David Clark looked at his shirt and long hair billowing in the night wind. Aside from being flashy, he really couldn’t see what was so impressive about him. He quickened his pace to catch up and said, “You’re crazy. There’s a whole dense forest right there, but you insist on picking an old, scraggly tree…”

Edward Bennett suddenly turned his head and gave David Clark a cold glance.

He had a strangely contradictory aura about him—when he smiled, he was all charm and allure, but the moment he put on a serious face, that sharp, stern air would slip seamlessly into place, his gaze almost intimidating.

David Clark’s words faltered, and he just couldn’t finish his sentence. He raised his hand and slapped himself on the face. “Pah, I misspoke. I’ll definitely apologize to your wife in person another day.”

The word “wife” inexplicably pleased Edward Bennett. The tight line of his lips softened, and he waved his hand, magnanimously letting the matter drop.

David Clark rolled his eyes to the heavens, feeling like his lord had been bewitched by a temptress and the country was doomed.

Mr. Bennett Sr. was true to his word. As soon as the clock struck twelve, he left right on time, like Cinderella hearing the chime.

He wove through the crowd of demons and monsters, dodged a brainless drunk holding up a glass of champagne and showering him with praise, and went to the grove to find David Clark.

David Clark was in the middle of discussing the harmony of life with a beautiful woman, the two of them deep in animated conversation, oblivious to the world.

The drunk, slurring his words, said, “Get rich, get promoted, and your dad dies—Mr. Bennett Sr., you’re the real winner in life!”

“Thanks, but my dad’s still alive.” Edward Bennett nodded politely, then leaned over to ask David Clark, “What are you up to?”

David Clark was shameless as ever. He whistled at him, “Mr. Bennett Sr., want to join us?”

“No,” Edward Bennett didn’t break stride. “If you see my sexy body in a minute and can’t control yourself, that’d be embarrassing if word got out, right, beautiful? I’m off.”

With that, he ignored David Clark’s noisy shouts behind him and strode quickly down the gravel path, steady and unshaken, not at all like someone who’d been drinking all night.

By the time he reached the parking lot, he’d already buttoned his shirt back up, called for a designated driver, and was leaning against a big locust tree to wait.

In Yancheng, at the turn of spring and summer, the air was always filled with the scent of locust blossoms. It would first drift out from some hidden corner, faint and elusive, easily masked by a whiff of car exhaust, but if left undisturbed for a while, it would quietly reemerge on its own.

From afar, the music from Chengguang Mansion was mixed with laughter and noise. Edward Bennett squinted back for a glance and saw a group of young women playing games with a few balding, pot-bellied “veteran fresh meats.”

At this hour, even in Nanping East District, most shops had closed. The true and fake gentlemen who came to network and hand out business cards would usually leave before midnight, and those who remained all tacitly understood—they were about to take part in the upcoming “debauchery” segment.

Edward Bennett plucked a handful of small white flowers from the tree, blew off the dust, and put them in his mouth to chew slowly. Bored, he flipped open his contacts, his finger hovering over “Officer Harris” for a moment before realizing how late it was and giving up.

He stood quietly for a while, leisurely whistling a tune with the sweetness of locust blossoms in his mouth.

Ten minutes later, the designated driver arrived, nervously driving Edward Jr. Bennett’s fierce little sports car onto Nanping Avenue.

Edward Bennett leaned back in the passenger seat with his eyes closed, resting. An audiobook was playing from his phone, a clear male voice reading at an even pace: “…Julien replied, ‘I have some hidden enemies.’…”

The driver was a college student working part-time, rather cynical, and thought Edward Bennett was either a rich playboy or a minor celebrity with plastic surgery. Suddenly hearing this, he couldn’t help but glance at him in surprise.

Just then, a car with its high beams on approached from the opposite direction, nearly blinding the driver. He cursed under his breath, “What’s wrong with you?” and instinctively swerved the wheel. The car with the “searchlight” sped past them.

The driver’s vision was still a bit blurry, so he didn’t see what kind of car it was. Unable to decide whether to grumble “So what if you’re rich” or “If you’re a rude pauper, don’t drive,” he felt a bit regretful. Then he heard a “thud” and, glancing over, saw that his employer’s phone had slipped from his loosely held hand.

The audio continued: “…‘A road does not lose its beauty just because it is lined with thorns. The traveler keeps moving forward, leaving those hateful thorns to wither away.’…”

Edward Bennett was fast asleep, clearly using this as a lullaby.

The driver looked away expressionlessly.

Tch, just as I thought—flashy on the outside, empty on the inside.

The young driver let his mind wander in the late night as he steadily drove down the straight Nanping Avenue. Meanwhile, the car that had just blinded him turned off its headlights after they’d gone far, silently turned a corner, and slipped smoothly into the quiet West District.

Close to 1 a.m., the streetlights that had been flickering all night finally gave out, and a stray cat patrolling its territory leapt onto the wall.

Suddenly, it let out a yowl, its fur standing on end.