Ye Chenghuan had chosen the Shangri-La Hotel for its proximity. No bus fare, no monthly passes—a crucial perk for his threadbare wallet. Compared to Longdu's glitzier establishments, Shangri-La was modest: a mid-sized complex with karaoke lounges, oxygen bars, saunas, and a bowling alley. Wealthy locals flocked here on weekends to burn cash and testosterone.
Dressed in his wrinkled security uniform, Ye settled into his usual spot: a plastic chair under a sun-faded awning near the parking lot entrance. A chipped teacup, a crumpled newspaper, and a view of the hotel's glittering facade completed his "workstation." On one side, luxury cars disgorged patrons in tailored suits and cocktail dresses; on the other, Ye sipped bitter tea, legs propped on a cooler, watching the circus unfold.
His job? Press a button to open the gate. Press it again to close it. The simplest task warranted the hotel's lowest salary.
Today, as always, he lounged with a cigarette dangling from his lips, thumbing through yesterday's news.
Beep! Beep! A black BMW 535 roared to the gate. A balding man leaned out, face flushed. "Hey! Open up, moron!"
Ye saluted mockingly and hit the button. As the gate creaked open, he strolled over, admiring the car's glossy hood. Pulling a cucumber from his pocket, he rubbed it on his shirt and took a crunchy bite. "Nice ride. Must've cost a fortune."
The driver sneered. "German engineering. You couldn't afford a tire."
"Even a knockoff like this must've set you back," Ye mused, peering inside.
The man stiffened. "What'd you call it?!"
"Knockoff." Ye's gaze drifted to the backseat, where a woman lay unconscious. She wore a rumpled office skirt, sheer stockings twisted around her legs. Her blouse gaped, revealing a lace-trimmed camisole. Curls half-covered her face, but her parted lips and flushed cheeks told the story.
Ye whistled. "Who's the sleeping beauty?"
"None of your damn business! Move, or I'll have you fired!"
"Just doing my job." Ye leaned on the car, smile hardening. "Get out. Now."
The balding man revved the engine. "I'll run you over!"
Ye's eyes flickered—pale, predatory. The air thickened. The driver's bravado crumbled under that glacial stare, sweat soaking his collar.
"Roofies? How... retro." Ye tapped the window. "Let her go, or I call the cops."
Grinding his teeth, the man flung open the rear door. Ye scooped the woman into his arms as the BMW screeched away. "I'll remember you, asshole!"
"Terrifying," Ye muttered.
The woman stirred, blinking up at him. Her eyes widened—a rabbit caught in headlights. She shoved free, wobbled on stiletto heels, and bolted. Three steps later, she yelped, clutching her ankle.
Ye ambled over. "Need help?"
She recoiled as if he were radioactive, limped to the curb, and vanished into a taxi. A stifled sob lingered in her wake.
Sigh. Being a hero never paid.
The office call came minutes later. "Ye! The boss wants you. Now."
Ye smirked. "Promotion?"
"More like a firing squad."
The manager's office reeked of cigar smoke and rage. Qi Zhongfa, Shangri-La's walrus-like owner, slammed his desk. "You humiliated an 东方国际 executive! Do you know what that costs us?!"
Ye perched on the desk, plucked two Chunghwa cigarettes from Qi's gold case, and offered one. "Let me explain—"
"Get your filthy ass off my desk!"
Ye slid down, unruffled. "That guy drugged a girl. I saved your hotel from a scandal. You're welcome."
Qi's jowls quivered. "You're fired! No severance!"
Ye's smile died. "My salary."
"Salary? Salary?! You owe me damages!"
Ye scanned the room, gaze landing on the wall safe. He stripped off his shirt, wrapped it around his fist, and strode forward.
Qi blanched. "What the hell—"
Crunch.
Ye's fist tore through the safe's steel door like it was cardboard. Concrete dust billowed as he rummaged inside, pulled out a stack of bills, and counted them calmly. "My wages. Not a cent more."
He tossed the rest back, brushed debris from his shoulders, and faced the gaping manager. "You didn't fire me. I quit. Got it?"
Before Qi could stammer a reply, Ye pocketed the Chunghwa pack. "And a tip: I'm a security guard, not a shitty one. Respect's free. Consider these cigarettes tuition."
He left the office—and the job—without glancing back.