Chapter 65: The Hidden Dragon and Young Master Zhao Beneath the Moon

Tonight, in late May.

Though it was only a waning moon, the mountain air was fresh, and even the pale light cast by the moon bathed the Ziywei Villa in tranquility.

Suddenly, clouds obscured the moon.

No, not clouds.

A massive aircar appeared above the villa, silent and immense, like a shadow that swallowed the night. There was no sound—just that overwhelming presence.

Lin Xiaosu’s eyes snapped open.

With a faint hum, the bottom of the hovering aircar unfolded, and eight giant spiders dropped down in unison.

These spiders were of a size to boggle the mind—each as large as a small car. But they were not true spiders, only robots crafted in their likeness!

Two landed in the courtyard, as noiseless as mist. Two touched down on the roof, equally silent. Two more on the slope, flanking the approach, and the last pair settled in the trees, forming a deadly crossfire with those on the hillside.

The villa’s main building lit up. The owner—a broad-shouldered, middle-aged man—threw open his door just in time to see three figures dropping from the sky.

The one in the center exuded a powerful presence, silver light flickering over his body. To his left, a woman with flowing hair seemed like a fairy from a dream. The figure on the right was wreathed in illusion, vanishing before their eyes, as if she had dissolved into the air itself.

The villa owner’s face turned instantly grave.

Thud, thud, thud…

He hurried downstairs.

Elsewhere in the building, guests rushed to their windows. A cry of alarm pierced the night as the ordinary guests of the inn awakened to chaos.

From the aircar, the three exited—two landed: 88 and Chang Ye, Lin Xiaosu’s companions from Laoshan Prison. The third, who vanished mid-air, was Crescent Moon, also a fellow from Laoshan.

The owner and a middle-aged woman hurried down to confront 88, “Are you… staying here?” Their speech and mannerisms were steeped in rusticity, almost painfully so, no different from the keepers of any country inn.

88 and Chang Ye ignored them, their gazes fixed beyond the couple.

Behind them, a young man strolled into view. “They’re not here to stay—they’ve come to take your entire villa apart.”

His voice was easy and unhurried; it was Lin Xiaosu.

Having spoken, he circled past the startled couple to stand before them.

“Sir, what do you mean? We country folk don’t understand city tricks,” the owner replied.

“No need to understand. Just open that room upstairs. Open the cave hidden behind its wall. Then you’ll understand everything,” Lin Xiaosu said, pointing to a door on the second floor.

The owner’s eyelid twitched fiercely. He followed the direction of the finger, and something changed in his eyes…

“The cards are on the table—no need for pretense any longer,” Lin Xiaosu said calmly. “Will you surrender, or fight to the end? Make your choice.”

The owner’s head snapped up.

His eyes transformed completely in that instant—his pupils contracted into slits, like a serpent’s. His hand shot out. At first it seemed normal, but in a blink, it was covered in silver scales, dark grooves running between them; his fingernails sprang forth like blades, stabbing straight at Lin Xiaosu’s throat.

Such speed, such unnatural ferocity—this was not human.

But beside him, Chang Ye’s eyes flashed coldly; she lifted a single finger and met his attack.

His hand stopped, three inches from Lin Xiaosu’s throat.

Chang Ye’s finger had already touched his brow.

It was like a drop of ink falling into a field of shimmering silver; the strange lines and patterns just beginning to surface on the owner’s face were immediately erased by that single touch. His eyes grew wide with shock as he stared at the long-haired woman floating in front of him.

His gaze turned vacant.

Such was the poison of Chang Ye—deadly or subduing, all in a thought. More effective than handcuffs.

The light around them seemed to shimmer.

The middle-aged woman suddenly leapt into the air, agile as a wildcat. Chang Ye’s hair whipped upward, blocking her escape. The woman’s figure shifted in an instant, flattening herself against the wall, then springing to the roof in a single, fluid motion.

She moved with a grace that made a real cat seem clumsy by comparison—a hundred times more nimble.

In the blink of an eye, she was on the rooftop, completely silent.

As she bared her feline, vicious eyes at those below, a figure appeared above her out of thin air—a thunderous impact as a foot struck her head.

She cried out, tumbling from the rooftop.

Even falling from three stories up, she twisted in midair, landing lightly on hands and feet, as clean as a dancer.

A flash!

88 stepped forward, needle in hand. In a blink, it pierced the nerve point behind the woman’s ear.

The eerie green light in her eyes faded, and she slumped, no longer a beast but just a worn-out woman.

A window shattered explosively.

Another window burst open as a shadow bolted for the hillside.

Chang Ye tossed a pistol to Lin Xiaosu and herself leapt into the darkness, a knife in her left hand flashing as it pierced the skull of a fleeing shadow.

Lin Xiaosu caught the pistol—a shot rang out.

The bullet flew toward a guestroom. At the very instant it split the air, the glass exploded and a man leapt down, armed with a black dagger.

He dove headlong into the bullet—straight through his brow.

It was the young man who’d played with his phone all day, eyes wide in disbelief as he crashed to the ground.

“Well done, Xiaosu, still as brave as before!” came a voice from above as two figures landed.

One—a middle-aged man in pajamas—landed horizontally; the other, who landed atop his stomach, was Crescent Moon.

Lin Xiaosu stared at that familiar, radiant face, his teeth clenched with a strange ache.

It was no surprise to see her leap from a third-floor window—it was using a genetically modified person as a landing pad that was remarkable. She was unharmed from the buffered fall, while her unfortunate cushion lay gasping, his mouth agape, probably cursing her ancestors up and down his family tree.

Inside the guest rooms, chaos erupted.

Screams cut the night.

The two giant spiders in the courtyard leapt to the windows, their electronic voices booming, “Police operation! Nobody move!”

“Aaaah…” Someone screamed and was instantly silenced.

“Honey, don’t faint—it’s the police…”

“Husband, what’s wrong, are you all right?”

In a moment, everything devolved into an uproar.

Despite the announcement, the sight of monstrous spiders at the windows, glaring with blood-red eyes and speaking with human voices, was enough to terrify anyone.

The battle lasted only moments.

Crescent Moon dispatched two, 88 dealt with three, Chang Ye finished two, and Lin Xiaosu shot one. Suddenly, his gaze flicked upward, locking onto a shadow in the treetop.

Sight, hand, gun—all moved as one.

He fired.

Under his peerless perception, he saw the shadow twist, impossibly agile, dodging the bullet and vanishing behind the tree.

In a fraction of a second, the figure was sprinting up the hillside.

There, two of the giant spiders waited, their eyes glowing red, but the figure seemed to dart through the gaps in their field of detection, crossing the kill zone in a heartbeat.

Faster than a leopard in the night.

Lin Xiaosu gathered his energy to his legs, preparing to use a lightness skill he barely understood himself—

Suddenly, an unbelievable scene unfolded.

On the far side of the slope, a figure in white appeared.

At first, he stood ten meters from the “leopard.”

The next instant, he was at the “leopard’s” side.

A flash—the knife arced through the night, severing the “leopard’s” head. Blood sprayed, threatening to stain his snowy suit, but he was gone again—reappearing atop the courtyard wall.

Only then did the blood begin to fall to earth.

Lin Xiaosu’s heart pounded. Even with his supernatural perception, he could hardly follow that speed. Who was this man?

He was clearly an ally.

Yet his presence was utterly at odds with the Qianlong operatives.

Qianlong operatives wore either the standard armor or common clothes tailored for combat—blacks at night, tight-fitting for efficiency.

But this man was different.

He wore a pristine white suit—jacket and trousers, dazzlingly snow-white—a brilliantly purple shirt beneath, and even white leather shoes.

His suit was open, a belt buckle gleaming gold beneath. If he wasn’t mistaken, it was a limited-edition LV belt, worth a million, and only available to those who spent tens of millions more.

Was this the outfit for a covert operation?

He looked like someone who, stepping out of a top-end Lawrence supercar, would send every gold-digger in the city into a frenzy.

And his face—a typical rich heir’s: slender, a touch affected, with carefully shaped brows and hair, and, most likely, a dusting of powder.

The young man fixed his eyes on Lin Xiaosu. “You must be Lin Xiaose?”

Lin Xiaose?

No, he wasn’t slurring—he’d simply picked up someone else’s mispronunciation.

“And who are you?” Lin Xiaosu asked.

“I’m Zhao Zhen.”

Crescent Moon interjected, “That’s Young Master Zhao—the one who always says, ‘The bill’s on me!’”

Zhao Zhen ruffled his hair, embarrassed. “That was just youthful folly, Crescent Moon, you’ve already roasted me about that—can’t you let it go?”

“‘Roasted’? All I did was go to an aerospace expo with you and shout, ‘The bill’s on Young Master Zhao!’ What’s so embarrassing? Weren’t you always doing that at the clubs?”

“Big sister, that was the aerospace expo! Even Prince Abel, ‘the richest man under one cloth,’ wouldn’t dare pick up that tab! When you shouted, everyone disappeared in a flash, and I was left standing in the wind. My dad’s friends teased him about it for half a year…”

Zhao Zhen sank into despair once more.

Lin Xiaosu was overwhelmed with emotion.

He’d heard the stories about Young Master Zhao and his famous line, “The bill’s on me.” The only son of the Jiangnan Group’s founder, he threw money around like it was nothing. At every club, if he was present, it meant a night of wild revelry—because once he was drunk, he’d cover the bill for everyone.

And club tabs weren’t cheap—one bottle could cost tens of thousands.

He’d heard that, at his craziest, Young Master Zhao once woke to a seven-million tab and paid it without batting an eye.

When Lin Xiaosu first heard these tales, it was like listening to a legend. His dormmates could only sum it up: “The world of the rich is beyond the poor’s imagination.”

And now, this legendary figure had appeared before him.

And in a way he never could have imagined.