Chapter 14: Kindred Spirits in Misfortune?

All in, it came to eighty million, settled in full. The sales office moved swiftly through the formalities, and by eight o’clock that night, John Zhuang was finally registered as a resident of the capital, owning the first home of his life.

The three of them left Courtyard No. 7 as the city lights began to shimmer. John was in high spirits—after all, to own one’s first property in a city where every inch of land was precious was no small feat. Brimming with excitement, he turned to Long Xia and asked, “It’s a good day—do you know any fun places to go tonight?”

Long Xia frowned; for a bodyguard, such questions were always a challenge. Still, since the boss had asked, he could only answer honestly: “Young people usually like to hang out around the Workers’ Stadium or Sanlitun. Lots of bars, very lively and crowded.”

“If you want something more upscale, I’ve been to Lan Club and Show Bar. The prices are high, but the atmosphere is refined.”

“Lan Club? That’s under South Beauty Group, isn’t it?” John seemed to recall the name; after all, it was a giant in the food and beverage industry. He pressed further, “Isn’t the owner Wang Xiaofei? Married to Barbie Hsu?”

“His mother used to be the CEO of South Beauty. Lan Club was their high-end luxury club, designed by a French designer. Rumor is it cost three hundred million to create.”

“A couple of years ago, due to poor management, it was sold to new owners. There haven’t been many changes though—it’s still a high-end bar and club.”

With a grand gesture, John ordered Tiger Xia, “Then let’s go to Lan Club.”

Long Xia breathed a quiet sigh of relief. He was familiar with the environment at Lan Club, having been a few times before; there were fewer random guests, which made security much simpler.

They arrived at No. 1, Lianyi Garden North Road. The Bentley slipped into the underground garage, and the three ascended by private elevator straight to Lan Club.

A server came forward and, glancing at Long Xia and Tiger Xia—who were unmistakeably bodyguards—smiled and asked John, “Good evening, sir. Are you here alone?”

John surveyed his surroundings. The space was vast, with dazzling crystal chandeliers and enormous oil paintings lending a dreamlike, palatial atmosphere under the dim lights. There was a faint scent of cigars in the air—a touch of artistic flair.

“Yes, a luxury private room, please.”

The server bowed slightly and led John through the hall to an opulent private room. The walls displayed a variety of fine wines, a compact stage was surrounded by speakers, and beside it was a small dance floor.

Long Xia and Tiger Xia quickly swept the room for threats, then took up positions at the door. The server handed John the drinks menu; it was all imported spirits and wine, with the cheapest bottle at twenty-five hundred.

John asked offhandedly, “Any recommendations?” The server explained, “Our most popular reds are Chateau Cheval Blanc and Chateau Lynch Bages, both air-freighted from French vineyards. For champagne, Veuve Clicquot is the favorite. As for spirits, Macallan and Bowmore are both excellent.”

John casually ordered a bottle of red, a bottle of champagne, and a bottle of whisky—he’d try them all and take home whatever was left. He also ordered some snacks and a fruit platter. The server departed to prepare the order.

He stood and wandered the club, marveling at the legend of this three-hundred-million investment, which was said to have paid twelve million just for the international designer’s fee. Here, extravagance was routine—a thirty-thousand glass, a hundred-and-eighty-thousand chair, a four-hundred-thousand chandelier. Even the restrooms seemed to have been outfitted to perfection by a designer with a clear obsession.

Artworks adorned the walls at every turn; there was an entire gallery area for viewing paintings, with regular themed exhibitions in collaboration with artists from home and abroad. Currently, works by a Chilean couple were on display.

A knock came at the door. Long Xia opened it to confirm, then a beautiful hostess entered and approached John with a smile. “Sir, what sort of music would you like to hear tonight?”

“We have professional musicians performing rock, jazz, blues, country, and of course, outstanding domestic singers. Whatever you desire can be arranged immediately.”

John glanced at the luxurious sound system and the dance floor. So you could have live performances right here in your own suite—like a private concert. Interesting.

He replied casually, “Anyone who sings well will do. I’m not a fan of English songs.”

The hostess understood and left to make arrangements. Soon, the drinks arrived. John sat back on the leather sofa, raised a glass of red wine, and, knowing his bodyguards wouldn’t touch a drop, drank alone.

“Good evening, sir. I’m Su Yun, and it’s my honor to perform for you.”

John’s eyes brightened. She wore a powder-purple short-cropped jacket that accentuated her figure, paired with a pale yellow velvet knee-length dress and black high boots. Her dark hair fell in natural waves over her shoulders—tall, with long, shapely legs, clear, luminous eyes, arched brows, a high nose bridge, and finely chiseled features—a beauty of the highest order.

Su Yun picked up the microphone, sat beside John on the sofa, and asked softly, “Is there any song you’d like to hear?”

John shook his head, unconcerned. “Anything’s fine, as long as it’s not in English—you choose.”

She nodded, said nothing more, and with a remote selected a few songs, dimming the lights a notch as she waited for the music to begin. John glanced at the screen—wasn’t this Wang Feng’s breakout hit?

As I walk these streets,
My heart never seems at peace.
Beyond the engines’ roar and electric hum,
I seem to hear its candle-bone heartbeat...

Her magnetic voice reverberated, and John was surprised. He hadn’t expected such a raspy, soulful timbre—smoky with a hint of world-weariness, deeply affecting.

Here I laugh, here I cry,
Here I live, and here I die.
Here I pray, here I stray,
Here I search, here I lose my way...

As Su Yun sang, she became more absorbed, her voice now laced with the faintest trace of tears. John was taken aback, watching her eyes redden as she fought back sobs. What was happening here?

“I’m sorry, I lost my composure.” At last, unable to go on, Su Yun stood and bowed deeply to John, apologizing, “I’m not in the best state tonight. Would you like another singer to perform for you?”

John watched her shoulders tremble and recalled the lyrics just sung—as if something had pierced his heart. He picked up a tissue, handed it to Su Yun, and asked gently, “Are you going through a rough patch?”

Su Yun looked up at the guest’s resolute face. For reasons she couldn’t explain, she sensed a kind of resonance in his gaze.

“No, nothing serious.” She took the tissue, quickly wiped her tears, and said in a low voice, “Life just suddenly feels exhausting. Sorry to have embarrassed myself.”

John nodded, poured her a glass of wine, and pushed it in front of her, offering comfort: “Life isn’t easy for anyone. Whether you believe it or not, you have to keep going.”

Su Yun studied the man across from her. He looked her age, came with bodyguards, and was clearly wealthy—perhaps a second-generation heir. Yet, from his demeanor, she sensed a familiar weariness and decline.

Something seemed to stir within John as well. He leaned back in silence, recalling the past two days—how he’d gone from a penniless orphan to a billionaire almost overnight. Every time he closed his eyes, he scarcely dared open them again.

Once, his biggest dream had been to win the lottery. Even after taxes, four million would have been a fortune—enough to live out his days in comfort back home.

But now...

It wasn’t even enough for a car, let alone an eighty-million home. In just two days, he’d spent a hundred million of his own money.