C55 Beauty

"Securing high-quality medicinal herbs might be a bit of a challenge, but getting my hands on the commonly traded ones should suffice," Westley mused as he walked along. He had barely taken a few steps when he was suddenly encircled by a group of people. A grin spread across Westley's face. He would have been surprised if Ethan and his crew hadn't shown up seeking revenge.

"What's the matter? Have you been waiting long for me?" Westley asked with composure.

"As long as we can take you down, waiting is no issue at all," Mr. Haris replied with a chilling smile.

"Oh? I see you've come prepared," Westley said, his smile widening.

"Obviously. We couldn't beat you otherwise," Mr. Haris acknowledged with a nod.

He then put a finger to his lips and let out a sharp whistle. Instantly, a crowd surged from the garage, flowerbeds, and sidewalk like a tidal wave. Armed with steel pipes, batons, and knives, they looked menacing as they closed in on Westley, dozens strong.

"You've gathered quite a crowd," Westley observed.

"Yeah, these are all my loyal brothers. Got a problem with that?" Mr. Haris squinted, a smug look on his face.

"It seems the lesson I taught you last time wasn't enough," Westley said, shaking his head.

Mr. Haris's face darkened with displeasure. "What are you implying?"

"Nothing much," Westley replied with a shrug. "Regardless of your numbers, the outcome will be just as bleak."

At that, Mr. Haris and his two companions exchanged glances before bursting into raucous laughter.

"You're quite arrogant," Mr. Haris mocked.

"I might as well give it a shot," Westley retorted with a slight smirk.

He knew disciplining them would take some time. But it was an excellent opportunity for a workout. After all, he had been well-fed by Miss Brianna in the private room earlier.

"Jimenez, I really think you should just throw in the towel. No point in being stubborn," Ethan said, his arm around his girlfriend, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Mr. Haris already made it clear: kneel and kowtow, and we can put this all behind us."

"Oh? That does sound quite fair," Westley nodded, feigning agreement.

Ethan and his friends were taken aback. That wasn't the reaction they were expecting. Hadn't Westley been defiant just moments ago?

Why did he suddenly back down?

Yet, when they considered the current predicament, it made sense.

Even someone as formidable as Westley would struggle to take on so many.

The kid knew when to fold.

"Here's the deal: kneel and call me 'Dad,' and I might just let you off the hook," Westley proposed with earnest conviction.

He was dead serious; it was clear he meant every word.

"You're really asking for it," Ethan blurted out, cursing.

"Knock his teeth out," Mr. Haris commanded, his eyes glinting with a deadly glare.

"Mr. Haris, I've got this one," someone interjected.

Just then, a man charged in.

He walked with a limp, sporting a head as swollen as a freshly steamed pig's.

And then there was Baldie, impossible to miss with his gleaming bald head that shone in the dark night like a 100-watt bulb.

Westley couldn't help but smile upon seeing him; they had just crossed paths that morning.

"Right on time, Baldie," Mr. Haris remarked with a grin.

"Don't even start, Mr. Haris. If that kid hadn't roughed me up this morning, I wouldn't be dragging my feet. I rallied the guys as soon as I got your message," Baldie spat, clutching a steel pipe, attempting to look imposing despite his comical appearance due to the lingering bruises.

"Everyone, listen up! If you've crossed Mr. Haris, Mr. Dogg, or Paul, you've crossed me!"

Baldie brandished the steel pipe with a show of force, declaring, "Who dares to defy us?"

"That would be me!"

Westley stepped forward.

"You?"

Baldie squinted through his swollen eyes, finally recognizing the face before him.

A cold shiver ran from his feet to his scalp.

It was Westley?

How could he be so unlucky as to encounter Westley here?

"What are you doing here?" Baldie asked instinctively.

"I'm just here to hang out with some of your pals," Westley replied nonchalantly, gesturing around.

Beads of cold sweat formed on Baldie's brow, and he couldn't stop them from trickling down.

He was overcome with the urge to sever his own hand and deliver a few sharp slaps to his face.

If Baldie had known Westley was here, he wouldn't have gotten mixed up in this mess.

The bones he broke this morning were still throbbing.

He couldn't afford to dwell on it. The moment he did, the pain would rush in like a tide, his bones feeling as though ants were gnawing at them.

He started to shake uncontrollably, his throat constricting.

What was he supposed to do?

Who could tell him what to do?

His eyes flicked to the steel pipe by his hand, and an idea sparked.

Baldie clutched his wrist, and the pipe clattered to the floor.

Seizing the moment, he collapsed onto the ground, writhing like a snake and emitting agonized howls.

"Baldie, what the hell are you doing?" Mr. Haris asked, his brow furrowed.

"Mr. Haris, my old injury... it's flaring up, hurts like hell," Baldie groaned.

He couldn't admit that Westley was a ruthless man; he had no desire to be part of the brawl.

Mr. Haris was livid.

They had to give it their all, no matter how outmatched they were. They couldn't show weakness.

But there was Baldie, not even fighting yet, rolling on the ground. What was going on with him?

"You're absolutely worthless."

Mr. Haris spat the words venomously. "So your old injury decides to act up now?"

"He saw me," Westley said with a smile.

"He saw you? Why would his old injury hurt just because he saw you?" Mr. Haris was perplexed.

"Because I might have been a bit too rough with him this morning. Seeing me just triggered the memory of that pain," Westley said, his smile disarmingly pure.

"You're the one behind this morning's incident?"

Mr. Haris wasn't a fool; he sensed something amiss.

"Exactly! Talk about destiny," Westley said, nodding in confirmation.

"Great, we'll settle our scores, old and new! Take him out! If anything goes wrong, I'll bear the consequences," Mr. Haris roared, his face contorted with rage.

A group of over fifty men closed in on Westley, looking to encircle him.

They were set on using their numbers to overpower him!

"Golden Palace sure is buzzing today. To think someone's causing a ruckus right outside my store."

A gentle voice wafted through the air.

It carried a deadly allure, winding its way through the atmosphere as if it had a life of its own.

The sound was tantalizing, making hearts flutter with anticipation.

Yet, as Mr. Haris and his companions caught wind of it, their faces turned ashen.

Whirling around, they were greeted by the sight of a woman, her figure svelte and beguiling, clad in a red qipao, approaching with grace.

Her smile and poise left everyone spellbound.

Indeed, she was the very embodiment of a modern-day siren!