Chapter Twenty-One: Addicted to Driving

Lin Fang couldn’t help but compare Yuan Dongyang and Ling Zheng in her mind, weighing the two and finding them almost evenly matched. Even if Mr. Ling had a slight edge at the moment, Dongyang and Biyue were still young—who could say who would win out in the end? Most importantly, with the Yuan family’s golden name behind them, her uncle’s family would never dare look down on them again.

No one was more anxious than Lin Fang herself. Her eyes darted, and she smiled, “Well, if that’s the case, why don’t you quickly invite your boss out for a meal? If she thinks it’s suitable, let’s settle things between the two of them.”

“If Biyue’s lifelong happiness can be secured, I could die with my eyes closed. The Yuan family of Jiangzhou—tsk, I’d like to see if the eldest branch of the family still dares act so high and mighty, see who would still look down on us.” Lin Fang spoke with satisfaction.

Chu Yang could hardly bear to listen any longer. “Hey, what are you saying? Our daughter already has a family. What’s there to settle?”

“Quiet, you spineless man!”

“Wang Xu, just listen to me and try to set up a meeting with your boss. Biyue is your kin, after all—you wouldn’t want to see her remain single forever, would you?”

“You…”

“Mom, don’t worry. I’ll call, I’ll call right now.” Wang Xu chuckled, secretly pleased. At last, he’d found a way to curry favor with his boss.

“Mr. Ling!”

Inside the Rolls-Royce, Chen Hei Bai suddenly called out.

“Boss, please stop calling me ‘Mr.’ Just call me Xiao Feng. If you keep using such formal titles, I won’t be able to do my job.”

Sitting beside them, Chu Biyue snorted, thinking with annoyance, Hmph, you can’t do your job anyway.

What kind of chauffeur acts like a lord, sitting there like he owns the place and making the boss drive? And to top it off, he’s crossing his legs! Useless—completely hopeless. Look at Mr. Chen, who knows how to respect others, and then look at him. It was enough to make Chu Biyue furious.

“I know you have a reputation for treating your subordinates well, but this really isn’t appropriate, is it?” Ling Feng hurried to smooth things over for Chen Hei Bai.

Chen Hei Bai felt both amused and helpless, but no matter what, he couldn’t bring himself to call Xiao Feng.

“Then, ah, from now on I’ll call you Brother Ling, alright?”

“That’s fine!” Ling Feng nodded with great flair.

“Sit up properly and speak decently!” Chu Biyue couldn’t hold back any longer. The more she watched, the more it seemed Ling Feng was the boss and Chen Hei Bai the lackey.

Give him an inch, and he takes a mile—so quick to get carried away. How could he ever amount to anything? What a farce.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, my mistake. Please forgive me, Madam Ling.” Chen Hei Bai wiped his brow in a panic. He had indeed been leaning toward Ling Feng while speaking just now, and perhaps Madam felt it was a safety concern.

“No, no, that’s not it, Mr. Chen, I… I was talking about Ling Feng, not you. I wouldn’t dare speak to you like that. Ling Feng, you idiot, why aren’t you driving?” Chu Biyue turned to pinch him, whispering, “If you lose this job, I’ll deal with you myself.”

“Oh, right, I should be driving.”

“Old Chen, what’s the matter with you?”

“Ling Feng, believe me, I’ll hit you if you keep this up.” Chu Biyue’s eyes nearly bulged. My god, does he even know who he is? Calling Mr. Chen ‘Old Chen’? Is he borrowing courage from the heavens?

No matter how kind and humble he may be, Mr. Chen is still your boss. Basic respect isn’t too much to ask.

“I was wrong, I was wrong. Mr. Chen, I’ll drive.” Ling Feng was almost in tears. Today, he was really off his game—couldn’t even keep up the act properly.

“Drive? Don’t you know I’m addicted to driving? Are you trying to compete with me?” Chen Hei Bai suddenly snapped. “Didn’t anyone tell you before you started?”

Damn, old Chen reacts fast.

“Yes, yes, I remember now. Sorry, Mr. Chen.” Ling Feng could only smile wryly.

“So that’s how it is,” Chu Biyue said, a bit embarrassed. She’d heard that wealthy people could have odd habits, but this was something else—she’d heard of people addicted to gaming, drinking, or smoking, but addicted to driving? Truly, extraordinary people do extraordinary things.

“Mr. Chen, you see, Ling Feng doesn’t have much experience, his driving is mediocre, and as a person, well… he’s not much good at anything. If possible, perhaps he could be assigned to another car? I’m afraid he’ll offend you one day, and we couldn’t bear the consequences…” Chu Biyue whispered awkwardly.

With Ling Feng’s behavior, she really worried that one day Chen Hei Bai might do away with him.

“I’ll consider it and get back to you,” Chen Hei Bai replied, not sure how to proceed. This consort—she looked down on her own husband so much, yet she had no idea her husband was once the War Emperor, a figure before whom all others paled. Still, it wasn’t entirely her fault; the War Emperor had truly lost his memory for three years.

At that moment, Chu Biyue’s phone rang. She answered, then flushed as she said, “Mr. Chen, could you please pull over? I have something urgent—I need to leave.”

“Yes!” Chen Hei Bai was already used to showing respect to the War Emperor. He had just called her ‘Madam,’ and now again responded with utmost deference, making Chu Biyue sigh inwardly. People said the rich were eccentric, but Mr. Chen’s quirks were hard to admire.

This was more than humility—was it a hint of masochism? Maybe the wealthy found it amusing to speak to commoners this way.

Seeing Ling Feng still lounging in the car, Chu Biyue grew annoyed again. “Ling Feng, you’re coming with me. What are you sitting there for, waiting for a grand palanquin?”

“I’m at work…”

My god, you call this working?

Chu Biyue couldn’t even muster the energy to be angry anymore.

Once the car stopped, Chu Biyue rolled her eyes at Ling Feng and got out.

Jiangzhou’s First Avenue was the most bustling area in the city, filled with high-end venues, hotels, malls, and entertainment centers, always teeming with people.

As the Rolls-Royce Phantom was about to leave this district, Ling Feng suddenly frowned. “Old Chen, there’s a car following us. I think they’re about to make a move. I wanted to lead them to a quieter place, but they chose here…”

Chen Hei Bai was caught off guard. He glanced back, his body tense—sure enough, there was a suspicious van trailing them. With his underworld experience, it was clear these people were ready to strike. He was furious—who dared to be so bold?

Ling Feng remained calm, saying, “Tell Jiang Qin to have Fang Jingmei come see me at the company tomorrow.”

“She wasn’t sold off, it’s…”

Just then, the van that had been tailing them suddenly sped up, overtaking the convoy of the four major figures. At the same time, from both the front and rear intersections, more than a dozen black vans surged out, boxing the convoy in.

The first van blocked Chen Hei Bai’s car. The door swung open, and more than a dozen killers in black suits, each with a blood-red hand embroidered on their chest, emerged.

“It seems you underestimated your enemies. The Blood Hand League has made their move,” Ling Feng said quietly.

The Blood Hand League—third-ranked among the nation’s assassin organizations. Their numbers, leadership, and headquarters were all shrouded in mystery. The only things their name signified were secrecy and death.

“Sire, this old servant failed in his vigilance and has alarmed you,” Chen Hei Bai admitted, eyes flashing with murderous intent and a hint of shame. He hadn’t expected his intelligence network to fail so utterly, not even detecting such a large-scale ambush. Worse, the War Emperor had witnessed his incompetence.

Anger surged in his chest like a tidal wave.

“Stop the car. I will deal with this myself,” came the order.

“Sire, there’s no need for a sledgehammer to kill a chicken!” Chen Hei Bai protested in shock.

“This is a crowded area. I wish to avoid harming innocents, so I must handle it myself—and swiftly.”

As the War Emperor, safeguarding the nation and its people was his duty.

With the screech of brakes, all vehicles—those of the four great figures and the Blood Hand League—stopped almost simultaneously. From each, shadows poured out, and in the heart of the city, a battle was now unavoidable.

What made it worse was that both sides were armed to the teeth, exuding murderous intent. If fighting broke out, innocent bystanders were sure to suffer.

The crowd stood frozen, mouths agape, pale with terror, breaths coming fast and shallow, utterly at a loss. For a moment, death’s presence was palpable.

But what could they do? In the face of such violence, ordinary people were as helpless as ants before a butcher’s knife. All they could do was pray that these menacing figures would pass like a thunderstorm, all sound and fury but leaving them unharmed.

A peal of thunder crashed.

And indeed, as everyone watched in horror, the leading van of the Blood Hand League was suddenly sent flying into the air by a single punch from a muscular giant. The vehicle spun through the air, flipping twice before plunging straight down toward the crowd.

“Zhao Che, you’re as reckless as ever,” a tall, dark-clad figure called out amidst the screams of terror and despair.

In that instant, a slender black shadow shot upward, moving faster than the human eye could follow.

As this figure appeared, the temperature around them soared unnaturally. It was as if a blazing sun had appeared overhead, or a desert wind had swept through.

Everyone felt their chests tighten; breathing became difficult, and even their vision blurred.

Bang!

A nimble arm caught the falling van, gently lowering it to the ground.

Crash!

Where the figure landed, the marble pavement for a hundred meters around cracked and shattered. The fragments floated up about a foot, then froze, before dissolving into dust and blowing away in the hot wind.

A tall, strikingly handsome young man in plain clothes casually tossed the van aside. With both hands folded behind his back, his gaze was deep and indifferent as he looked forward, coldly surveying the scene.

Though not burly, standing at about six feet, he loomed like a mountain, an aura around him like countless icy blades, striking awe into every soul present.

With a single step, he seemed to shatter the world—within a hundred meters, nothing could survive his might.

The moment he touched down, the entire First Avenue seemed to fall under his oppressive presence.

At that moment, with Ling Feng at its center, a hundred-meter radius contracted and warped, the air sucked dry, the earth trembling. All the assassins felt as if they had been dragged into another world.

A wave of killing intent surged outward, each pulse like a tide of blood, accompanied by the wails of ghosts.

In that instant, he was hell itself.