Chapter 1575 - 756-2

Chapter 1575: Chapter 756-2

It was as if it were the oldest heartbeat in this world, echoing steadily beneath the deep night sky.

.........

In the top luxury suite of a hotel in East Capital Center.

The heavy blackout curtains were drawn apart on both sides, and outside the huge floor‑to‑ceiling window was the dazzling neon of the prosperous city.

The room was carpeted with hand‑woven wool; stepping on it made no sound at all.

The central air‑conditioning vents sent out a mild breeze at just the right temperature, and the air was suffused with a faint fragrance.

On the spacious genuine leather sofa sat a man.

He looked to be around thirty, with short brown hair slicked back neatly with styling gel.

His facial contours were very deep, eye sockets sunken, and beneath his high nose bridge was a pair of slightly thin lips.

Under the glow of the crystal chandelier overhead, the skin exposed to the light showed a deathly pallor that hadn’t seen sunlight for a long time, carrying a sickliness that was not quite human.

The man was dressed in a meticulously tailored, jet‑black haute couture suit. He wore no tie, and the top two buttons of his shirt were left casually undone.

Following the open collar downward, on that pale collarbone was a black tattoo of a raptor with wings spread as if about to take flight.

At this moment, he held a goblet in his right hand, wrist gently swirling.

There were no ice cubes in the glass, only half a cup of thick, dark‑red liquid.

With the motion of his hand, the liquid left streaks of dark red along the inner wall of the transparent glass.

Refracted by the light, it gave off a lurid hue, like freshly drawn blood.

On the wall ahead, a sixty‑five‑inch LCD television glowed.

The image on the screen kept switching, currently playing an evening news program.

The clear, standard diction of the female anchor reverberated through the vast suite, roughly summarizing East Capital’s headline news of the week.

The man’s expression was slack, as he lowered his head and took a sip of the liquid in the glass, his Adam’s apple sliding slightly.

Suddenly, the news teaser flashed by, and the image cut to a studio hall drenched in brilliant lights.

At the center of the stage, a young girl was gripping a microphone and belting out a song, while the glow sticks in the audience below merged into a shimmering sea.

"And now from our station: the much‑anticipated national New Talent Singing Contest qualifying final has successfully concluded tonight."

The news host’s voice cut in right on cue, carrying just the right amount of enthusiasm:

"As the most gold‑plated and largest top‑tier star‑making event in the country, this year’s contest has drawn tens of thousands of contestants to battle through the open auditions."

"Among the many highly capable competitors tonight, contestant Zhou Xiumei, with her solid vocal skills and highly infectious stage presence, successfully took first place in the qualifying final, becoming the biggest favorite for this year’s championship and setting the highest off‑site audience voting record in the contest’s history..."

The man hadn’t been paying much attention; his gaze merely swept across the screen in passing.

The very next second, the news image cut to the front row of the audience.

The camera panned over the cheering crowd and paused for a brief close‑up.

In the center of the frame sat a young man with handsome features and a steady air about him.

He was seated in the exclusive section for family and friends, head tilted up toward Zhou Xiumei on stage, smiling as he clapped.

The specially arranged seating, coupled with the close‑up shot given by the director, was enough to show that the two shared a deep connection.

The man’s gaze caught that figure; the wrist swirling the glass suddenly froze, and his face changed abruptly.

The red liquid in the glass surged with inertia, nearly sloshing over the rim.

His body, which had been reclining against the back of the sofa, lunged forward.

The sudden shift in weight made the metal frame beneath the leather sofa emit a piercing creak.

But he paid no heed to that.

Those sunken eyes narrowed slightly, pupils like a snake locking onto its prey, fixing unrelentingly on the young man’s face on the screen.

The close‑up held for only a second before the television image cut away, the news broadcast continuing.

"The contest committee has announced that the grand final will officially begin on the twenty‑third of this month. Before that, the twenty contestants who have successfully advanced will proceed together to a designated location for a two‑week closed training camp."

"During the camp, four top industry mentors will lead the teams, providing comprehensive professional coaching in vocal performance, physicality, and stage presence."

"Our station will dispatch a filming crew to follow the entire process, documenting the contestants’ transformational journey and broadcasting it in reality‑show format."

The footage then cut, right on cue, to an aerial shot of a scenic landscape.

The female anchor’s voice took on a slightly more promotional tone:

"This time the training camp will be held at the Golden City Resort in the West Mountain Scenic Area. Nestled against the mountains and beside the water, the environment is serene. It not only boasts top-tier leisure facilities, but is also equipped with professional studios and rehearsal rooms..."

The man listened to the news anchor’s lines, and the tense muscles in his face slowly relaxed.

He leaned back again, his spine pressing against the sofa cushion.

His gaze drifted over the caption "West Mountain Golden City Resort" at the bottom of the screen. The corners of his mouth gradually pulled to both sides, hooking into a faintly vicious smile.

The man set his wine glass down on the marble coffee table in front of him. The glass base knocked against the tabletop, giving off a crisp little clink.

"I’ve got an idea..."

He muttered under his breath, his voice carrying a barely contained excitement.

Then he reached out, fished a black phone from the inner pocket of his suit, his thumb deftly pressing a string of numbers, and raised the receiver to his ear.

.........

The night market in the urban village was different from the commercial district.

After ten in the evening, it was still packed and noisy, the bustle undiminished.

On both sides of the narrow, cramped alleyways, two-wheeled pushcarts and red plastic canopies were crammed in dense rows.

All kinds of dialect hawking cries and shouts from people playing drinking games tangled together, rising and falling.

The back kitchen of a cheap diner opened straight onto the street, gas stoves roaring, blue and red flames intertwined and shooting half a meter high.

The cook in short sleeves was drenched in sweat. He gripped a big iron wok in both hands, flipping it back and forth, the iron ladle knocking against the rim with crisp clanks.

The pungent chili mixed with the heavy, stir-fried oil aroma, billowing out through the grease-coated exhaust fan on the wall, rushing straight at pedestrians’ mouths and noses.

The private room at the very back of the restaurant had its door shut tight, shutting out most of the noise outside.

A brass hotpot sat in the center of the round table, red oil broth violently bubbling.

Milky steam surged upward, blurring the low-watt incandescent bulb overhead.

The table was piled with large plates of sliced meat, tripe, and fresh fish fillets, along with all kinds of side dishes.

Five men and women sat around the table, eating with gusto.

They ate fast, fine beads of sweat breaking out on their foreheads and the tips of their noses.

Every so often someone would stop, smack their lips, yank over the cheap paper napkins from the table and roughly wipe their face.

But throughout the meal, the five of them tacitly refrained from any idle chatter.

Their glasses were filled only with barley tea and boiled water; they didn’t touch a single drop of alcohol.

The four men and one woman varied in height and build, yet every movement carried a lean, hardened aura, like people trained by long stretches of crawling and grinding out in the wild.

In the main seat sat a middle-aged man in an ordinary gray jacket.

A rimless pair of glasses perched on his nose, the lenses slightly veiling the trace of bandit-like fierceness hidden between his brows.

A black briefcase was placed beside his chair, making him look just like an ordinary office worker here for a casual group meal.

Holding his rice bowl in one hand, chewing his food, he kept his eyes fixed intently on the old TV hanging in the corner of the wall.

The screen was replaying the evening news, recounting some recent major events in East Capital.

Beside him sat a woman with ear-length short hair. Her looks were average, but her hands were exceptionally quick.

She kept using a slotted spoon to fish cooked meat slices out of the boiling red broth, draining off the soup and carefully placing them in the middle-aged man’s bowl.

Across from them, two burly men with crew cuts had their sleeves rolled up, exposing thick forearms.

Their dark skin was covered with scars of varying depth.

The two kept their heads down, wolfing food, their mouths stuffed full, chopsticks moving so fast over the plates they left afterimages.

The last one, a young man with eye-catching dyed yellow hair, was lanky and sharp-eyed.

He had pulled over a folding chair and sat alone in the seat closest to the private room door.

He seemed to be eating the least, a toothpick dangling from his mouth, his eyes constantly flicking toward the crack behind the door.

It was a habit honed by long exposure to danger, like a jackal ready at any moment to dart into the jungle, his vigilance unnaturally high.

Bzz, bzz, bzz——

Just then, the phone in the briefcase in the corner suddenly started vibrating.

The two burly men who’d been gulping down food a second earlier froze mid-bite, raising their heads in unison.

The yellow-haired guy by the door snapped upright, his right hand instinctively reaching toward his waist.