This chapter unexpectedly ran over by four hundred characters, and since Hong Chang is so generous, this part is naturally on the house…

After knocking Zhao Yu flat on his rear, the hulking British man glared at him with a warning expression, jabbering something while pointing at Zhao Yu’s nose. His speech was so rapid that this time even Wang Zhuo and Li Mingxu couldn't catch a word.

However, Wang Zhuo’s expression shifted from bewildered amusement to something grim, because he managed to catch at least one word: “bi.” This clearly meant the British brute had used an insulting phrase, specifically “nfbi,” which translates to something like “bastard.”

As for whether he’d also spat out other insults like “Chinese pig” or “yellow-skinned dog,” Wang Zhuo hadn't clearly heard, but that single phrase was enough to ignite a deep resentment within him.

Irene Atop quickly scanned everyone in the room, pausing briefly on Wang Zhuo’s face, before swiftly retrieving a pair of oversized sunglasses from her handbag and putting them on. She exchanged a few hushed words with the brute and prepared to leave.

The British strongman, meanwhile, maintained a supremely smug demeanor, turning to face Wang Zhuo and his group. His attitude clearly communicated that he was holding the fort by force, intending to leave only after Irene Atop had gone.

Wang Zhuo immediately understood: Irene Atop was currently Hollywood’s brightest young star, yet she was only fifteen or sixteen. It was entirely inappropriate for her to be seen in a strip club, which explained why she had dressed in such a mature disguise today.

However, British street tabloids and paparazzi were world-famous, and she might have still been exposed, forcing her to flee into this private room for refuge. It just so happened that Zhao Yu, in his excitement and impulsiveness, had made a sudden, startling move, and just as she adopted a defensive posture, her bodyguard entered, leading to the misunderstanding.

But while the misunderstanding could be cleared up, the arrogance displayed by Irene and her bodyguard disgusted Wang Zhuo. If he let them walk away just like that, it would not only spoil the mood for everyone but also represent a profound loss of face.

“Hey, Eileen!”

Wang Zhuo suddenly called out softly. As Irene turned back in surprise, she caught the blinding flash emanating from the iPhone in his hand—the telltale sign of a camera flash going off.

“Hey, you!”

The British brute erupted in fury. He might even have been an American, but at that moment, he charged forward in rage, intent on snatching the phone from Wang Zhuo’s grasp!

He stormed past Zhao Yu in two strides, sending the little fatty, who had just managed to stand up, tumbling over again. Reaching Wang Zhuo, his hand, large as a paddle, shot out, demanding in a harsh voice, “Give me!”

“No, no, no,” Wang Zhuo replied calmly in English, gesturing towards him and Irene Atop. “You both need to apologize to my friend first.”

Sorry? The brute clearly had no concept of such a word. Seeing that Wang Zhuo spoke fluent and perfectly enunciated English, he assumed Wang Zhuo was an immigrant or someone familiar with the local ways. Given that the Erminrin [club name] was expensive enough for Wang Zhuo’s group to afford such a suite, he refrained from swinging a punch at Wang Zhuo’s face, instead attempting to snatch the phone.

But in Wang Zhuo’s view, grabbing for the phone was tantamount to physical aggression. So, he abruptly raised the left hand holding the phone, evading the snatch, and then his right hand instantly clamped onto the brute’s wrist. With a sharp pull and twist, he forced the man to stoop low.

This military-style joint lock was Wang Zhuo’s specialty, and he executed it with mastery that surpassed the original technique. Forget a mere celebrity bodyguard; even an active-duty special forces soldier, underestimating him, would likely fall victim to such a move.

The British strongman felt immense pressure building on his right shoulder joint, threatening immediate dislocation. He desperately used his left hand to brace his own shoulder, countering the force Wang Zhuo applied. Meanwhile, Wang Zhuo casually stepped out from behind the table, the tip of his polished leather shoe hovering just beneath the brute’s eyes—a slight kick would surely send his nose blooming.

He’s run into a master!

Irene Atop froze in stunned disbelief at the doorway. Her companion had been subdued so easily! Now, escaping was impossible!

Li Mingxu and the others were dumbfounded, shocked that Wang Zhuo would resort to violence at the slightest provocation, and do so casually, neutralizing a large man weighing well over a hundred kilograms. It seemed Wang Zhuo was straightforward wherever he went; famous back home for frequently getting into fights, and on his very first day in London, he had already taken down the bodyguard of a Hollywood superstar!

But would this invite serious trouble? The four exchanged glances, unsure of what to do next.

“Hey,” Wang Zhuo offered Irene Atop a slight smile, nodding for her to step closer.

Despite being a wildly popular movie star, Irene Atop was only fifteen or sixteen. She had absolutely no experience handling a confrontation like this and was momentarily at a loss.

Wang Zhuo chuckled inwardly. It turned out the little fool hadn't been snubbing them out of arrogance earlier; she was likely terrified by Zhao Yu’s manic behavior. Noticing this detail, Wang Zhuo’s mood instantly eased considerably. He smiled reassuringly at Irene Atop, shaking his head, and refocused his attention on the struggling strongman.

“Big oaf, listen to me,” he explained with a faint smile to the brute. “My friend here is Irene’s most devoted fan. So, when Irene first walked in, he was so overwhelmed with surprise that he acted rashly and rushed forward without thinking. Irene was startled, which is why she adopted a defensive stance.”

The strongman grunted, realizing he had misunderstood, but he stubbornly refused to speak.

“And you, you idiot, rushed in without assessing the situation, immediately laid hands on my friend, and insulted him,” Wang Zhuo stated flatly. “Therefore, I now require you to offer a sincere apology to my friend until he forgives you.”

The brute remained silent. In his eyes, Wang Zhuo had merely succeeded through a sneak attack. If he hadn't been careless and underestimated his opponent, dealing with three Wang Zhuos simultaneously would have been trivial.

“Is he your bodyguard?” Wang Zhuo asked Irene Atop, frustrated by the brute's silence.

Irene Atop had removed her sunglasses and offered Wang Zhuo a wry shrug.

“Just this one?” Wang Zhuo pressed.

Irene Atop pouted slightly, exhibiting a hint of playfulness. “One of two.”

It was common knowledge that Westerners had more expressive facial features than Asians. Irene Atop’s pout was just a casual habit, yet it was a small gesture many fans admired and followed avidly—much like the irony of the saying, “The dirt spat on me by the star is happiness”; in reality, it was just a common gesture among young women.

“Now it’s one and a half,” Wang Zhuo replied, mimicking her pout. With a slight twist of his wrist, the restrained strongman groaned as his arm finally popped out of its socket.

“Because he refuses to apologize, I’ve given him a small lesson,” Wang Zhuo calmly released the brute and told Irene. “When you go back, remember to hire a more polite bodyguard; someone like this damages your image.”

The young queen of cinema offered Wang Zhuo an exasperated shrug, adjusted her sunglasses, called over the bodyguard named Paul, and they scurried out of the private room.

Seeing his four companions staring at him as if he were an alien, Wang Zhuo cheerfully broke the tension. “Where is our magician? Why hasn't she arrived yet?”

“You’re still concerned about that?!” Zhou Jiyuan exclaimed with a mixture of exasperation and amusement. “Boss, that was Irene Atop just now! Don't tell us you don't know her status!”

“Yeah, I almost asked her for an autograph,” Li Mingxu chimed in.

Kang Yangqiu scratched his cheek. “I wanted to take a photo with her. My wife is her die-hard fan.”

Wang Zhuo burst out laughing. “Take a photo with Irene Atop in a strip club and show it to your wife?”

Kang Yangqiu immediately laughed sheepishly and shook his head, realizing his lapse in judgment. His wife, the tigress at home, certainly wouldn't accept any explanation!

“Zhao Yu, is your butt completely shattered?” Wang Zhuo clapped him on the shoulder.

“I didn't even feel the pain,” Zhao Yu admitted with a wry smile. “My apologies, Brother Wang, I was too foolish just now and caused trouble for you.”

“What trouble is that? A minor thing,” Wang Zhuo waved it off easily. “But Irene Atop must have been thoroughly frightened by you. Otherwise, I definitely would have made her apologize to you.”

“No, please don’t!” Zhao Yu waved his hands frantically, saying with alarm, “I truly am her most loyal fan. I already regret startling her just now. Honestly, I have no complaints about being knocked over by her bodyguard.”

Zhou Jiyuan immediately took offense. “Are you saying what Wang Zhuo did just now was unnecessary?”

“No, no, do I look like someone ungrateful? I, I…” Zhao Yu stammered, unsure of what to say.

“Forget it, we know you’re not that kind of person,” Wang Zhuo consoled him, patting his shoulder. “Actually, I’m also a fan of Irene Atop. To be fair, you did act improperly just now, and you should have apologized to Irene, but she left too quickly, so we’ll drop it.”

As they were speaking, the door to the private room suddenly lit up with a dazzling array of vibrant neon lights, like something out of a science fiction film. The door swung open, and a tall woman, about forty, entered with a beaming smile.

“I’ve seen her!” Li Mingxu gasped. “I saw a video of her performing magic online. I never imagined it was her!”

He wasn't the only one who recognized her. Wang Zhuo instantly identified the woman as well. Her signature trick involved producing silk scarves from various parts of her body. Although anyone familiar with basic stage magic could see through the deception, this type of striptease/magic performance was undeniably visually spectacular.

What left the deepest impression on everyone was her smile—seductive and wicked—and it was with precisely that smile that she walked in, swaying her captivating cat-like gait, directly toward Wang Zhuo.

She held out both hands in front of Wang Zhuo, palms open, revealing nothing. Then she flipped them over, backs upward, still nothing. Everyone craned their necks curiously from their seats, eager to see what trick she was about to perform.

Wang Zhuo played along, raising an eyebrow to indicate he saw nothing. The woman chuckled and began rubbing her hands together as if applying lotion. She suddenly paused her motion, and when she spread her hands again, a small slip of paper rested in her palm.

Li Mingxu and the others immediately applauded enthusiastically, but Wang Zhuo had already used his X-ray vision to see that during the rubbing motion, the woman had subtly used the tip of her slender finger to pinch one corner of the paper through a gap in her sleeve, drawing it out with the rubbing motion, and then concealing it in her palm with a turn of her wrist.

“For me?” Wang Zhuo asked in English.

The woman smiled and nodded, gently placing the slip of paper into Wang Zhuo’s hand before turning and sashaying over to the performance stage beneath the room’s large screen. She pointed her empty hands towards the ceiling, and music suddenly swelled—it seemed the official magic show was just beginning; retrieving the note for Wang Zhuo had only been a prelude.

Wang Zhuo unfolded the note. Just as he suspected, the signature at the bottom read: Irene Atop, the unexpected guest from tonight, had written to him.