Though the three had questionable morals and deserved a lesson, dying over it was far too harsh.

Zhong Cheng wasn’t a saint, but he wasn’t evil either. Raised with modern values, his conscience would’ve haunted him had he stood by and let them die.

*See injustice? Speak up. Time to act? Step in.* Prevent tragedy.

“Who the hell are you to butt in?”

“Can’t you see the young lady’s just shy? Mind your own business.”

“Yeah, stop playing the big bad wolf. You just want to snatch her from us, huh?”

Zhong Cheng’s blunt tone masked his goodwill. Misreading his intent, the trio lashed out with venomous accusations.

*If it weren’t for me, you’d already be dead. Get it?*

Zhong Cheng’s expression softened with pity. *Without my intervention, would you even be standing? So ungrateful.*

Like a dog biting the hand that feeds it—utterly ungrateful.

Zhong Cheng couldn’t be bothered arguing. Verbal sparring only made one look low-class, tasteless.

He strode to the Ghost Emperor’s side, took her hand. Her little finger was icy cold. Leaning close, they appeared intimately close.

“She’s my girlfriend. So tell me—who am I to meddle?” Zhong Cheng declared, righteous and unshaken.

(Smug? Maybe just a hint.)

The trio, moments ago all bluster, instantly fell silent.

Watching their flustered, speechless faces, Zhong Cheng felt a flicker of amusement, a quiet thrill.

*Now you know.*

*Flexing feels good. Flexing nonstop? Even better.*

Zhong Cheng barely suppressed the urge. No time to waste—he’d just bought bubble tea. Taking the Ghost Emperor’s hand, he turned to leave.

But after only a few steps, the three blocked their path.

“Why should we believe she’s your girlfriend? Faking it to ditch us? We’re not that gullible.”

“Yeah, holding hands makes her yours? Then I’ve got dozens! Prove it—kiss her.”

“Why not kiss her? See? You’re faking. Not even a real couple.”

Zhong Cheng itched to prove them wrong—sweep her slender waist, dip her low, deliver a bold French kiss to shut them up.

But… doing that would likely enrage the Ghost Emperor. A red card. Tragic ending.

Safety first. Skip the suicidal move.

Impulse is the devil. Stay calm.

Unaware they were dancing on the edge of disaster, the trio clung on, relentless.

Zhong Cheng felt offended.

Enough.

“Have you no shame? Don’t push your luck. First—we’re a genuine couple. Even if we weren’t, she clearly said no. Harassing her—what’s fun about that?”

“If I were you, I’d scram. Don’t keep making a scene. If this hits TV and your parents see… they’d beat you senseless, you ungrateful sons.”

A crowd had gathered, watching the drama unfold.

Whispers and pointed fingers condemned the harassers.

Lately, too many like them—using “flirting” as an excuse to bother others, poisoning public decency.

They deserved a fine.

“You watch us? She was ours first! Ruining our fun—you asking for a beating?”

“Our mentor assigned this task. Must complete it today. No one stops us.”

The trio’s faces flushed with shame-fueled rage.

*Mentor? Task?* Zhong Cheng instantly pieced it together. *PUA players.*

Should’ve guessed. Dressed like Japanese host club members, swarming targets, shamelessly persistent.

What else could they be?

Dropping all pretense, they glared daggers and closed in.

Player A suddenly threw a punch.

No warning. Impossible to dodge.

Zhong Cheng sidestepped effortlessly, calm. Handed the two bubble tea cups to the Ghost Emperor.

Once she took them, hands free, he offered a faint smirk and stepped forward.

Player A raised his fist again…

Too wide. Full of openings.

Zhong Cheng’s eyes narrowed. A swift jab shot out—landing squarely on the face.

Fast. Precise. Brutal.

*Thud.*

Player A staggered back, nearly toppling.

Players B and C roared, lunging together.

Zhong Cheng retreated two steps, dodged, then kicked Player B’s shin—sending him crashing down.

Player C charged Zhong Cheng’s back, arms wide for a tackle.

Without turning, as if with eyes behind his head, Zhong Cheng twisted, pivoted, and delivered a spinning side kick.

*Thud.*

Player C flew backward two meters, landing in a humiliating heap.

“Still want to fight?”

Zhong Cheng approached the only one still standing—Player A—and asked coldly.

*He* threw the first punch.

Player A’s face was already swelling red. His fury vanished watching Zhong Cheng drop two opponents in seconds—that side kick? Flawless.

*Strong. A skilled fighter!*

He knew he stood no chance. None of them did. He wasn’t a masochist.

“N-no… we’re done…”

He swallowed hard, voice trembling.

When Zhong Cheng’s hand suddenly reached out, Player A flinched—*He’s breaking the rules!*

*Fight all you want… but not the face again!*

Relief washed over him as Zhong Cheng merely clapped his shoulder.

“Young man, sneak attacks and dirty tricks won’t win you fights. Not everyone is ‘Teacher Ma’,” Zhong Cheng said sternly, warning in his tone.

“I didn’t—I wouldn’t…”

“Bottom line: next time, don’t harass strangers. Rejected? Leave politely. Persistence isn’t charm. Understood?”

“Y-yes…”

“Good. And I trust you won’t call the police? Witnesses saw you strike first. I was defending myself.”

“D-dare not…”

“Good. Behave yourselves. Goodbye.”

Zhong Cheng returned to the Ghost Emperor’s side, took her hand, and slipped away before the crowd tightened or cameras appeared.

His display had drawn even more onlookers. Some girls’ eyes sparkled, swooning openly.

Zhong Cheng felt a flicker of smug pride.

*If only the Ghost Emperor looked at me like that… wouldn’t that be wonderful?*

He glanced at her hopefully—then deflated.

The Ghost Emperor remained utterly absorbed in her bubble tea. Completely indifferent to her boyfriend’s clean, stylish takedown. Cold. Unmoved.