The ringtone sounded a few times before stopping, followed by a "ding," signaling an incoming message. Follow current novᴇls on novｅlfire.net
"This person is looking for you; they must have something important," Yan Ke said casually.
Yan Song stood in front of the window, his silhouette unmoved.
"Ajiu, be good. I’ll come play with you when I have time. Bye-bye, good night," Yan Ke said reluctantly as he left.
Ah Jiu slowly crawled towards Yan Song’s feet, hooking his claws into the hem of his trousers, and let out a weak meow.
Yan Song looked down at those green eyes, squatted down, and patted its tiny head with a smile, "Little guy, your owner is a heartless thing, and yet you still think of her."
"What do you want to say?"
Yan Song laughed at himself, "Talking to a cat, how silly of me."
He was about to go take a shower and casually picked up his phone to glance at it.
The home screen showed half of a text message.
At first, he thought it was a sales ad and didn’t pay attention, but just as he was about to put the phone down, something occurred to him, and he opened it.
The hand holding the phone suddenly tightened, a faint glint crossed his eyes, and his thin lips pressed together firmly.
He snatched up his jacket and wallet and dashed out like the wind.
Uncle Yan was preparing to sleep when suddenly someone knocked on his door. He got up slowly, "I’m coming, I’m coming."
Upon opening the door, there stood Yan Song, his presence chilly, leaving Uncle Yan puzzled, "Young Master, it’s so late...."
"Give me a set of car keys," Yan Song said, his tone both cold and urgent.
"I said, give me a set of car keys," Yan Song repeated.
"Young Master, it’s so late; are you going to drive out?"
Seeing that Yan Song was obviously out of patience, Uncle Yan hurriedly handed him a set of car keys, "This is the gift the lady had prepared for your eighteenth birthday gift. I’ll just...."
Taking the keys, Yan Song turned and walked away.
From behind him came Uncle Yan’s rambling voice, "Young Master, you haven’t got your driver’s license yet. Be careful when you drive." He thought to himself that the rich second generation these days all liked to race cars. Young Master wouldn’t be going racing with those street racer gangs, would he?
Yan Song drove the sports car through the night, swift as lightning, but unfortunately, tonight, of all nights, there was a drunk driving checkpoint. Yan Song’s hands gripped the steering wheel as he darted through the police cordon.
A group of traffic officers scrambled out of the way, watching the tail of the sports car, which was a new unlicensed vehicle, vanish into the night.
"Shit, these rich kids are getting bolder, daring to drive without a plate and blatantly challenging the police. This is too much! Check the surveillance, I want this person found," one of them said.
Yan Song couldn’t care about anything else; all he could think about was that text message.
Whether it was real or fake, he had to go there, even if it might be a trap, he couldn’t ignore it.
He repeated the name over and over, his eyes focused sharply on the road ahead, his foot pressed on the accelerator as the car shot through the night like an arrow.
The car had just stopped at the entrance of the hotel when Yan Song leapt out and hurried into the hotel.
The hotel security, used to sizing up guests, did not dare to stop him after seeing the sports car, and Yan Song entered the hotel lobby as if it were empty.
He approached the front desk, pulled out his ID and bank card, and handed them over, "A presidential suite."
The staff member, captivated by the young man’s striking appearance and impressive aura, was entranced until he frowned at her, snapping her back to reality.
"I apologize, sir, but the presidential suite is fully booked. We have other suites available in our hotel if you’d like...."
Yan Song randomly chose a suite, and the staff member completed his check-in, "Is there anything else I can assist you with, sir?"
Yan Song instantly understood, gave the staff member a chilling glare, and the person shrank back, not daring to utter another word.
Yan Song turned and strode away.
He entered the elevator and pressed for the top floor directly.
Yan Song twisted his neck, cracking his knuckles loudly, his teeth clenched, muscles tensed all over his body.
The elevator doors opened directly opposite the corridor, where in the dim light, two black-clothed bodyguards stood by a door.
Yan Song walked towards them with an expressionless face.
The two men immediately blocked Yan Song, asking cautiously, "Who’s there?"
Yan Song moved as fast as lightning, and before the bodyguards could react, they were already down.
Wiping his hands with a handkerchief, Yan Song stepped coldly over the two men on the ground.
He knocked on the room door.
Yan Song had never found time as excruciating as now, telling himself that no matter what he saw, he must remain calm.
Soon, footsteps came from inside the room, heavy and forceful, belonging to a strong man.