While the clerk was making coffee for the customer, the delivery boy had already rattled off the entire list in no time, finished his job, and was now leaning against the counter waiting for some water, asking absentmindedly, “Pretty lady, do you know which building ‘Chengguang Mansion’ is in?”

“Chengguang Mansion?” The clerk thought it sounded familiar but couldn’t recall, so she shook her head. “No idea. Why do you ask?”

“Oh…” The delivery boy lowered his head and scratched the back of his neck. “It’s nothing, I just heard they might be hiring couriers over there.”

The clerk, a bit careless, didn’t notice his guilty little gesture. While putting a lid on the paper cup, she casually said, “I’ll ask someone for you later—sir, here’s your drink, careful, it’s hot.”

The customer buying coffee must have been bored; he glanced lazily at the young delivery boy and chimed in, “Chengguang Mansion isn’t in the office building, it’s the private club in the back. What, are they hiring couriers? Want me to take you there on my way?”

The clerk finally sensed something was off and looked up at the delivery boy suspiciously. “Private club?”

Seeing his lie exposed on the spot, the delivery boy made a face, grabbed his iced water and delivery slip, and dashed off.

Behind the brightly lit central business district in the East District lay vast stretches of man-made greenery and landscaping. Walk a kilometer in, and you’d see the silhouettes of arrogant luxury residences clustered at the heart of the artificial scenery—they insisted on building homes here because “seclusion” itself isn’t valuable, but “peace and quiet in the midst of bustle” is.

All sorts of lavish venues with different vibes were arranged in layers around the landscape, with “style” as the axis: the more expensive ones inside, the cheaper ones closer to the street.

The most expensive, most exclusive, and most “stylish” of them all was “Chengguang Mansion.”

The owner here wasn’t just rich, but also quite accomplished in the art of pretension. The courtyard was renovated in a retro style, at first glance looking like a protected heritage site. It had just been completed, and the boss, eager to show off, had invited a bunch of wealthy and influential friends to liven up the place. Some came to network, some to talk business, some just to show support, and quite a few were drawn by the buzz, hoping to use their looks and bodies as tickets in. The parking lot was packed with luxury cars, and the whole place was a raucous stage for fame and fortune.

By the time Edward Bennett strolled over, he’d already finished a cup of sickeningly sweet coffee. From a distance, he could hear the music and voices coming from the courtyard. He casually tossed his empty cup into a roadside trash bin and heard someone nearby blow a tuneless whistle: “Mr. Bennett, over here!”

Edward Bennett turned his head and saw a group of idle rich kids not far away. The one in front was especially trendy, decked out in all sorts of flashy accessories—it was one of his cronies, David Clark.

Edward Bennett walked over. “Trying to embarrass me?”

“Who’d dare embarrass you?” David Clark slung an arm boldly around Edward Bennett’s shoulders. “I saw your car arrive ages ago, been waiting here forever. Where’d you go? And what’s with this outfit, did you just sign a bilateral trade agreement with the US president?”

Edward Bennett didn’t even lift his eyelids. “Get lost.”

David Clark obediently shut up for a full minute, but then couldn’t hold it in: “No way, you look way too awkward like this, like I’m out with my dad. How are we supposed to pick up girls later?”

Edward Bennett paused, then stuck out a finger to hook his glasses off and hung them on David Clark’s collar. Next, he shrugged off his suit jacket, rolled up his shirt sleeves, and started unbuttoning.

He undid four buttons in a row, revealing a large, inscrutable tattoo on his chest, then ran a hand through his hair to mess it up. He grabbed David Clark’s hand and pulled off three chunky rings, slipping them onto his own fingers. “How about now, son?”

Even David Clark, who fancied himself worldly, was dazzled by this on-the-spot transformation.

Edward Bennett was the ringleader of their group of rich kids, because the others all had fathers watching over them—they were all “princelings.” But Edward Jr. Bennett had lost his mother young, and just after he came of age, his father was left in a vegetative state by a car accident. Now, he’d “ascended the throne” early, a notch above the rest.

He had plenty of money and no one to discipline him, so naturally he’d grown into a top-tier playboy—luckily, he had no interest in playing the “business prodigy,” and was fairly proper when it came to serious matters. He didn’t dabble in shady investments, just burned through his fortune with pure “dissipation,” and for now, there was still plenty left to burn.

But lately, for some reason, he hadn’t been out partying for a while, as if he was thinking of “washing his hands of the game.”

Edward Bennett stuck his hands in his pockets and walked a few steps forward. “Just so we’re clear, I’m only here to show my face tonight. I’m leaving at midnight.”

David Clark: “Mr. Bennett Sr., that’s no fun.”

A bunch of playboys leaving before the middle of the night—might as well not have come at all.

Edward Bennett said nothing.

David Clark asked, “Why?”

“I’m seriously and earnestly pursuing a wife,” Edward Bennett said offhandedly. “Is it appropriate to party and chase girls at the same time? It’s not classy.”