Chong Meng Bar, one of the most famous themed bars on the Bund, maintains a low profile yet enjoys widespread renown within the circle. This bar is notorious for having an abundance of handsome men—young, vigorous, and physically fit—but it isn't a gay bar; rather, it caters primarily to lonely, wealthy older women or avant-garde rich girls.

To put it plainly, it’s a gigolo den. Much like one doesn't necessarily visit Tianxia Renjian to pick up prostitutes, those who frequent Chong Meng Bar aren't always looking to take a "young master" out for the night or book one until dawn; many of the high-end female clients come simply to alleviate loneliness, to find a handsome man to chat with, nothing more.

The young men engaged in this line of work are generally called shaoye (young masters), xiaoshuai (little handsome ones), xiaonan (little men), or simply referred to as handsome guys. Few dare utter the word yazi (gigolo), just as women entertaining clients are called princesses or young ladies—if you called them prostitutes, even if they didn't explode, they’d certainly give you a sour look.

Wang Zhuo and Ruan Mingqing had no idea they had stumbled into a viper's nest. As they discussed cerebral hemorrhages, persistent vegetative states, and caregivers, they were entirely unaware that some patrons in Chong Meng Bar were already whispering about them.

A successful nightlife venue will have several client managers, often known colloquially as mami or madam. Each manages a stable of young masters or hostesses, along with a portfolio of clients.

If one client manager gains too much dominance within the venue, and should they suddenly decide to walk away with their entire contingent, that establishment might as well close its doors for good. Chong Meng is a successful venue; it boasts six client managers, ensuring that even a patron visiting daily will frequently encounter new faces.

Moreover, staff turnover in this industry is extremely high, meaning even the most senior young masters often meet colleagues they’ve never seen before. Thus, due to a minor misunderstanding, the young masters assumed Wang Zhuo was a new hire.

... At a table about ten meters away from Wang Zhuo’s, a fair-skinned handsome man was chatting idly with his muscular partner.

“Tell me, who does that guy belong to? I don't think I’ve seen him before.” Muscle Guy curled his lip.

“Must be new. Didn't Old Zhao just bring back a few rookies from Shenzhen?

This kid must be one of them.” Fair-Skinned Guy shook his head repeatedly. “He doesn’t look like a rookie to me.

Look how deeply engaged he is talking to that beautiful woman—not reserved at all, completely natural, damn it.” “Who says a rookie can’t be experienced?” Muscle Guy scoffed. “Maybe he’s worked at another place for two years.

Don't forget, Old Zhao isn't just about bringing in newbies; he’s also quite skilled at poaching talent.” As the two were talking, a man in his mid-thirties approached, wearing a tight-fitting white stretch shirt that caught the light from the intermittently flashing purple lamps, making him particularly noticeable. “Brother Chang.” “Brother Chang.” Both men immediately greeted him politely.

This was their direct supervisor, Zhou Qingchang, who managed twelve young masters—a mid-tier rank among Chong Meng Bar’s six managers. “Who is that kid?” Zhou Qingchang asked, tilting his head toward the table in question.

The Muscle Guy reported, “One of Old Zhao’s new recruits, right? Seems to have some skills, but I wonder about his… bedside manner.” Fair-Skinned Guy chuckled slyly.

“I bet he’s another decorative pillow—strong outside, useless inside. But he can certainly talk; probably all mouth and no trousers.” Zhou Qingchang frowned.

“That’s wrong. I’ve seen the rookies Old Zhao brought back: a pair of twins, a chubby guy, and a fitness buff.

This isn't one of them.” “There’s a chubby guy?” Muscle Guy asked incredulously. “Can someone like that even work the floor?” “The kid can drink a hundred rounds and supposedly has a donkey between his legs.

What do you think?” Zhou Qingchang gave his two subordinates a look of weary resignation. The Muscle Guy was allergic to alcohol, and Pretty Boy lacked flair; together, they probably couldn’t match the appeal of that unassuming chubby kid.

“Damn it,” Muscle Guy muttered, striking the table in frustration. Muscles can be built, but an allergic predisposition inherited from one’s parents can’t be changed.

You just have to accept fate. “Stop slouching around,” Zhou Qingchang urged.

“There’s a big mama over there who’s been waiting ten minutes. If you don't want to get fired, hustle over and entertain her properly.” The two reluctantly replied, “Oh,” mustered their energy, forced professional smiles, and headed toward the heavily made-up lady whose tonnage easily topped two hundred and whose age could have made her their biological mother.

In recent years, scammers have used the promise of hiring male escorts to run cons. They advertise appealing terms: men aged eighteen to forty-five, no restrictions on height, weight, or looks, a monthly salary of thirty thousand, and the chance to spend a night with a dream woman.

In reality, this lie couldn't be more false. The truth is, for this line of work, anyone over twenty-five is considered past their prime; the real golden age is around twenty.

The claim of no restrictions on appearance is also nonsense. Wealthy women come here to enjoy themselves—who would pass up a handsome man to patronize a middle-aged, soft man, a short guy, a skinny stick, or a fat blob?

Of course, some people have niche preferences; that chubby guy is an exception. He’s talkative, a great conversationalist, can outdrink anyone, and when dressed up, has a touch of the student about him, easily evoking a “You at the same table” nostalgia for some wealthy women, thus securing some business.

But compared to those tall, handsome, star-like heartthrobs, he’s a shade less desirable. Hence, Zhou Qingchang, in his early thirties, is a perfect example of being "past his prime." The reason is simple: his age prevents him from competing with those bursting with vitality; he can only scavenge leftovers.

And the "spending a night with a dream woman" is the ultimate lie within lies. Such situations do happen, just as hostesses sometimes encounter attractive clients, but more often than not, they end up with sleazy uncles, unattractive men who can’t score otherwise, or grandfathers.

Looking at the Big Mama the Fair-Skinned Guy and Muscle Guy are currently working hard to appease reveals the true ecosystem of this business. Zhou Qingchang observed his two less-than-effective subordinates for a moment.

Seeing them successfully amusing the woman, he relaxed slightly. After all, what handsome, straight man would genuinely desire that kind of older woman?

But work is work. Chong Meng is a high-end venue; you cannot be seen rejecting customers.

If the boss found out, a slap or two would be the least of it; financial penalties are severe. If the behavior persisted, the boss, in a fit of rage, could very well make him leave with his entire crew.

Glancing toward a table not far away, Zhou Qingchang felt a pang of resentment. Why was it that other people's young masters were serving stunning beauties and rich young ladies who tossed cash around like scrap paper, while his own boys were so disappointing, relegated to waiting on middle-aged matrons?

“Not good enough…” he sighed, forcing a smile, and quickly moved to greet a few young wives from the Jiangzhou area who had just entered the bar. Wang Zhuo had no idea he was the subject of others' envy.

He and Ruan Mingqing were discussing Zeng Yan’s condition and future, and his feelings were complicated. When he saved Zeng Yan, Wang Zhuo hadn't been very confident, but at the moment, feeling he couldn't stand by and watch someone die, he had acted decisively.

Yet, while Zeng Yan's life was saved, the man was now in a persistent vegetative state, unresponsive, with no realistic hope of waking. So, was that life truly saved?

Even if Zeng Yan hadn't become a vegetable and had woken up, his remaining years would be pitiable and tragic. But that wasn't the main point.

The main point was that Ruan Mingqing now had to care for her husband, care for this vegetable, and live as a widow, and everyone close to them would be burdened by him to varying degrees, a burden that seemed never-ending. Wang Zhuo felt that his good intentions had likely done more harm than good.

If he hadn't intervened, it would have been a sharp, short pain for Zeng Yan and his relatives. But because of his help, the short pain had turned into prolonged agony, now saddled with an "indefinite" timeline.

There was the saying, "A doctor's heart is like a parent's," and also "To save the dying and aid the injured." Wang Zhuo had heard these grand principles drilled into him during his medical school indoctrination, but after this incident, for the first time, he realized that ideals are just a mirage floating on the ocean of reality—beautiful in calm weather, but dissolving into foam when the great waves crash. “Sister Ruan, don’t worry.

Brother Zeng is blessed by heaven; he survived the cerebral hemorrhage, so he will definitely wake up someday,” Wang Zhuo spoke these untrue words, softly comforting the despondent Ruan Mingqing. “I truly hope so,” Ruan Mingqing nodded gratefully.

But Wang Zhuo caught the flicker of despair hidden in her eyes—it seemed she also knew Zeng Yan had no chance of recovery. In many dramas and even news reports, there are tropes of vegetative patients waking up overnight, but Zeng Yan’s situation was different.

To put it bluntly, if he were poor or of low status, the hospital would have long since given up on treatment; perhaps dying on the very day of the hemorrhage would have been his best outcome. His phone vibrated lightly.

Wang Zhuo stood up. “I need to use the restroom.” Ruan Mingqing nodded, picked up her coffee cup, and stirred it gently with a small spoon.

The call was from Fei Long. Wang Zhuo walked into the relatively quiet restroom and, as soon as he answered, was hit by Fei Long’s boisterous laughter.

“Boss, I just wrapped up a private shoot. Big haul!

Those two little models were so young and fresh, and damn obedient. I’ll send you some choice shots right now!” “Get lost,” Wang Zhuo snapped back.

“Don’t forget what you were supposed to be doing. Get back to the real business.” “Your subordinate obeys!” Fei Long cackled wickedly.

“Then I’m off to grab some late-night snacks with the photography buddies. Bye-bye!” Having dismissed the vulgar fellow, Wang Zhuo frowned disdainfully, walked over to a urinal, pulled out his No.

250 weapon, and opened the sluice gate for a flood. “Holy crap!” A sudden, astonished exclamation came from beside him, startling Wang Zhuo so badly he almost choked off the stream.

“Brother, talent! Sheer natural talent!” The handsome guy next to him, also relieving himself, pointed at Wang Zhuo’s weapon, his voice filled with envy.

“If that monster of yours got hard, it must be over twenty centimeters, right?”