Chapter Three: I'm Back!

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At four in the afternoon, the plane slowly descended onto the runway at Jinghua International Airport. The journey had been thrilling, fraught with danger yet ending safely—a memory that would last a lifetime for all on board, especially that mysterious man, whom no one would ever forget.

Wang Zheng ambled lazily toward the exit, basking in the afternoon sunlight. He closed his eyes and stretched, feeling the comfort of home. The sun here was gentle, unlike the relentless African sun that peeled layers off his skin every year.

Eight years—it had been a full eight years since he’d left. Now, finally, Wang Zheng had returned.

“I’m back!” he shouted, standing at the aircraft’s door with his arms raised high. His face radiated joy and happiness, his eyes brimming with longing for his homeland. The sunlight poured over him, blending with his smile and his sun-bronzed skin, making him look as if he and the light were made for each other. The flight attendants behind him couldn’t help but stare, entranced.

His athletic build made women’s hearts skip a beat: long, powerful arms like an eagle’s wings, a broad chest and shoulders, strong wrists, and an air of confidence that perfectly embodied the word “wild.”

“Sir, your bag!” called one of the flight attendants, handing him something that looked more like a small, patched-up sack than a proper bag—shabbier than a scavenger’s kit.

“Thank you!” Wang Zheng replied, slinging it over his shoulder, ready to disembark.

“Sir, may I know your name?” the beautiful flight attendant suddenly asked.

“If fate wills it, we’ll meet again,” Wang Zheng replied without turning, waving his left hand as a casual farewell.

So easygoing and free-spirited!

Eight years away, and Jinghua International Airport had completely changed. When he’d left, it was nothing like the luxurious terminal he saw now. Perhaps it was because he’d spent so much time in mud huts and grass-thatched houses in African tribes; now, surrounded by modern buildings and facilities, he felt almost out of place. His tattered clothing made him look more like a refugee than a returning traveler.

People around him cast curious glances, quickly distancing themselves from the “African refugee,” as if to emphasize their superiority.

“Am I ruining the city’s image?” Wang Zheng mocked himself inwardly, but the reactions of others didn’t bother him. After eight years in Africa, he’d seen everything there was to see. Even in front of a Moroccan princess, he was the same as ever.

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Outside the gate, crowds gathered. Wang Zheng glanced around, searching for someone.

“Excuse me, are you Mr. Wang Zheng, returning from South Africa?” a male voice asked from behind. Wang Zheng turned to find a man in a business suit—white shirt, black jacket, shiny black shoes. How could he wear so much in this summer heat without breaking a sweat?

“No,” Wang Zheng replied bluntly, shaking his head as he walked toward the exit.

“Excuse me, are you Mr. Wang Zheng, returning from South Africa?” the same question came again, this time from a woman dressed in a sleek black suit. Her fair skin left Wang Zheng nearly drooling; after all, in those godforsaken African lands, finding a vibrant, golden-skinned beauty was harder than climbing to the moon.

“That’s me, beautiful. What do you want? I offer my services for free, satisfaction guaranteed!” Wang Zheng grinned, his gaze shamelessly roaming her from her rosy cheeks to her slender legs—all his favorite features.

Eight years in Africa, even a sow would look like a goddess! At last, a real woman!

Hearing his blatant flirtation, the woman’s brow furrowed and her cheeks flushed. Obviously displeased, she nonetheless endured for the sake of her assignment.

“The Director sent me to pick you up. Please, follow me.” With that, she turned toward the exit.

“A rookie, no doubt,” Wang Zheng thought, then hurried after her, calling out loudly, “Hey, don’t go! I meant every word—whether it’s influence, manpower, resources, brains, or, most importantly, physical prowess, I’m your best choice. You’ll regret it if you pass me up...!”

With love in your heart, every beauty in the world is your soulmate!

Outside the airport, three Audi A8s waited, surrounded by six men in black, standing guard. The woman led him to the middle car, opened the door, and gestured.

“This way, Mr. Wang.”

“In my tribe, it’s customary to greet guests with a nose-to-nose ritual. Anything less is disrespectful,” Wang Zheng declared, pausing at the car door. When the woman didn’t react, he simply plopped down on the ground, pulled a bottle of elephant liquor from his sack, and took a hearty swig.

His shamelessness defied imagination. The woman glanced helplessly at her colleagues, finally understanding why the higher-ups had sent her—a mere office worker—to receive such an “important” guest.

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The woman looked at the man on the ground with open distaste. She still didn’t know who he was, but one thing was clear: he was a world-class lecher whose eyes became scanners at the sight of a woman. Time was running short; if she didn’t get him moving soon, her superiors would lose their patience. At last, she forced herself to say, “Mr. Wang, welcome back to Jinghua City!”

With everyone watching, she bent down and pressed her nose against his in the traditional greeting. The strong smell of liquor made her want to retch.

“In some African tribes, one touch of the nose means ‘contempt,’” the man remarked.

The woman gritted her teeth, barely restraining her urge to tear him apart. But, seeing the looks from her colleagues, she bent down and touched his nose again.

“In some African tribes, two touches mean ‘indifference,’” Wang Zheng said.

“How many times, then, does it take to mean ‘friendship and welcome?’” The veins on her forehead bulged, her eyebrows knit together, and her eyes flashed with barely suppressed fury.

“First, a hug. Then a kiss on each cheek, three nose bumps, and finally, a kiss on the lips.”

“You... If you won’t get in the car, don’t blame me!” The woman glared at him. With a wave of her hand and a glance at her colleagues, she gave the signal.

Six men approached Wang Zheng. As two tried to grab his shoulders, Wang Zheng leaned back, deftly dodging their grip. His arms snapped out like blades, chopping at their knees. Both men dropped to one knee in pain.

“I hate being touched by men!” With a kip-up, Wang Zheng sprang to his feet. Facing the four remaining men, he said, “After a whole day on a plane, I’m stiff. Let’s play a little game—come on!”

He kicked off his sandals, standing barefoot, his body low and his eyes sharp, like a beast stalking its prey.

The guards exchanged glances and closed in, communicating silently. Suddenly, they lunged—two attacking high, two low.

Wang Zheng’s playful grin vanished, replaced with steely focus. He met the high punches head-on, parrying the blows. In a flash, he caught both attackers by the wrists, and, using their momentum, leaped upward, his feet barely touching their shoulders. With two crisp snaps, both men’s arms were dislocated, and Wang Zheng landed softly, light as a feather.

The last two barely saw him move before their pants hit the ground—Wang Zheng held their belts in his hands.

“Bunch of cabbages—not worth my time,” Wang Zheng said, tossing the belts aside. Amid the woman’s astonishment, he climbed into the car.