Chapter Fifty-Two: Stirring Up Trouble

Today, however, he discovered that Zhou Qinglian had a pretty boy by her side. He simply couldn’t understand—if Zhou Qinglian wanted a lover, shouldn’t she choose someone strong and robust like himself? Why pick such a frail, delicate young man? And this pretty boy was nothing special, not handsome nor ugly, just utterly ordinary. What could Zhou Qinglian possibly see in him?

Could it be that Zhou Qinglian actually liked this type?

His heart was already filled with resentment, and now, having his pride wounded by such a kept man only fueled his rage further.

Yet, in front of Zhou Qinglian, he couldn’t do anything to this pretty boy. After all, his strength still fell short compared to hers.

“You’re pretty good,” Long Worm said through gritted teeth.

Xiao Cheng simply smiled and ignored him.

Zhou Qinglian saw right through Long Worm’s petty schemes and didn’t care in the slightest. Whatever happened between her and Xiao Cheng was none of Long Worm’s business. If she wanted to be with someone, that was her prerogative. As for his feelings for her—well, that was his own concern, not hers.

Besides, she and Xiao Cheng had known each other for years, long before the Qinglian Society even existed. In terms of seniority, Long Worm wasn’t even in the running.

Zhou Qinglian ordered a private room to be opened, linking her arm with Xiao Cheng’s as they slipped inside. When she saw Long Worm shamelessly trailing behind, her face darkened. “Worm, go keep an eye on the floor.”

Long Worm paused, anger flaring within him. Did he not even have the right to enter the private room? Watch the floor—for what? Who would dare stir up trouble in the Qinglian Society’s territory?

He nodded reluctantly, his expression cold and unreadable.

Inside, the private room was designed for dining and karaoke—a spacious, elegant setting. Once the door was closed, the noise from outside vanished, the soundproofing impeccable.

No sooner had they sat than Zhou Qinglian turned to Xiao Cheng and said, “That Long Worm is a brute, don’t let him bother you. Come, sing a song with your sister!”

Zhou Qinglian wasn’t at all worried about Long Worm doing anything to Xiao Cheng. On the contrary, she was more concerned that Xiao Cheng might accidentally kill Long Worm.

In the past, Xiao Cheng was a good-for-nothing playboy, and she would have worried for his safety. But now, she had a good sense of his ability—he was even stronger than she was. Otherwise, how could he have killed Xiao Guowei, who was more powerful than herself?

Although Xiao Cheng had changed a great deal, Zhou Qinglian still believed he remained someone who never suffered injustice and always repaid a grudge—a leopard may change its spots, but its nature remains.

She handed him the microphone as she spoke. Xiao Cheng took it with a smile, thinking her concern unnecessary.

He admitted he was a vengeful person, but he was no longer who he used to be. His outlook and perspective had reached a height few could imagine. Even the Xiao family, a force that seemed insurmountable to others, was nothing in his eyes—let alone a petty thug like Long Worm. In his mind, Long Worm was just that—a worm.

Zhou Qinglian chose Teresa Teng’s “Goodbye My Love,” and sang it with such tragic melancholy that Xiao Cheng couldn’t help but marvel—truly, high art finds few admirers. Eight out of ten lines went off-key, and she even sang the wrong lyrics once.

Eventually, Xiao Cheng couldn’t endure the musical torment any longer and switched songs, earning a resentful glare from Zhou Qinglian. The next song turned out to be “The Boatman’s Love.”

To many born after the nineties, this was an unfamiliar song, but to Xiao Cheng, it was all too well known—Zhou Qinglian sang it every time. If her previous performance was merely laughable, her rendition of this song was truly lethal—an invisible weapon of destruction.

“Qinglian, let’s just be friends if we don’t sing…” he pleaded.

“What do you know? I’m not just singing, I’m expressing the desolation of the ages! ‘The Yangtze River flows eastward, washing away heroes; right and wrong, success and failure, all turn to nothing in the blink of an eye. The green hills remain, as many sunsets pass…’” Zhou Qinglian was so enthused that she sang these lines over the accompaniment of “The Boatman’s Love.”

What Xiao Cheng liked most about her was just this free-spiritedness—the way she did whatever she liked, whenever she liked. But this couldn’t go on forever.

Zhou Qinglian sang for an entire hour, turning the world of music on its head—a fine young woman torturing song after song.

Suddenly, the door burst open and a young man with a scar across his face entered. Xiao Cheng saw him as a savior.

At that moment, Zhou Qinglian stood on the coffee table in razor-sharp heels, mercilessly butchering the famed “A Laugh in the Sea.”

Xiao Cheng seized the opportunity to mute the microphone and breathed a sigh of relief.

“Sister Qinglian, someone’s causing trouble!” The young man, realizing he had come at the wrong time, kept his head bowed, not daring to meet her gaze.

“Wasn’t Worm supposed to be watching the floor?” Zhou Qinglian, her mood interrupted, was clearly displeased.

“Uh… they specifically requested to see you.”

“Who are they?” Zhou Qinglian frowned. Only a handful of people in Shanghai had the right to ask for her by name—this wouldn’t be simple.

“It’s Yan Hongde, the head of Hongde Hall.”

“Yan Hongde? What brings him here?”

“Come, take me to see for myself. I’d like to see what he’s up to,” she declared.

Yan Hongde was a bit stronger than she was, but she felt no fear. Thanks to the inner skills Xiao Cheng taught her, her strength had improved recently. And even if she wasn’t a match for him, Xiao Cheng was by her side—what did she have to worry about, with such a capable man?

She stole a glance at Xiao Cheng. She didn’t know when it happened, but she had begun to rely on him. Where once she thought of him as someone who needed her protection, now he was her source of reassurance, giving her a newfound sense of security.

It was a happy feeling…

Xiao Cheng was unaware of Zhou Qinglian’s growing dependence on him. In truth, his strength was not as extraordinary as she imagined—he was about her equal.

He was only at the seventh level of the Foundation Establishment stage; in the world of cultivation, he had barely crossed the threshold.

Accompanying Zhou Qinglian to the main hall, he immediately sensed the tension—two groups facing off, swords drawn.

Trouble on opening day—if they couldn’t settle this, it would cast a long shadow over future business. No one wants to frequent a place where there’s no sense of security.