Li Qiao tapped her foot lightly against the floor, spinning her barstool around to face the commotion behind her.
The man who had just burst out yelling was still shouting furiously. His eyes were bloodshot, his entire demeanor teetering on the edge of madness.
The wooden door he'd kicked open now hung loosely by its hinges, the magnetic catch completely broken, the panel swaying precariously.
Li Qiao's expression remained calm as her gaze drifted past the chaotic scene, focusing on the inner room behind the door. Through the half-meter gap, a familiar silhouette came into view.
Shang Yu sat on a curved sofa inside the private booth, one arm casually draped along the backrest, the other holding a cigarette, which he raised to his lips between slow, languid drags.
His posture was lazy, untamed, and full of wild elegance.
The shouting man's outburst didn't seem to faze him in the slightest.
White smoke curled into the air, veiling his sharp, handsome features in a hazy mist. Li Qiao couldn't quite make out his face—but she didn't need to.
Yet instead of flustering her, it only made Li Qiao feel a restless itch deep inside.
"That guy… is he really Shang Shaoyan?"
Wen Shi, still holding the cocktail shaker in hand, muttered as he looked toward the private room along with her.
In Nanyang, there was hardly anyone who didn't know the name Shang Shaoyan.
His Yanhuang Group spanned industries from pharmaceuticals, technology, and military engineering to banking and artificial intelligence.
The sheer breadth of the company's operations practically upheld Nanyang's entire economy.
A man like that… truly deserved the title Overlord of Nanyang.
Li Qiao didn't respond. Her eyes stayed fixed on the cigarette between Shang Yu's fingers, following its movement as it brushed his lips.
His lips were thin, tinged with a soft pink. Even while smoking, the clean line of his mouth remained sharp.
And when he exhaled, his deep-set eyes would narrow, a mix of aloof elegance and overwhelming dominance.
She stared, unblinking. Perhaps her gaze was too intense, because as the man leaned forward to snuff out his cigarette, he paused—arched a brow—and turned his head slightly.
Their eyes met.
Under the haze of bar lights and the soft violin music, that one shared glance seemed to strike an invisible chord, an emotion unspoken, suspended in the air.
He saw her.
Li Qiao held his gaze openly, without flinching, without hiding—no hint of awkwardness at being caught.
Shang Yu's eyes darkened as he looked away. The next second, he uncrossed his legs and stood from the sofa.
Not once did he glance at the man who'd been yelling. With his tall, lean figure, he strode out of the room—and out of the lounge—disappearing into the shadows.
Moments later, two other striking men emerged from the booth.
One patted the angry man on the shoulder and sighed, "Bro, gotta respect the guts."
The other gave him a cold look and said sarcastically, "Didn't you want to know where your brother is? Come on. Let's take this outside."
Just like that, the commotion seemed to end.
Many in the lounge stared silently in the direction Shang Yu had left, their minds buzzing with the same question—
Was that devastatingly handsome man really the elusive Shang Shaoyan?
In less than a minute, the angry man was escorted out, and the lounge returned to its calm, mellow atmosphere.
Li Qiao smirked faintly, then turned back toward the liquor shelf behind the bar.
She took another sip of her Mojito—it was light, tinged with a youthful sourness… a little like the mysterious glint in Shang Yu's eyes.
Just then, firm footsteps approached from behind. A tall shadow loomed over her.
And a man's voice said, "Miss Li, Master Yan requests your presence."
Li Qiao paused mid-sip and lazily turned to look back.
Ah—it was a bodyguard. She'd seen him that afternoon at Bise Court.
It was clear his gaze held a subtle shift tonight. More scrutiny. More curiosity.
After all the years he'd followed Master Yan, Li Qiao was the first woman he'd ever seen the man personally ask to meet.