Copenhagen. A secluded side street. Inside a discreet reception chamber belonging to the "Golden Quinoa Estate," a holding of the Hardwo Corporation, the lights were bright, the air thick with faint, intoxicating perfumes, and the occasional glimpse of silk brushing past—a fleeting scent of perfume and rustling skirts.

The oval reception room was carpeted with wool so deep, nearly a foot thick, that an unsteady person might easily trip and fall upon it. Lining the walls was a continuous sofa upholstered in the fur of exotic snow foxes, whose pristine white pelts faintly emitted a ghostly blue sheen under the lamps, lending the chamber an atmosphere of mysterious warmth and subtle intrigue.

A tall, powerfully built Black woman pushed a small, four-wheeled cart crafted from pure gold, gliding into the room without a sound. On the cart were ivory and pure silver water pipes, collector-grade handmade cigars, and slender smoking cigarettes. Dú Láng, seated on the sofa, selected three cigars with an expressionless face. Immediately, two pretty young women appeared, attending to Dú Láng as he lit them.

The Black woman silently maneuvered the cart out of the reception room. Then, a graceful woman with flaxen hair and striking blue eyes, clad in a flowing robe reminiscent of ancient Greek sacerdotal attire, wheeled in another cart. This one was laden with various fine spirits—each a rare treasure costing a king’s ransom. Particularly notable were several bottles of wine, label-less, encased in strangely shaped, dust-speckled bottles, representing vintages so rare that fewer than a hundred existed across the entire Terran Federation.

Dú Láng’s gaze swept over the array of bottles, but he didn't spare the wines a second glance, instead choosing the highest-proof vodka.

The graceful woman guided the liquor cart away. Two pretty young attendants knelt on the floor, carefully placing a thick-bottomed goblet carved from natural crystal onto the small table beside Dú Láng. One girl accepted the vodka bottle from Dú Láng’s hand, gently drawing the stopper. A plume of biting cold air hissed from the bottleneck; the spirit was perfectly chilled. The slightly pearlescent liquor flowed silently into the cup. The two girls held the filled goblet delicately between their palms, their movements reverent as they brought it carefully to Dú Láng’s lips.

Dú Láng drained the cup in one long pull, then seized the bottle and downed the entirety of the vodka in one continuous, brazen act.

With a satisfied, deep burp, Dú Láng glared at the two young women. The compliant girls quickly rose and retreated silently from the reception chamber. The massive oak door, two feet thick, sealed shut without a sound, making the vast room feel utterly isolated from the rest of the universe.

With a nimble flick of his fingers, an extremely thin cigarette jumped into his mouth. Gǔ Xié Chén lit it, inhaling deeply. A slow, steady stream of smoke drifted from his nostrils as he settled back comfortably onto the sofa, lazily regarding Dú Láng, who sat stiffly smoking his cigar. “Marshal, say something. What do you think of my wine estate?” Dú Láng crossed one leg over the other, glanced at Gǔ Xié Chén, and shook his head lightly. “All facade and no substance. Too ostentatious, the mark of a nouveau riche. Surely you didn't sink all your profits from Paradise Star into building this place?” Pouting, Gǔ Xié Chén blew three perfect smoke rings, watching them slowly expand and dissipate. After a long moment, he finally smiled. “Not at all. This building cost me fifteen cubic measures of Zakla crystal. The wine cellar and the special-issue cigarettes? That’s forty cubic measures of Zakla crystal. The attendants and servants inside—well, their cost is minimal; each is worth about one standard block of Zakla crystal. Unemployment is too high in the Federation; labor is cheap! The bottle you just drank is worth exactly one hundred times the combined worth of those two girls, no more, no less—exactly one hundred times!”

Dú Láng gave a cold laugh and expelled a heavy plume of smoke. He glanced at Gǔ Xié Chén, a sneer curling his lip. “You didn't drag me here just to waste my time, did you? If it weren't for the sake of…”

Gǔ Xié Chén interrupted him, shifting his weight easily, a knowing smile playing on his lips. “If it weren't for my master, you wouldn't even spare me a glance, would you?”

Dú Láng snorted, lifting his chin high with an air of arrogance. As the Chairman of the Federation Military Council, one of the most powerful men in the Federation, he indeed felt little inclination to entertain this newly risen ‘Federation Hero,’ unless Gǔ Xié Chén’s backing was exceptionally formidable. Dú Láng had seen plenty of so-called ‘heroes.’ Few of the once-shining stars remained today; many rose suddenly only to fall just as fast. If it weren’t for the Corpse Emperor, he wouldn't have bothered accepting this young man Gǔ Xié Chén’s invitation.

The difference in status was too vast! Dú Láng frowned, looking at the flippant Gǔ Xié Chén, already regretting his acceptance. “So what if he’s the Corpse Emperor? Even if he’s the Corpse Emperor’s apprentice, does he think he can use the Corpse Emperor’s name to summon me?” Sensing Dú Láng growing impatient, Gǔ Xié Chén quickly sat up straight and produced a consciousness storage chip, offering it across. “The main reason I asked you here today is to discuss the procurement plan for Hercules I. And, well, I also wanted to forge a beneficial relationship with you!” “A beneficial relationship?” Dú Láng scoffed inwardly. Gǔ Xié Chén lacked the necessary stature to forge a true connection with him. Even as the Corpse Emperor's apprentice, Dú Láng had learned through certain channels that Gǔ Xié Chén was poor material for true cultivation, meaning his status wouldn't elevate much further. At best, after a century of hard work for the Nine Nether Path, Gǔ Xié Chén might achieve Dú Láng's current standing—that would be his absolute peak fortune. After all, Dú Láng himself was merely a nominal disciple of the contemporary Master of the Kunlun Dao Sect.

Dú Láng hesitated for a moment before accepting the storage chip offered by Gǔ Xié Chén, then suddenly laughed. “There aren’t any hidden surveillance cameras in this reception room, are there? I wouldn’t want some gossip headline tomorrow screaming that the Chairman of the Military Council accepted a bribe—that would be a monumental farce!” Gǔ Xié Chén looked at Dú Láng with feigned shock, shaking his head. “That joke wouldn't be funny!” He extended his hand forward. “Marshal, if you are unwilling to look at what’s inside, then we can pretend this meeting never happened. We can go our separate ways from now on!” Dú Láng fell silent for a beat, then reached out and took the chip. A thread of pure spiritual energy probed the device. After about ten seconds, Dú Láng’s body began to tremble violently. He stared at Gǔ Xié Chén in utter horror, roaring in a low voice, “The contents of this chip? You—you—how did you obtain this?” Gǔ Xié Chén watched the stunned Marshal with satisfaction, calmly crushing his cigarette butt into the ashtray and vigorously rubbing his palms together. “Tsk, tsk,” he murmured, smiling at Dú Láng. “What you see here isn’t everything; it’s only half. The other half is also in my possession. Now, do you still have any objections to my presumptuous request for a private meeting?” *、、*****、What was recorded in that storage chip… was the summoning method for Yue Li…