Hua Buyi

Men swallowed bitter cocktails of envy and confusion—how could this goddess stoop to Huo Xuan's level?

Women's manicured nails dug into palms. They'd catalogued Lin Yue's assets within seconds: old money pedigree, runway beauty, nine-figure trust fund.

"Wealthy, beautiful elite" felt pedestrian—she existed in rarefied air no hashtag could capture.

Her claiming Huo Xuan as boyfriend defied all social calculus.

Hu Xiaohui's venomous tongue withered. She gaped like a chicken with its neck wrung, her arsenal of insults crumbling to dust.

Lin Yue's counterattack needed no words—her diamond-encrusted hand clasping Huo's was a tactical nuclear strike.

Ye Qian's retort died as Lin Yue's emerald gaze sliced through her—a queen dismissing roadside weeds.

Liu Ting became collateral damage. Her earlier attempts to stop Zhou Hong now tasted like ashes.

Chen Fusheng and Zhou Hong's faces curdled—architects of humiliation now drowning in their own poison.

Overnight, Chen Fusheng's romantic triumphs curdled into pathetic salvage operations—a collector of discarded weeds. His smoldering gaze at Huo Xuan could melt steel.

Ma Baorui's laughter boomed like cannon fire, deliberately aimed at the shell-shocked Hu Xiaohui.

Hu's winter-cracked lips twisted. "Sugar baby? More like brothel meat," she hissed, frostbite in every syllable.

The crowd recoiled as if smelling gangrene—this rabid cur's fangs knew no restraint.

Lin Yue's gaze brushed past Hu like a surgeon avoiding infected tissue.

Nobles don't duel with gutter strays—the unspoken law hung crystalline.

Hu's eyeballs swam bloodshot, jaw grinding enamel dust.

The manager materialized, grasping Huo's hand with reverent gloves. "Mr. Huo honors us. Tonight's decadence—compliments of the house."

"Complimentary?" The word detonated like a champagne cork.

From shadowed alcoves, Zhang Wu lowered his night-vision binoculars. The St. Regis' deed bore his fingerprints.

After fawning over Huo Xuan, the manager glared at Hu Xiaohui: "Your disrespect to Mr. Huo is unacceptable. Leave now."

The crowd gasped. Was this manager Huo's relative, boosting his status?

Hu Xiaohui screamed: "I'll sue! I'll—"

"Get her out." Two burly guards dragged her out like a sack of rice.

Bewildered, Huo nodded. Lin Yue's warm handclasp spoke volumes.

He knew Lin Yue orchestrated this rescue.

Chen Fusheng's face twitched. This hotel belonged to Zhang Wu—why would its manager grovel to Huo?

Others whispered: Did Huo have hidden power? Expelling a guest broke all hotel protocols.

"Zhang Wu invites you to the Celestial Suite," the manager said.

Zhang Wu!

Every Jiangzhou native knew Zhang Wu's legend—the city's shadow ruler invited Huo?

Their jaws dropped. Zhang Wu, nicknamed "The Butcher", tolerated no fools. What did this say about Huo?

Many secretly wiped cold sweat—mocking Huo Xuan earlier would have meant provoking Zhang Wu.

Chen Fusheng's face darkened. His father, a deputy provincial-level district chief, shielded him from underworld fears.

Before Huo could respond, Chen sneered: "Zhang Wu's here? Perfect. I'll greet him personally."

The manager forced a smile. "Mr. Chen, Mr. Zhang didn't request your presence."

As Chen's temper flared, Zhang Wu's voice crackled through the manager's earpiece: "Let the pup enter."

The manager's tone flipped instantly: "Mr. Zhang welcomes you."

Chen snorted, striding forward to demonstrate his family's immunity to underworld threats.

Huo Xuan glanced at Lin Yue, uncertainty furrowing his brow at the mention of Jiangzhou's shadow ruler.

"Go," Lin Yue urged softly. "Better not slight him."

Nodding, Huo told the manager: "Lead the way, please."

Both men followed the manager to the Celestial Suite.

The hotel's VIP rooms ranked Celestial, Earthly, Mortal—with Celestial Suite reserved for ministers and tycoons.

Marble floors and crystal chandeliers faded as Huo focused on the room's occupants—each radiating dangerous gravitas.

The Mao-suited doctor from Xingfu Park sat center, flanked by the window-shattering bodyguard whose gaze still cut like scalpels.

The doctor rose with a genial chuckle: "We meet again, young friend. Forgive the abrupt invitation."

Connections clicked—the rescue mission and hotel intervention both bore this man's fingerprints. Two debts now shackled Huo.

"The honor's mine," Huo replied, voice steady as surgical steel.

The middle-aged man introduced himself: "I am Hua Buyi, an itinerant physician. I invited you here to treat an old acquaintance." He then gestured to the others.

The private room held three others: a septuagenarian man and a middle-aged couple.

The elderly man wore a loose white tang suit, his sallow complexion contrasting with the commanding aura of a seasoned general.

None could mistake this man's pedigree—a battlefield-hardened statesman from Beijing's highest echelons.

The man wore a black Mao suit with scholarly composure; his wife's elegantly maintained features radiated authority matching her husband's.

Hua Buyi indicated the elder: "This is Elder Li from the capital, seeking treatment in Jiangzhou."

Gesturing to the couple: "Mr. and Mrs. Li, Elder Li's family escorts."

Huo Xuan's polite nod froze mid-motion—Elder Li's face matched those glimpsed on state media broadcasts.

The realization struck: these were Beijing's untouchables, orbiting spheres beyond common reach.

Chen Fusheng's political literacy—honed through his bureaucrat father—left him paling as he recognized the elder's true stature.