"Hmm, certainly not ordinary people," the foreign youth, who had just set down his wine glass, murmured.

"May I ask what business you two have looking for me?" Yang Yi smiled faintly, bowing slightly, his right hand resting on his abdomen, his left hand behind his back, executing a gesture befitting British royalty.

The foreign youth and the bald Black man paused momentarily, then returned the courtesy with equal politeness, saying, "Greetings, dear Mr. Yang!"

"Please, have a seat!" Yang Yi maintained his consistent smile, though at this moment it felt somewhat strained—a smile meant purely for social obligation.

"Oh, dear Mr. Yang, you truly surprise me; I never expected you to know our royal etiquette!" the foreign youth asked with an expression of genuine enthusiasm.

In truth, he was astounded. This was their first meeting, and yet, merely by observing him, Yang Yi had discerned his identity. Truly remarkable.

"Heh, I still don't know what to call you, sir?" Yang Yi asked with a slight chuckle.

If I hadn't once studied the etiquette and languages of the entire world, I might have made a fool of myself today. However, it is precisely because of this courtesy that I can confirm this man is connected to the British Royal Family, he thought inwardly.

"Oh, my apologies. Allow me to introduce myself first. My name is Lesse Simak; dear Mr. Yang, you may call me Mark. And this is my attendant, Rn!"

"Hello," the bald Black man stood up to greet Yang Yi.

Yang Yi returned a polite smile. After all, one could not lose face for China, the great nation of propriety, in front of foreigners. Although smiling so much might make him look like an idiot to them, Yang Yi, who was essentially a rogue, didn't seem to care in the slightest.

"I have heard that China is a land of etiquette. Seeing Mr. Yang behave so politely today has truly broadened my horizons!" the foreign youth stated calmly.

It sounded like praise, but to Yang Yi's ears, it carried an unpleasant undertone—that was his only sensation at that moment. Nevertheless, a smile still blossomed on his face: "May I ask the purpose of your visit here recently, Mr. Mark?"

"Hmph?" In response to Yang Yi’s question, the foreign youth merely let out a soft hum.

Yet, with that inexplicable sound, Fatty Lin, standing nearby, became instantly tense, his eyes fixed on the bald Black man who was slowly making a move. The attendant reached inside his chest and pulled out a card edged in gold. With a "Swish!" sound, the card landed near Yang Yi's wine glass.

The foreign youth smiled slightly, stood up, and addressed Yang Yi: "Dear Mr. Yang, you Chinese people favor direct confrontation, so I dislike wasting words. We shall meet tomorrow evening!"

"What do you mean?" Fatty Lin stared intently and quickly asked.

"Deiiveble!" the bald Black man sneered coldly, glancing at Fatty Lin with utter contempt.

"A decisive battle?" Yang Yi muttered to himself. He picked up the card, narrowing his eyes, a sliver of coldness emerging. That bald Black man was a master; the card hadn't sunk deep into the table, only lightly grazed it. Just this single card caused the usually placid Yang Yi to be startled.

"A decisive battle?" Fatty Lin was even more perplexed. This was understandable; suddenly two people appear and challenge you when you are completely unaware—naturally, he would be confused, perhaps even thinking they were idiots. But based on their actions and expressions, there was no sign of idiocy in them whatsoever.

"Dear Yang Yi, Mr. Yang. I am Lesse Simak. I will meet you tomorrow night in a certain area of City A. As for the purpose, you will naturally know then!" As Yang Yi read the script on the card, his whole body jolted, and an icy aura instantly spread outward. Seeing the English word 'Deiiveble!' at the end—meaning decisive battle—a cold glint flashed in his eyes.

Fatty Lin noticed this and asked doubtfully, "Brother Yi, what's wrong?"

"Hahaha, hahahaha." Yang Yi burst into loud laughter. This was perhaps the first time he had ever been formally challenged, and one issued using a card and insignia reserved for the British Royal Family. A cold feeling settled in his heart.

After a moment, he felt a touch of apprehension. Though those two men didn't look particularly imposing, the fact that they dared to challenge him meant they were fully aware of his affairs. This inexplicable duel left him feeling uneasy.

The so-called insignia exclusive to the British Royal Family signified a challenge. In their country, once opponents were set, they would issue cards to select the battlefield. To Chinese people, especially modern ones, this seemed utterly idiotic, but it was genuinely a tradition of the British Royal Family. It held no hidden malice, only the straightforward desire for a fair contest. The traditions of the British royalty were, at times, truly admirable.

Leaving the bar, which was an establishment owned by the Black God Gang, the foreign youth returned to his black sedan. He stated casually, "Things are always more enjoyable when they are played with a bit of interest. If there's no substance to it, it won't be exciting. Dear Mr. Yang, I hope you enjoy the game I have prepared for you."

The foreign youth—or rather, Lesse Simak—spoke softly, then cast a look full of playful curiosity toward the direction of the bar. The smile on his face deepened and intensified.

"Young Master, aren't you elevating him too much?" the bald Black man said as he took the driver's seat and started the car, pulling away slowly.

"No, Rn... some things need to be played this way to be fun. I've grown accustomed to shadow wars; a direct engagement would be a different kind of enjoyment," the Simak youth said with a faint smile. "And don't underestimate his strength. If I'm not mistaken, you might not be his match."

"Wy?" the bald middle-aged man asked, slightly taken aback. (Wy = meaning Why.)

"It’s not for any particular reason, just that my first impression of him suggests you fall far short. Rn... remember, sometimes one needs to be ruthless when judging people. A saying among your Chinese people is quite accurate: even a rotten boat has three nails left. Even if you can gauge his strength outwardly, there will be a difference when the fighting starts, because interesting things usually only happen later on."

"YE!" the bald Black man responded, falling silent.

############

"Brother Yi, this is so strange. Why would they challenge you?" Fatty Lin frowned, asking Yang Yi, who was seated at his office chair.

"Hmph!" Yang Yi hummed softly, then continued, "Actually, I'm quite relieved they chose this path. The Black God Gang is facing many troubles right now; if they attacked us subtly, we might not be able to cope!"

"But what is their motive?" Fatty Lin was bewildered. No matter how much he questioned or pondered, it remained confusing. Could this entire affair lack any motive at all?

"I don't know either, but I believe they must have a purpose. After all, the card clearly stated the objective will be known tomorrow night," Yang Yi remained calm until this moment. In truth, he didn't know that tomorrow evening would mark the biggest turning point in his life. Perhaps it was precisely because of this that the evil desires lurking deep within Yang Yi would be unleashed, leading to a cascade of events he couldn't foresee.

"Brother Yi, you aren't actually planning to accept the challenge, are you?" Fatty Lin looked at him in astonishment, feeling a chill within. Those two foreigners had given him a distinctly dangerous impression; that sense of peril had persisted since he first saw them.

Just as Yang Yi was about to say something, Han Zhong entered from outside, his expression clearly troubled. He hurried over to Yang Yi and said, "Dragon Lord, could I ask you not to go tomorrow night..."

"Oh? Why?" Yang Yi frowned and inquired.

"Lesse Simak. The Lesse family of the British Royal Lineage—they are a Ducal house. They command considerable influence in Britain and are known to have murky ties with the underworld. I heard their dealings have become quite close recently," Han Zhong stated with a grave expression.

"Oh?" A sinister glint flickered in Yang Yi's eyes.

"And that Simak is likely in China because of a recent deal negotiated with the underworld. Moreover, this man is extremely dangerous; his name is on the British assassin list." Han Zhong found it hard to believe that a world-class master would choose this moment to cause trouble for Yang Yi—something no one could have predicted.

Logically, although the Black God Gang had grown rapidly, they shouldn't pose a threat significant enough to attract assassins from Britain who would then openly challenge Yang Yi. This situation deeply worried Han Zhong.

"What kind of family is the Lesse family?" Yang Yi couldn't help but let out a cold laugh upon hearing this. Perhaps it’s about that bounty from before, but that foreign youth doesn't seem like someone who would cause trouble over a mere one hundred million, he thought.

"The Lesse family is notoriously known for drug trafficking; they control the regions around Myanmar and Vietnam!" Han Zhong reported.

"Drug lords?" Yang Yi's eyes widened, and his expression darkened. "If their family is in the narcotics trade, their reasons for seeking me out this time are probably not that simple."

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