Shan Feibai pieced the entire story together from start to finish.
In the end, he said with conviction, “Yeah. Taking him out here is the best option.”
Shan Feibai had once been on the cusp of Silver Hammer City’s elite second-generation circle.
If he’d been raised under his father’s influence, with his natural charisma and curiosity, he might have quickly become just another piece of the city’s scum.
Fortunately, his grandmother raised him.
She introduced him early to a thrilling world of hurricanes, skydiving, and high-speed car chases.
So, Shan Feibai had no interest in the common vices of his peers—lust, alcohol, or digital opiates.
But to say he’d never been tempted by certain things would be a lie.
At sixteen or seventeen, Shan Feibai had a dream.
A dream filled with blood, Ning Zhuo, fire, the sheen of sweat on Ning Zhuo’s profile, his pale, translucent lips, and his heavy, faltering breaths.
Maybe it was after Ning Zhuo was injured, or in some hazy, indefinable vision Shan Feibai couldn’t quite place.
All he knew was that after that dream, he sat staring at his legs for a long time.
But that wasn’t important now.
Back to the matter at hand.
Though Shan Feibai wasn’t part of the elite circle, his ears were sharp.
He’d been classmates with Jin Charlemagne in elementary school and had heard in high school about Honbu Takeshi winning yet another Youth Innovation Award at the university next door.
From what he knew, Honbu Takeshi, despite his penchant for indulgence, was meticulous about his health.
For the poor and sick, life was cheap, something to claw for.
For someone like Honbu Takeshi, fleeting youthful years were precious, to be cherished.
To avoid illness that could affect his stamina and performance, Honbu Takeshi hired personal trainers to enforce strict fitness regimens. Even in prison, he’d visit his private gym daily to burn fat.
Honbu Takeshi even had some irrational cleanliness quirks.
He considered himself a pristine gentleman, sleeping only with virgins to avoid any risk of disease.
Someone so protective of their body naturally valued their life even more.
He’d only act recklessly after retreating to the safest possible place.
Honbu Takeshi was so paranoid about his safety that he’d turned his home into an impenetrable fortress, standing out awkwardly among the high-end villas, almost like a bunker.
Once he left prison, breaching that fortress would be exponentially harder.
Yatebo’s First Prison was the only place where Honbu Takeshi felt secure and where Ning Zhuo could devise a way to get close to him.
Shan Feibai looked at Ning Zhuo, his question carrying a knowing undertone. “So, Ning-ge, did you get him sent here?”
Ning Zhuo didn’t answer, just kept eating, one deliberate bite at a time.
In getting Honbu Takeshi imprisoned, Ning Zhuo had indeed played a pivotal role.
Honbu Takeshi’s personally crafted “Barbie dolls” were the “practical” evolution of his experiments on Tang Bi and other girls—partially modified bodies for reduced wear, transformed into perfect, compliant “toys” that wouldn’t resist.
These “toy” girls operated under strict control, serving only elite clients for “business” purposes, inaccessible to ordinary people.
But machines always have flaws.
Ning Zhuo passed batch after batch of “toy” lists, obtained through informants, to “The Tuner.”
His request was simple: he needed all the data the sensors in their bodies recorded.
Any body part would do.
“The Tuner” teased him for his peculiar taste, got a punch from Ning Zhuo, and then got to work.
After sifting through countless batches of lists and mountains of illicit data, they finally found a “toy doll” with modified eyes on the list.
Honbu Takeshi, of course, used her in an excruciatingly cruel manner the first chance he got, then handed her to the exclusive channel’s manager, instructing them to take the weakened girl away, nurse her back, and put her back into service.
The moment she was taken out, she was intercepted and sent by Ning Zhuo to a safe “black clinic” for treatment.
Five minutes later, high-definition footage of Honbu Takeshi’s depravity, the transaction process, and his mid-act admission of “You’re my most adorable creation” hit the front page of ‘The Silver Hammer Daily’.
Even after all this, Ning Zhuo knew that with Titan Corporation’s influence, Honbu Takeshi would never face a harsh sentence.
He couldn’t turn over the “doll,” the sole witness.
If he did, she’d either be bought off or “suddenly die.”
Without the key witness, the public’s outrage over Honbu Takeshi’s atrocities lacked the weight to convict him.
Before the verdict was even announced, Ning Zhuo had already mapped out the likely outcome:
Honbu Takeshi would be diagnosed with a mental illness, undergo token “treatment,” be sent to the First Prison—designed by his father—where he’d live in luxury, then be released, rebranded, and start a new life.
Ning Zhuo’s goal was to ensure he’d never reach that “new life,” while keeping himself untarnished and unscathed.
He wouldn’t die just for taking out a pile of garbage.
Before entering the prison, Ning Zhuo had laid the groundwork for his plan, casting a vast net to ensnare this grotesque moth.
One detail, however, hadn’t been part of his calculations.
—Right now, Jin Hu was at Honbu Takeshi’s side.
Jin Hu’s loathing and hostility toward Ning Zhuo might make Honbu Takeshi take notice of him sooner than planned.
That wasn’t ideal.
As Ning Zhuo pondered his next move, Shan Feibai raised a hand, grinning. “Ning-ge, I know what you brought me here to do.”
Ning Zhuo glanced at him coolly. “Getting cocky, huh?”
Shan Feibai, smugly: “Heh.”
Seeing his ambiguous attitude, Ning Zhuo frowned slightly.
He suspected Shan Feibai had actually figured out his plan.
His face remained stern. “…That wasn’t a compliment.”
Shan Feibai ignored him, grinning cheekily. “Then I’ll make a move tomorrow, and Ning-ge can see if it’s to your liking.”
As soon as he finished, his head took a light smack—not harsh, more like a warning tap.
Undeterred, Shan Feibai thought gleefully, ‘If I weren’t smart, he wouldn’t like me.’
With that, his infuriatingly smug smile widened, making Ning Zhuo’s hand clench into a fist under the table. That night, Ning Zhuo even dreamed of roughing up a glossy-furred, blue-eyed wolf pup until it yowled.
…
Honbu Takeshi spent that night distracted. Even while soaking in the hot springs, he couldn’t shake the image of a tall figure casting him a cold glance.
Coldness, in itself, was a refined form of allure.
Honbu Takeshi knew he wasn’t much to look at, but what did that matter?
Those who scorned his appearance would still grovel at his feet once they learned of his status and wealth.
With overwhelming wealth, appearance became the least valuable thing.
Still, Honbu Takeshi was willing to maintain a semblance of refinement in front of prey that piqued his interest.
So, the next day, when Jin Hu and his crew waited outside early and saw Honbu Takeshi step out, Jin Hu froze, managing only a stammered, “…Sir?”
Honbu Takeshi had changed his face.
For others, bio-facial reconstruction was a novel marvel, but for Honbu Takeshi, it was as routine as applying or removing makeup.
He could even customize his features to his liking, overlaying them onto his original face.
—Ever since his true appearance was recorded and cost him dearly, he’d developed a habit of periodically swapping face templates.
Though his short, stocky build remained an unchangeable flaw, his new features were noticeably more refined and passably handsome.
This face had a much higher success rate for charming others.
But despite searching for a long time, the stunning beauty he’d lusted after all night seemed to have vanished into thin air.
He asked a guard, who said they’d gone for a walk.
…The place was too big, and that was the problem.
After wandering aimlessly for over half an hour, his craving still gnawing at him, Honbu Takeshi grabbed a morning-shift worker—a decent-looking young man—to vent his frustration.
When he was done, he wiped himself cursorily and threw on his clothes.
The encounter was far from satisfying, so Honbu Takeshi didn’t even bother buttoning his shirt. With no lingering attachment, he pushed open the door and stepped out.
While Honbu Takeshi was occupied, Jin Hu and the others outside, though hearing nothing due to soundproofing, fanned out professionally, facing outward to signal they weren’t eavesdropping.
As Honbu Takeshi fumbled with his tangled belt, a sudden gust of wind sounded above.
Then, a thunderous crash exploded at his feet!
Honbu Takeshi, who valued his life above all else, nearly jumped out of his skin in terror.
A speck of cold dirt splattered onto his foot.
It was as if a viper’s tongue had flicked him. Still reeling, he stumbled back several steps into the room he’d just left, clutching the doorframe and bellowing, “Go check what the hell just happened!”
Jin Hu and his men, lulled by the prison’s safe environment, had grown complacent. The sudden chaos threw them into disarray.
They craned their necks, looking left and right, like a flock of startled pigeons.
It wasn’t until Honbu Takeshi’s roar that they snapped out of it.
Jin Hu, as if facing a dire threat, left two men to stand guard and sprinted upstairs with another, determined to catch the culprit behind the high-altitude projectile.
Honbu Takeshi stared at the shattered flowerpot before him.
Someone’s mandragora plant, now wilted among the broken pottery shards, its cool white petals stained with dirt, exuded an eerie beauty.
He stood dazed for a long moment, then his gaze shifted, catching Ning Zhuo and Shan Feibai walking in side by side from outside.
Seeing the chaotic scene, Ning Zhuo raised an eyebrow, looking surprised.
Even a beauty’s startled expression was captivating.
Honbu Takeshi’s rattled nerves instantly found solace.
Then Ning Zhuo turned, locking eyes with Shan Feibai.
…Your doing?
Shan Feibai reached out, grabbing Ning Zhuo’s hand behind his back, and smugly traced two light strokes, as if pawing for a reward.
…Yup.
