Chapter Nine: The Bar!

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There is no nightlife for Africans—more precisely, there is no nightlife in African tribes. They have no television; some don’t even know what electricity is. Apart from gathering around a bonfire during festivals, dancing in grass skirts and shouting, “A-lu-yi-ya~~!” there’s hardly any activity to speak of.

For Wang Zheng, nighttime in Africa meant either killing or sleeping.

Africa certainly has its share of big cities and wealthy nations, but Wang Zheng rarely visited them. Facing the local women, he found himself powerless and uninterested. Only in countries like Morocco, where women’s skin was comparatively lighter, did Wang Zheng occasionally make an appearance. Morocco, a place of many mixed-race people and a long history of French colonialism, boasted women of remarkable beauty and proportion. Every year on August fifteenth, Wang Zheng would turn up in Morocco to give personal instruction to his beautiful devotees…

“You’ve really never been to a place like this?” Wang Zheng asked Bai Bing, glancing at her. “Are you kidding me? At your age, dressed like a chic career woman every day, full of restless energy and a burning desire to flirt and be flirted with—how could you have never set foot in a bar?”

Inside the largest nightclub in Jinghua City, the vast dance floor teemed with a crowd writhing in a frenzy—white hair, red hair, green hair—each person more excited than a juiced-up electric mouse. The baseball-capped DJ blasted the wildest beats, working the crowd into a fever. Onstage, bikini-clad beauties led the charge, bodies pressed close, teasing and tempting one another with exaggerated, provocative, and suggestive moves, all to elicit shrieks from the audience.

It was a scene of wild debauchery.

Bored at home, Wang Zheng had come to this raucous club to experience Jinghua’s nightlife for himself—to taste the heady abandon and ecstatic release. Bai Bing, though not fond of such places, had no choice but to accompany him.

“Don’t act so superior, as if you’re so much older than me. Don’t forget, we’re the same age,” Bai Bing replied, shooting Wang Zheng a glance. “It’s too noisy here. I prefer bars with a quiet atmosphere and a touch of romance—where you can enjoy music that stirs the soul and savor a good glass of wine. This just isn’t my scene.”

“Is that so? Then this must be exactly my kind of place,” Wang Zheng laughed. Seated, he couldn’t sit still, swaying gently to the thunderous music. Having spent years among primitive tribes, he seemed even more at home in this atmosphere of reckless abandon than Bai Bing.

She gave him an exasperated look and poured herself a glass of red wine, sipping it delicately—a stark contrast to the chaos around her, a solitary calm amid universal motion.

Watching Bai Bing, Wang Zheng smiled knowingly. Of course she wouldn’t mix with these people—she always fancied herself an Athena, aloof and self-righteous, unwilling to mingle with those who hadn’t even earned their Bronze Saint cloth.

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“Men come to bars looking for excitement. Most women who come here have already been hurt. I don’t agree with women coming to places like this alone, but I won’t object if it’s what you want. If all the women in the world were like you—aloof on the outside but wearing black lace underwear underneath—then the world would be beyond saving,” Wang Zheng teased, nudging Bai Bing as he pointed to the bikini-clad pole dancers on stage.

“What’s so great about being a lecher?” Bai Bing retorted coldly.

“Heh, you don’t get it. If you can’t dazzle the world with your charm, you can always shock it with your wantonness. A bar’s a place to have fun. I bet if there were a few guys up there in briefs, you wouldn’t be sitting here so calmly. Am I right, Miss ‘Secretly Wild’?” Wang Zheng joked, clinking his beer bottle lightly against her wine glass.

“If you mention that again, I’ll slap you,” Bai Bing threatened, but she still finished her wine. After their conversation that afternoon, she’d realized: changing this man’s mind would take time. For now, her best course was to get to know her future partner as well as possible.

“Life should be happy and unrestrained. Why spend every day brooding over some damn mission with a sour look on your face? People might think you’re chronically constipated. If you’re afraid, I’ll have your back,” Wang Zheng offered.

“Wang Zheng, I fail to persuade you, and now you’re trying to talk me around?” Bai Bing sneered.

“Didn’t you say you wanted to be my partner? I’ve already quit. Shouldn’t you quit too?”

“Drink your horse piss and leave me alone!” Bai Bing snapped, turning to the bar to see if she could find a better wine.

Watching Bai Bing, so pleased with herself, Wang Zheng let out a loud laugh, then stood up, swaying and hopping into the dance floor.

Bai Bing glanced over just in time to see Wang Zheng moving closer to a pole dancer, spraying beer onto the bikini girls. Perhaps it was Wang Zheng’s athletic physique, rugged good looks, or his rebellious air, but the dancers seemed to enjoy it, casting sultry looks his way, stroking their bodies, smearing the beer over their skin. They stretched long legs in front of his eyes, thrust their ample chests toward him—was this dancing or something else entirely?

“Useless man,” Bai Bing muttered, turning her attention back to her wine.

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“You seem to like red wine, miss. Why not come over to my place? I have a bottle of ’82 Lafite,” said a well-dressed man, appearing at Bai Bing’s side with a smile just after Wang Zheng left.

She ignored him. A woman like her was bound to attract attention in a bar, and with Wang Zheng gone, the eager men who’d been waiting for their chance finally moved in, forming a semicircle—only to be beaten to the punch by a pretty boy.

“Don’t like it?” the man pressed on, thinking she didn’t know better and launching into his sales pitch. “Eighty-two was the best year last century for wine. The rainfall and temperatures were perfect for grapes. That vintage is extremely rare—fetches thirty or forty thousand. Don’t you want a taste?” As he spoke, his hand reached for her shoulder.

With a sudden motion, Bai Bing picked up her glass and threw the remaining wine in his face, her voice cold as ice: “Get lost.”

She hated being touched by men.

Perhaps only Wang Zheng dared to touch her.

Wait—where was he? A casual glance told her Wang Zheng, who had just been dancing with the bikini girls, was gone. She frowned, scanning the club. In this flickering, smoky, frenzied environment, finding someone was no easy task. Even with her sharp eyes, she couldn’t spot him.

“You bitch! How dare you throw wine at me?” the man snarled, wiping his face, and reached for her arm.

Crack!

A sharp snap and a scream followed. The man’s arm was dislocated. Bai Bing snorted, then caught sight of a familiar figure slipping through the crowd. She immediately left her seat and gave chase.