Chapter 297: Drinking

Chapter 297 Drinking

Lower District · Nightfall Pool Hall.

This was an opulently decorated billiards hall, scattered with bar booths. Guests had their arms around attractive servers while taking shots on the tables, the crisp clatter of cues echoing incessantly. The servers occasionally put on deliberately seductive poses—one leg propped up on the table, bending low over the felt surface—allowing guests a clear view of their curves from behind and making it easier for tips to be slipped into belts, garters, or other hidden spots.

Across from Ye Wang, a flashy nouveau riche decked out in gold and silver loudly complained that the servers weren’t pretty enough. The manager stepped in to mediate, looking harried.

The man was clearly drunk—Ye Wang could smell the alcohol from a distance. Frowning slightly, he slung an arm over Pei Qi’s shoulder and steered him around the tables, stopping at the front desk.

The receptionist was a middle-aged man in heavy makeup, dressed in garish purple with a floral silk scarf dotted with sequins at his collar. He looked up and immediately grinned. "Well, well, look who’s here! And who’s this?"

Ye Wang pulled two bills from his pocket. In this post-digital age, the Lower District’s black markets still clung to cash. He slapped the money onto the counter. "My cousin. Same as usual. Something with a kick."

The man stood at once, glancing around. "Got it. Follow me."

They bypassed the billiards area, circled behind the bar, and the receptionist twisted a handle. A hidden door sprang open, revealing a descending passage. As he led the way, he turned back to explain, "There’s a new fighter today—skilled with both a narrow blade and a longsword. Won three matches already. The odds are good. You might want to check it out."

Ye Wang nodded.

The downward passage was deep and winding. Pei Qi inched closer to Ye Wang. "Bro, what kind of place is this? The billiards upstairs looked fun enough."

Ye Wang scoffed. "Pool? Boring. Let’s see something exciting. Down here, it’s life-and-death betting. Wanna watch?"

Pei Qi perked up immediately. "Hell yeah, count me in."

Once they crossed a steel door, the space opened up—a central fighting ring surrounded by VIP booths. One-way glass barriers separated the booths from the ring, allowing spectators inside to see the fight clearly while those in the ring remained blind to the audience.

Just then, a warning bell chimed three times, signaling the start of the next match.

Ye Wang slumped into a sofa as two fighters stepped into the ring.

One was a mountain of muscle, clad only in knee-length trunks. The other was tall and lean, every inch of skin covered in sleek silver-white fabric, cinched at the waist by a four-finger-wide leather belt that accentuated a sharply tapered silhouette. Loose trousers tucked into tall boots gave a clean, sharp look—but the face was hidden behind a menacing silver-white mask.

Pei Qi gripped the railing, dissatisfied. "Seriously? A mask in a fight? What’s the point?"

Ye Wang shrugged. "Underground fights. Some don’t want their identities known. Win and cross the wrong people? You’ll get jumped outside."

Pei Qi blinked. "And if they lose?"

Ye Wang shot him a glance. "Lose, and it’s over."

Pei Qi fell silent.

Ye Wang turned back, studying the masked fighter. *No way it’s that much of a coincidence.*

On the ring, the brute wielded an axe, while the slender fighter wielded a narrow longsword. The brute’s strength was monstrous—every swing of his axe left dents in the ring’s edge, the impacts shaking the ring. Pei Qi tsked. "They’re not even in the same weight class. How’s this fair? Even sumo matches pair fighters by size. That one’s screwed."

Ye Wang’s gaze remained fixed on the fight, fingers absently tracing the rim of his glass, clinking the ice inside. Suppressing an inexplicable irritation, he smirked. "Can’t even see their face, and you’re calling them pretty?"

Pei Qi nudged him. "Bro, you just don’t get it. Beauty’s an energy. Look at that waist, those legs, the sweat on their forehead, the way they hold that sword—Ow! Bro, what the hell?"

Ye Wang retracted his pinching fingers, smiling thinly. "Pick better role models, cuz. Don’t go spouting nonsense in front of Uncle and make things difficult for me."

Pei Qi grumbled sheepishly and shut up.

By the time their banter ended, dozens of exchanges had already taken place in the ring. The slender fighter planted a boot in the brute’s chest, sending him crashing off the platform, then leveled the cold blade at his temple.

Three more chimes of the warning bell signaled the end of the match.

Ye Wang let out a subtle sigh of relief, with a hint of inexplicable ease, as he raised his hand to sip his tea.

The next second, his grip on the teacup tightened abruptly.

Three bells signaled a fighter swap—a short man with a slicked-back undercut stepped onto the opposite side, yet the same fighter remained on this end.

...How many matches was he planning to fight?

Underground fight payouts weren’t small; a single match could cover living expenses for weeks. Jiang Qi wasn’t strapped for cash post-retirement, so why was he pushing himself so hard? Was he really that hard up?

Ye Wang suddenly raised his hand and called a waiter over, drawing Pei Qi’s puzzled stare.

He pointed at the lanky figure in the ring. "How many rounds has he fought?"

"This is his third."

"How many is he planning to fight?"

The server, sensing the guest’s displeasure, cautiously replied, "F-five, sir?"

Ye Wang’s frown deepened.

Five consecutive rounds—even iron men would buckle under that.

Under the harsh fluorescent glare of the basement, Ye Wang could clearly see the sweat soaking through the fighter’s lower back, his skin beneath the fabric unnaturally pale, like unglazed porcelain, from years without sunlight. The shifting muscles of his waist and abdomen traced defined lines that vanished into the black belt, the faint hollows of his waist dimples faintly visible upon closer inspection.

Ye Wang suddenly thought, *Beauty was more than looks—it was an aura.*

But the next moment, he abruptly stood up.

After three rounds, Jiang Qi was visibly exhausted, fighting recklessly, trading blow for blow. A dagger grazed his waist, leaving a streak of blood on his white attire.

The Empire’s Star that Ye Wang knew could die in the vast expanse of space or amid the crossfire of war—but he should never, *could* never, die in some back-alley brawl.

If his lifelong rival were to die or be crippled tonight, Ye Wang asked himself, it’d haunt him forever.

The next second, Jiang Qi shrugged off the pain, letting the blade pierce his flesh as he jammed his own knife toward his opponent’s throat.

During the three-chime interval, Jiang Qi took half a step back, clutching the ropes as his chest heaved, then lifted his gaze toward the dense shadows behind the ring.

One more round.

Ye Wang’s brow twitched.

As a commander, he knew every subordinate’s limits. Training required gradual progression—so did combat. Another fight was the last thing Jiang Qi needed; he needed immediate rest and treatment for his abdominal wound in a med-pod.

So, he pressed the call button again.

The server approached. "Sir, would you like a refill—"

Ye Wang: "Get your manager. Shut this down. Now."

The server hesitated. "Sir, that’s not possible. Unless there’s an emergency, the matches must proceed. Everyone signed blood waivers, so there’s no need to worry—"

Ye Wang: "I said, stop the fights. Now."

The server, clearly unused to such difficult patrons, stammered, "Sir, rules are rules—"

The same excuses looped endlessly until Ye Wang’s peripheral vision caught a dark-skinned, towering man stepping onto the ring, wielding a spear. Standing nearly two meters tall, he swung the massive spear like it weighed nothing. The referee raised the signal bell, about to strike—

Ye Wang lost his patience.

He snapped, "Where's the circuit breaker?"

When the commander smiled, he appeared charming and handsome, like an amiable, carefree rich guy. But when he wasn't smiling, his cold and stern demeanor carried immense pressure.

The server flinched and pointed behind him, "In that metal box."

Ye Wang raised his leg and kicked it.

The heavy insulated military boot collided with the metal, sparks flying. After a brief flicker, the overhead chandelier went completely dark.

The place instantly descended into chaos.

Patrons mashed the call buttons, while staff scrambled to keep order. Before Ye Wang could do anything else, he heard the referee, just a wall away, pulling the two fighters aside, "Hey, hold on for a moment. Let me call someone to fix this. Resume later."

Jiang Qi replied flatly, "Yeah."

When he didn’t have to pretend in front of Ye Wang, his voice turned cold—all that fake sweetness dropped away, leaving only a sharp, blade-like edge.

Ye Wang tsked and thought, *Still wanna go? Nah, don’t bother.*

With that in mind, he opened his communicator, pulled up a contact, and dialed directly.

"Hello, is this the chief of the 13th District Security Office in the Lower City? Yes, it's me, Pei Gu, Third District Major General. I’m here on business in the Lower City and came across some illegal gambling and fights. Not sure if they’ve paid their taxes. The address is... the name is Night Pool Hall. Yeah, that’s right. This joint pissed me off. You’ve got twenty minutes—be here in twenty minutes."

After hanging up, Pei Qi stared at him, speechless.

Shrinking into the shadows, he watched his usually unfamiliar cousin, shaking like a rabbit in a wolf’s den. "C-cousin, I-I thought we were here to have fun?"

"Who’s here to have fun?" Ye Wang lied through his teeth. "The Lower City has needed a cleanup for a long time. I’m on good terms with the 13th District Security Office. This pool hall’s accounts are a juicy score—consider it a gift from me."

"Oh... okay..." Pei Qi placed his hands obediently on his knees and sat still.

Ye Wang said, "Let’s go. Don’t sit here—it’s gross and loud. Follow me upstairs."

With the main circuit breaker destroyed, repairs would take a while. Ye Wang felt his way to the exit in the dark and climbed the spiral staircase upstairs.

Pei Qi trailed behind him, clinging pathetically to a corner of Ye Wang’s clothes, stumbling along.

Seeing the lights of the pool hall upstairs, Pei Qi sighed in relief and asked casually, "Dude, how’d you know where to go in the dark?"

Ye Wang replied, "I only needed to walk it once."

Most people relied heavily on sight. When the underground venue went dark, even if the stairs led out, they’d still flail around like headless chickens. But as a commander trained by the Federation, Ye Wang had an excellent sense of direction.

He found a seat in the booth and waited for the Security Officers to arrive.

Before they did, the door to the basement creaked open, and Jiang Qi slipped out. Since his identity couldn’t be exposed, he kept his mask low and stuck to the shadows, slipping toward the back exit.

But after just a few steps, Ye Wang saw him retreat. Jiang Qi casually tossed on a staff shirt from the hall to hide the bloodstains, then leaned over a pool table, pretending to take a shot.

From a distance, Ye Wang observed—Jiang Qi’s aim was impeccable, his movements sharp. The trajectory of the cue ball was as precise and graceful as his marksmanship, like a meticulous mathematical calculation.

*He’s trying to blend in as a staff member.*

Thirty seconds later, Ye Wang understood why Jiang Qi had retreated. Seven or eight Security Officers entered through both the front and back doors, locking the place down. The owner rushed forward with a cry, only to be brushed off by the head cop.

The security officer said something, and the owner gave a wry smile before reluctantly standing up to lead them toward the staircase.

This group of officers was primarily here to crack down on the underground fighting ring. The questionable pool activities upstairs weren’t their concern, so the group noisily headed downstairs.

Ye Wang noticed Jiang Qi’s stiffened back relax slightly, as if relieved.

If Jiang Qi’s current identity were exposed for participating in illegal fights, his Empire psych eval would be compromised, and this rare moment of respite would likely be revoked.

Most of the security officers had gone underground, leaving only a few on guard. The pool players let their guard down again, the atmosphere lively once more—though their movements were noticeably more restrained, no longer daring to touch the servers.

But inevitably, someone had drunk too much and grew increasingly reckless.

The flashy rich guy Ye Wang had seen earlier, decked out in gold chains and rings, staggered drunkenly, shoving aside the server beside him as if dissatisfied. His gaze swept over Jiang Qi’s pale fingers before he suddenly waved a hand. “You there, server—come here.”

Jiang Qi paused mid-motion.

The flashy rich guy banged the table angrily. “Hey, you! I told you to come over—are you deaf?”

His booming voice cut through the quiet pool area. In an instant, all eyes turned toward them. The security officers, noticing Jiang Qi’s masked face, started whispering among themselves, finding him suspicious and debating whether to detain him.

Disgust and impatience flickered across Jiang Qi’s brow, but he had no choice but to set down his cue, tense his body, and walk toward the flashy rich guy.

Ye Wang set down his glass.

Jiang Qi had just suffered a knife wound. Straining his body like this—who knew if the wound had reopened?

He tapped the table lightly, signaling a server. “Pull that guy with the obnoxious gold chain away.” Then, eyeing the restless security officers, he pointed distantly at Jiang Qi and added, “Go tell him I’d like to buy him a drink. Ask him to come over.”