Ah, my precious monthly tickets, where are you, where are you? Do you know, Hongchang and my X-ray vision miss you so much?

A fellow reader suddenly threw four monthly tickets my way—good heavens, that’s intense! Besides him, several other friends also tossed in very supportive monthly tickets.

Hongchang offers a deep bow of thanks. ..................

In the Goldfish Bowl area of the Red House, the first show of the day was underway. Leading the dance center stage were five beauties wearing red armbands, each marked with a number.

They butchered an nbdy rendition, yet it drew thunderous applause from the audience. These five "Red Plate" women were clad only in thin veils, their fiery figures thrillingly provocative.

They frequently flashed seductive glances and blew kisses to the crowd below, earning roars of approval in return. On the outer ring, about half a meter lower than the main stage, stood a row of gleaming silver poles.

Women were dancing on each one; their armbands were yellow. Though their charms were slightly less dazzling than the Red Plates above, they were still captivating enough to be considered neighborhood beauties.

Occasionally, a woman with a yellow plate would be selected by a guest and led away immediately, only to be replaced by a new dancer filling the gap. Even those not chosen rotated positions every few minutes, like a turning lantern, continuously marketing themselves to the next potential patron.

Some patrons, however, set their sights on the Red Plates. They would wave down a server, obtain the corresponding number tag from him, and wait until the performance ended to enjoy Xiao Hun's services.

The seating area below the stage was limited, and business was booming tonight; many spectators had to stand in the back waiting for a spot. If a guest lingered too long, a server would politely approach and offer suggestions, striving to maximize the table turnover rate.

Of course, now and then, a person of supreme status would appear, casually tipping ten thousand yuan just to watch a dance. At such times, the dancers would perform with even greater fervor, and it was common for the big spenders to each reward them with several thousand yuan if they enjoyed the show.

Today, there was one such fellow who, right from the start, tipped fifty thousand, loudly proclaiming he intended to watch his fill today. If he was satisfied, every Red Plate would get ten thousand, and the Gold Plates, fifty thousand!

"The motherland has finally caught up with the developed nations," the old man sighed, his accent thick and muddy. With a casual wave, his attendant immediately understood, rolled up five hundred-yuan notes into a tight cylinder, stepped forward, and slipped it into the strap of the sandal worn by the yellow-plate dancer before the old man.

The nearby young server quickly waved, signaling a change to another yellow-plate dancer. This time, the old man watched a bit longer, and when he signaled for a replacement, the tip money increased from five hundred to one thousand.

The old man watched with relish, commenting, "While perhaps not comparable to Ginza in Japan or Amsterdam in the Netherlands, this familiar, rustic atmosphere truly rekindles my ambition." "Heh heh, blood is thicker than water," the server flatteringly interjected. Just as the old man was thoroughly engaged, a sudden sound of shouting and screaming erupted from the back of the stage.

The music abruptly cut off, and immediately, the backdrop curtain collapsed with a roar, sending a swarm of disheveled men and women tumbling out in a panicked rush. "Fire!

Fire!" Everyone's face instantly drained of color. The consequences of a fire in an entertainment venue were almost unimaginable, given that almost all furnishing materials ignited instantly, and with non-compliant fire measures and no clear escape routes, there was nowhere to run.

A single whiff of dense smoke meant death. In an instant, patrons, hostesses, managers, and servers all bolted like madmen toward the men's bathing area.

Panic clouded everyone's judgment; even the most rational and composed individuals began to run. The old man was at least seventy; his physique was not as agile as it once was.

As his attendant helped him struggle to his feet, a dancer rushing past him tripped on a step and instinctively grabbed him for balance. That pull caused the old man to stumble and fall back down.

The surging crowd then washed over him like a tide, stepping on tables, on his body, separating him from his attendant, and squeezing the last breath from his lungs. In his dying moments, the old man had only one thought: Don't run, beauty!

I haven't tipped you yet. ...

"Damn it!" Wang Zheng hurled the walkie-talkie to the ground in a fit of rage; he was completely losing control. Moments before, Wang Zhuo had snatched a walkie-talkie from a server and broadcasted the fire rumor across all channels at full volume.

Due to the device's high power, patrons near some staff members also heard it, instantly believing it was true. The news spread like wildfire, instantly igniting a full-blown panic.

The infuriating thing was that those fleeing blindly weren't just running themselves; they kept shouting to their friends and yelling down the corridors, eventually alarming the client area. Naked men and women poured out, rushing through the hallways in a state of frantic, nude flight.

There was no chance to issue a retraction; the situation was completely out of control. "Xue Baogang, look at the mess you've caused!" Wang Zheng pointed viciously at Xue Guangtou's nose, wishing he could tear him apart with his bare hands.

Xue Baogang knew he was at fault but refused to back down verbally: "Wang, don't just blame me. Where are your thirty men?

Why couldn't they stop him?" "I'm not wasting time talking to you!" Wang Zheng angrily waved his hand, turned back, snatched a walkie-talkie from one of his subordinates, and barked, "Where are they? Which direction did they go?" "Brother Wang, they—they've reached the first floor.

They—they seem to be heading toward the surveillance room?" Wang Zheng and Xue Baogang both froze. The surveillance room?

That was a dead end, the complete opposite direction of the front exit. What were they going there for?

A thug suddenly shouted, "Brother Zheng, the surveillance room windows don't have anti-theft bars; the parking lot is right outside..." Xue Baogang and Wang Zheng exchanged glances. The intruder possessed not only superior skills and the ability to appear and disappear mysteriously, but...

"Does this bastard have an X-ray vision or something?" Wang Zheng’s lips trembled with fury as he yelled into the walkie-talkie, "Slow them down! We can reach you in two more minutes!" "Huh?

Brother Wang, I’m the only one left in the surveillance room! I—I’m just a technician!" the security guard cried out in a panic.

He was technical staff, not muscle! The intruders numbered three, and they had guns!

Wang Zheng then remembered that the security guards in the surveillance room had been reassigned to block the main hall minutes ago. Furthermore, they were just hired hands working for a wage; they wouldn't risk their lives against people armed with guns.

... The Red House was total chaos.

In several narrow corridors and main thoroughfares, multiple stampedes had occurred; casualties could not yet be estimated. Wang Zhuo hadn't intended to spread the rumor.

The situation was under control; a quick dash, a brief show of force against the servers and security guards in the main hall, and they could have escaped. But plans never move as fast as reality.

The woman who was dragging Gan Lin in her frantic run had unexpectedly twisted her ankle. This meant the speed impediment went from one person to two.

Given how things had escalated, Wang Zhuo couldn't abandon her and escape with just Gan Lin; abandoning someone in that manner was something he never did. Reluctantly, he resorted to this last-ditch tactic, a plan he most dreaded using because he knew its destructive potential was immense.

As expected, the fire rumor took immediate effect. Many people started speculating that the loud bang earlier was a gas explosion, making them believe the rumor completely.

The Red House descended into utter pandemonium, with even the staff busy fleeing for their lives, paying no attention to Wang Zhuo and his companions. The trio took a brief moment to catch their breath, moving intermittently with the crowd until they reached the first floor.

Wang Zhuo scanned the area, leading the two women directly toward the structurally weak surveillance room. "Get down!

Hands on your head!" With just one sharp command, the technician guard complied instantly. With a black muzzle aimed at his face, he knew exactly what to do without needing further instruction.

Three computers were running in the room. Wang Zhuo surveyed them and demanded, "Where is the host unit that stores the recordings?" The technician raised his head slightly and quickly pointed to a chassis with its side panel open.

Wang Zhuo waved his hand, unplugged the power cord, and the host unit immediately shut down. The images on the surveillance monitors vanished.

He was about to yank out all the cables and take the unit with him when he noticed that the hard drive in this machine wasn't even secured with screws; it was merely plugged into the power and data cables, resting loosely at the bottom of the case. This made things even easier.

He snatched the hard drive, immediately feeling a burn on his palm from the heat—now he understood why the case wasn't locked; the heat dissipation was enormous. Enduring the slight burn, he detached the hard drive, tucked it securely behind his waist, and jumped onto the computer desk, kicking aside a monitor that was in the way.

With a sudden motion, he pulled open the window. A wave of hot air from outside rushed in, blowing into the air-conditioned surveillance room.

Wang Zhuo turned back, flashing a satisfied smile at Gan Lin, and extended his hand. "I'll pull you up." Gan Lin placed her right hand in his.

A strange illusion flickered through her mind, as if this wasn't an escape, but a walk into the sanctuary of a wedding ceremony with her beloved. After pulling both women onto the desk, Wang Zhuo confirmed their footing, then jumped down first.

He caught them one by one as they descended, made a silencing gesture, and quickly led the two toward a Santana 2000. It was an older, lower-end model.

Wang Zhuo chose it because the owner had forgotten to close the front passenger window and had even hidden the key under the seat cushion. They were just seven or eight meters from the car when a sudden warning flared in Wang Zhuo’s mind.

He looked up sharply and saw a figure plummeting from above! Wang Zhuo immediately rolled on the ground, evading the person’s lunge.

In his peripheral vision, he caught sight of a third-floor window flung open; this person had jumped from there. The jumper was Heizi.

Upon landing, he bounced back up and lunged at Wang Zhuo, a gleaming dagger appearing in his hand, aimed straight for Wang Zhuo's heart! The man’s movements were swift and precise; leaping down from six or seven meters as if nothing had happened.

A chill went down Wang Zhuo’s spine as he dodged aside. The dagger grazed his chest, slicing open his T-shirt as if it were paper.

Dodging that strike, Wang Zhuo staggered backward, appearing to lose his balance. Just as Heizi prepared to follow up, Wang Zhuo’s right foot suddenly shot upward in a vicious upward kick, slamming into Heizi’s groin—a groin kick!

Heizi instantly froze in agony, slowly curling into a ball on the ground. Wang Zhuo quickly stood up, but before he could wipe the sweat from his brow, a gunshot rang out behind him.

Turning back in alarm, he saw Gan Lin holding a steady shooting posture, the muzzle of the pistol she held high still faintly smoking. The one who fired was her!

Looking up, two figures flashed past the window. Wang Zhuo used his X-ray vision, hesitated for a fraction of a second, then fired three rapid shots (bang, bang, bang) before urgently telling the two women, "Go!" Get in the car, start the engine, drive away.

Gan Lin gripped the gun numbly, saying nothing. Wang Zhuo kept glancing back at the window as he drove, not relaxing until the car crushed over the low flowerbed and hit the main road.

Only then did a face briefly peek out of the window before quickly retracting.