At that exact moment!

The lobby lights died, pinched out like a candle between cold fingers.

The whole Yuehong Grand Hotel drowned in ink-darkness, moon blotted by a sudden storm.

In the center, the crystal chandelier tore free and fell; danger slammed first into Qingyu Si and Huaiyue Qin beneath its glittering belly.

Nana Toki and Yiwei Yang had been watching for snags; when the lights snapped off and crystal shattered, both moved in the same heartbeat.

“Young Lady!”

“Yueyue, watch out!”

Yiwei went for Huaiyue; Nana went for Qingyu—clean split, no one in the way.

But Nana didn’t feel like playing fair; a fat chance she’d waste the opening to beat that scumbag Protagonist Lord.

She yanked Qingyu into her arms, spun, skirt flicking like a silk banner, and—quiet as a fox—she kicked the Protagonist Lord racing toward Huaiyue.

Smack!

Ah!

Riiiip—scrrrape!

Yiwei, still shielding Huaiyue and not yet clear of the falling ice-glass, got booted into a carpet of pulverized crystal shards.

His body was strengthened by the System, but flesh is still flesh; the sting of torn skin burned like nettles.

“Shutong An!”

Huaiyue scrambled out of the glittering debris, hauled the jaw-clenched Yiwei up, and shot Nana a knife-edged glare. “Why did you kick Yiwei!”

It should’ve been simple—Yiwei saves Huaiyue, Nana saves Qingyu, debts even.

Nana played it dirty, a blindside in the smoke.

Of course Huaiyue’s temper flared, hot as charcoal under silk.

“Hey, Miss Qin, don’t throw wild blame. Mr. Yang was too slow, couldn’t clear the drop; I gave him a hand. Who here doesn’t know Shutong An lives to help?”

Nana lifted the hem of her maid skirt and dipped a neat curtsy. “First time this maid tried philanthropy. Misjudged the force—do forgive.”

The room went blank and speechless, like fish under ice.

Was the Si Family’s maid radioactive? And seriously—who here even knows her?

“It’s fine, Yueyue. Just scratches.”

Yiwei, bristling with crystal like a hedgehog, climbed up and offered a wan smile, spring breeze painted over pain. “You’re okay—that’s what matters.”

Even now, he didn’t forget to flirt, honey on a blade.

From a distance, Nana and Qingyu both rolled their eyes, two cool moons sliding behind clouds.

What a beast wrapped in a tailored suit.

Rumble…

Rumble…

At the back, Zixia Chen caught the window with a sudden glance; a thin ring needled her ears, like cicadas in winter.

While she wondered, the softly trembling panes rattled hard, river stones in a flood.

The roar swelled from far to near; before anyone in the hotel could react, the wind slapped Zixia’s face, sharp as a cold wave.

Outside, a pitch-black helicopter hung like a hawk with folded wings.

Crack…

Crack…

Sssssss…

“Careful!”

Zixia noticed the anomaly too late; no time for prep, no way to brace.

Gas canisters shattered the glass and tumbled in, glug-glugging across the floor, belching thick white smoke like valley fog.

At the same time, shadows veiled by the smoke surged from all sides toward Qingyu in the center, wolves converging on a deer.

“Move! Protect the Si Family’s young lady!”

Zixia whipped a razor roundhouse and launched the nearest man, a leaf on a gust.

Men in suits around her sprang up, charging the black-market raiders like tide against rocks.

“Here, Young Lady—put this on.”

Tears streamed from Qingyu’s smoke-stung eyes; then, from nowhere, a gas mask settled into her hands.

She looked up. A maid in a ponytail stood before her, masked, steady as a pine in snow.

“This isn’t safe. We need to move.”

Nana dropped a raider with one kick, buckled the mask onto Qingyu, and pulled her to run.

Whoosh—

Whoosh—

Clatter, clatter!

Two black ropes spilled from the helicopter above Yuehong.

A dozen armored giants—nearly two meters tall, shields up like iron doors—zipped down the lines and blocked Nana’s retreat, neat as soldiers closing a gate.

“Shit.”

Their agility was knife-clean, their gear too good; Nana didn’t even hesitate. She spun, dragged Qingyu’s hand, and dove deeper into the hotel like a fish slipping under reeds.

The most baffled was Huaiyue, coughing in the tear gas, anger and confusion tangling like thorns.

She’d ordered the black-market kidnappers to kill the lights and grab the target. Who added tear gas and smoke?

She tore a strip of cloth over her mouth and nose and turned to find Yiwei.

A tall black figure slammed into her, knocking her to the floor like a tree dropped in a storm.

One glance through the stranger’s glass mask, and ice knifed down her spine, winter racing straight for her skull.

In those eyes, Huaiyue saw naked, unfiltered killing intent—no veil, no mercy.

For an instant, she believed she would die, life snuffed like a paper lamp in a gale.

But his target wasn’t Huaiyue; a sidelong look, and he vanished into the white smoke again, ghost-footed.

As if he’d never existed.

Inside, Nana tugged Qingyu in zigzags, a nameless fire caged inside her chest, frustration beating like wings.

She glanced back, again and again. In the dense white, black silhouettes hovered, closing in slow as a tide, patient as hunters.

Their pace was unhurried and fatal, like fate catching up no matter how you thrash.

“Careful!”

Qingyu shouted as a shadow burst from Nana’s front-left, but the warning came late.

A fist the size of half a bowl smashed into Nana’s masked face, a cannonball on flesh.

“Ugh…”

Crack—crack crack!

A dull grunt, and Nana flew like a cut kite, crashing to the floor meters behind Qingyu.

“Shutong!”

Qingyu cried out, racing to her side, lifting Nana, all her proud, cool poise blown away like ash.

Her beautiful face was flooded with panic, anxiety, fear—a lake churned by wind.

She saw Nana’s gas mask split and half-ruined, teeth clenching around a tremor in her voice.

Cough, cough!

Blood, bright as cinnabar, slid from Nana’s brow and lips; she wiped it rough, caught Qingyu’s arm, and hauled herself up, feral as a cornered lynx.

Clack.

She tore off the remaining half-mask and stared coldly at the ring of armored fighters, eyes like blades in frost.

Contempt coiled hot in her chest; thousands of years as a god, and now, as a mortal, she’d lost some habits.

“Come.”

Just one word, sharp as a gong.

She set Qingyu behind her, planted her boots, raised both fists—pure challenge, ready to trade flesh for steel.

The armored men found it amusing; laughter puffed under their masks like smoke.

They shared a look. The one who’d sucker-punched her stepped forward, lunging, arms wide—a tiger pounce in iron.

He came like a human tank, mass roaring, intent to crush.

Nana slipped aside in a swallow’s sweep and answered with a lightning-fast whip kick to his spine.

Smack!

The slap echoed through the hall; the heavy staggered, legs unsure, footing frayed like old rope.

With that force, she could break rebar; his armor didn’t even scuff.

She’d even swapped into fight boots today, leather hungry for impact.

The giant swayed; Nana didn’t fume. She pressed in, relentless as rain on tile.

She grabbed an uneven black rod from nowhere and cracked it down on his masked head, a night stick turned thunderbolt.

Another thump boomed; the vanguard toppled, head swimming, world tilting.

Boom!

The sharp, sudden blast—like detonated powder—made everyone in the hotel jump, hearts skittering.

The remaining heavies recoiled a step, uneasy glints behind glass, caution pricking like needles.

“What, not coming?”

Nana slung the ugly rod over her shoulder, brown boots pinning the fallen heavy’s chest—hunter’s foot on boar.

Clack-clack…

Ting! Ting!

She racked and chambered in one fluid motion; two fat shells popped free from the rod and rang on the floor, bright as bells.

Only then did the armored men finally see what the “stick” in Nana’s hands truly was.