held hot tofu pudding—it felt like a tangible warmth flowed from Lu Mingze’s palm into his body. This simple, natural touch felt like it had happened thousands of times in dreams: a hand on his forehead, saying… brother.
Thinking back, this mischievous boy had never actually harmed him. Every time he was at a dead end, when neither heaven nor earth would respond, when Caesar, Nono, and Chu Zihang couldn’t help—this devil version of Lu Mingze was always by his side. As long as he was willing to make a deal, Lu Mingze would certainly help, like… the closest person in the world.
“This time, the temporary Yanling is ‘Show me the money.’” Lu Mingze pulled his hand back.
“I say, since I’m such a frequent customer, can you summon me for something important just once?” He jumped off the bed and tiptoed towards the door, turning back at the door. “But I think it’ll be soon. Danger isn’t far away from you. Stay alert, and keep that phone with you at all times. If anything happens, text me. Oh, by the way, someone left a note for you at the front desk. I brought it up for you—it’s on the serving cart.”
He closed the door behind him.
With the click of the door lock, Lu Mingfei shuddered, and everything returned to normal.
It was still the hotel room, the warm morning sunlight filtering through the white curtains, but some details had changed. There was now a dip where Chu Zihang had slept, and Xia Mi’s bed was a mess, the blanket not folded at all. Orange peels were scattered on the table, and Xia Mi’s white cotton pajamas were draped over the chair, with a yellow sticky note on them: “Senior Mingfei, we had something to take care of, so we went out early. Ordered Chinese breakfast for you—fried dough sticks and tofu pudding.” The signature was a small cat drawing, indicating Xia Mi’s signature was a cat head.
It was only a slight change, but the dream-like unfamiliarity of the world disappeared.
The serving cart was still there, with the unfinished bowl of tofu pudding—smooth and tender, garnished with fragrant spicy oil, shredded pickled vegetables, shrimp, sesame, and black vinegar. There was also half a fried dough stick, still warm. This time, Lu Mingze had actually not played any tricks on him.
Suddenly, Lu Mingfei felt like crying for some reason… and also wanted to sneeze.
He took a deep breath and let out a tremendous sneeze, tears streaming down his face. If these tears were from sadness, his sorrow must be as vast as the ocean, but they weren’t—this was from the red sauce spread on the dough stick.
It was a super spicy chili paste!
“Damn it! Who eats fried dough sticks with chili paste? Lu Mingze, you’re ruthless!” Lu Mingfei muttered as he wiped his tears, hearing in his imagination the devilish little Lu Mingze laughing in satisfaction as he left.
“If I trust him again, I must be his real brother!” Lu Mingfei swore while wiping his mouth and walking out of the bathroom. Lu Mingze had spread the chili paste as if it were peanut butter—thick and even—forcing him to rinse his mouth frantically with cold water for ten minutes.
“If the breakfast was a prank… then the ‘show me the money’ Yanling can’t be trusted either?” Lu Mingfei pondered. Besides, how was he supposed to use this Yanling? Shout “show me the money” into the air, and a deliveryman would show up with a bag of cash for him? And if it could be used repeatedly, shouting a hundred times would bring him a million dollars—would an armored truck have to park in front of the hotel?
A light yellow envelope lay on the serving cart, with elegant script reading, “Ricardo M. Lu.”
“Dear Ricardo,
This is a mission email. Please go downstairs immediately upon receiving this letter. A black Maserati will be waiting for you at the hotel entrance, Illinois license plate ‘CAS001.’ The person in the car will provide you with mission details.”
The letter was printed on Hyatt hotel stationery. If it weren’t for the stamped signature at the end, Lu Mingfei would have suspected it was another prank from Lu Mingze. This anti-counterfeiting seal was exclusive to Cassell College, and the last time Lu Mingfei had seen it was on his dismal report card.
Lu Mingfei ran out of the hotel, immediately spotting the black Maserati parked by the curb.
This was a famous car, sold in the same dealership as Ferraris. Its sleek, elongated hood curved sharply, like a shark leaping out of water. Privacy glass blocked any view inside. It was definitely a flashy toy. Lu Mingfei craned his neck to peer inside, wondering who could be in the car. He’d heard that the Execution Bureau paid well, but driving a Maserati for missions suggested someone truly extraordinary.
A custom black suit? Shiny Italian leather shoes? Oiled, mirror-like hair? Dragons probably were a flamboyant bunch; even their hybrid descendants loved to show off. Nine out of ten people at the college carried themselves like nobles, even Chu Zihang drove a Panamera for missions. Or maybe it was a beautiful woman? A qipao slit to the thigh, sharp stiletto heels, voluminous curls? No, that look was reserved for Nationalist spies… Lu Mingfei let his imagination run wild.
The car door opened automatically, nearly hitting his head. He ducked and climbed inside.
A custom black suit, polished Italian leather shoes, hair slicked back so shiny it could be used as a mirror, and a vibrant red rose pinned to his chest. If it weren’t for the man’s silver hair, he would’ve looked like a complete scoundrel! But with the silver hair—he looked like… an old scoundrel!
“Principal… Principal!” Lu Mingfei stammered.
“Hello, Mingfei. For this mission, let’s work closely together.” Anjou smiled, raising a glass. This old man clearly knew how to enjoy life. A gentle aria played on the car stereo, and instead of a soft drink, the cup holder held ice wine. The sunroof was open, and wisps of cigar smoke drifted upward.
“Are you… stuck in Chicago because of the strike too?” Lu Mingfei couldn’t help but feel a bit delighted—it wasn’t just him having a rough time.
“Sort of. I was already planning to stay here for a couple of days to attend an auction.” Anjou handed over a well-printed catalog. “Sotheby’s Auction House, one of the finest in the world, a major hub for art circulation.”
Lu Mingfei was confused. An auction? This was something for rich people like Caesar—not something that had anything to do with him. A mission for the college… Could they be robbing the auction house? Quite possible! The Execution Bureau wasn’t exactly filled with law-abiding citizens; they’d done plenty of illegal things. Driving a sports car might even be to get away quickly. But if they were going to rob an auction, wouldn’t they send someone like Chu Zihang instead? Sending an old man whose actual age exceeded a hundred, along with a newbie like him? Although this old man seemed just as capable as the younger folks, both in Yanling and skills, if a stray bullet accidentally killed the principal…