Chapter 7: The Confrontation

The dinner was held at an upscale official-cuisine restaurant. The private dining room was resplendent, its curtains patterned with golden embroidery, and spotlights glaring against the gold rims of the plates. One had to keep their head at just the right angle, or the reflection would easily dazzle the eyes.

With the curtains drawn back to offer a 270-degree view, the scenery swept from the bustling streetscape down to the sheer, striking side of the adjacent building. Located among a complex of high-rises, the restaurant provided a bird's-eye view of the narrow alleyway wedged between two structures, its sides completely packed with parked cars.

Halfway through the meal, Richard stood up and announced his departure. "Apologies, I just remembered an urgent matter. Please, everyone, continue enjoying yourselves. Vice President Li, make sure Mr. Yamada is well-vetted and entertained."

*What?* Everyone stared in blank astonishment.

He left with decisive swiftness, pausing at the door to issue one last instruction to the attendant. "Miss, please draw the curtains."

Downstairs, just as he reached the ground floor, he spotted her walking toward her vehicle—a vibrant red Volvo S40. The wind whistling between the high-rises caught the hem of her beige trench coat, billowing it out like an umbrella and revealing her well-proportioned, slender legs above a pair of sleek, minimalist brown high heels.

*Ah, among all the corporate worker bees scurrying about, she truly stood out like a crane among chickens.* He suddenly felt a bit like a seventeen-year-old boy waiting outside the gates of a private high school for the girl of his dreams, watching her stride out from afar, tossing her hair back as his heart did a sudden flip.

*What should I do? Just walk right up and call out to her?*

*"Excuse me, miss, I'm quite taken with you. Would you care to join me for a cup of coffee?"*

*In China, people would probably call that a total scumbag move.* He silently condemned himself.

While he hesitated, she reached her car. The narrow lane was jammed with vehicles, though pedestrians were relatively sparse. Suddenly, out of the deep, shadowed mouth of an alleyway, a heavy-set man lunged forward without warning, screaming curses at her in furious Shanghainese.

It was as if an alien legion had suddenly invaded the desolate surface of the moon; a crowd of curious onlookers materialized from thin air within a single second, sealing off the area into an impenetrable wall. Unable to see what was happening, Richard rushed forward. Moving too fast, he nearly collided with a sharply turning taxi, planting his hands against its hood as a sharp *"Shit!"* slipped past his lips.

As he shoved his way through the crowd, someone barked at him in dialect, *"Zhu sa, biao za!"* ("Hey, watch it, don't shove!")

Anxious and flustered, he let loose a string of English profanities.

Only when he finally broke through did he understand why everyone was in such an uproar. The man was sprawled on the ground, limbs twitching. Victoria stood towering over him, one hand calmly holding a phone pressed to her ear with an expression of supreme annoyance, tapping her foot lightly against the pavement. In her other hand, she held a slender, rod-like object that made Richard swallow hard.

*Was that... a portable stun gun?* He suddenly felt immensely grateful that he hadn't recklessly tried to chat her up earlier.

A piercing, frantic wail rang out, making Richard want to turn around and grab the noise-maker by the neck. Another blur of motion caught his eye: a disheveled woman in a bathrobe burst into the center of the circle, screaming heartrendingly as she shoved violently at Victoria.

"It's all your fault, you bitch! Now my husband really wants to divorce me, and you still dare to beat him!"

That fierce, distorted face was instantly recognizable. Just last week, that very same face had been weeping miserably at the Women's Protection Association, pulling open a collar to display ugly bruises, yet now she looked ready to devour Victoria alive. Taken aback for a fraction of a second, Victoria's foot instinctively slipped backward against the raised edge of the curb. With a sharp thud, she hit the pavement hard, sending the object in her hand flying far away.

There were simply too many people. Shoving aside the obstructions ahead, it was already too late to catch her fall, but he managed to lunge forward and yank up the screaming woman who was still trying to fling herself back onto the target. *Seriously, she's still wearing her pajamas.*

"Don't move!" Ignoring the incomprehensible shrieks of the woman, Richard barked the command directly in English.

*How could she move when she was being hoisted into the air like a ragdoll?* The onlookers were practically ready to start applauding; today's drama was top-tier entertainment, better than anything on TV.

"Your husband assaulted me on the street. That was self-defense, and I've already called the police," Victoria's voice rang out coolly. Sure enough, the wailing sirens of a police cruiser were already echoing close by.

*"Sigh—"* With the show over, the crowd let out a collective groan of disappointment.

Chapter 8: The Rescue

He bent down to pick up her phone, which had been tossed aside in the scuffle. The impact was severe enough that the battery cover had popped off. She was trying her best to pull herself up—to no avail.

Crouching down beside her, he looked down and saw her torn stockings and

Chapter 9: The Bar Conversation

He pushed the driver's seat far back—he had no choice, his legs were simply too long. The interior of her car was just as he had imagined: completely bare of any decoration, save for a crystal star hanging from the rearview mirror that twinkled with a faint, shimmeri