Ethan Chen saw Mulan to the entrance of her building.
"In this state, I can't possibly get upstairs by myself," Mulan said, linking her arm with his and batting her eyelashes persistently.
Ethan nodded, got out of the car with her, and walked into the lobby.
Mulan lived in a spacious penthouse. The originally large 3000+ square foot space had been converted by her into a one-bedroom, one-living-room layout, offering an incredibly open and panoramic view.
Once inside the door, Mulan kicked off her high heels and pulled Ethan further into the apartment.
"I should get back. The Boss is still waiting for my work report tonight."
"It's fine." Mulan untied her hair band, letting her long hair cascade down. "He can't say anything if you're with me. I live here alone. Let me show you around?"
"No, you should get some rest."
Ethan took two steps back, opened the door, stepped out, and closed it.
A seamless, decisive exit!
After the door clicked shut, Ethan took two deep, steadying breaths. The reason he left so decisively was because he was afraid he wouldn't be able to resist staying another second.
Ethan knew perfectly well that regardless of what might or might not have happened tonight, just staying inside that apartment would bring nothing but trouble.
He hurried downstairs, got in the car, and left.
Upstairs, Mulan stood before the massive floor-to-ceiling window, watching the Range Rover drive away below. She let out a heavy sigh, her breath fogging the glass before slowly fading.
When Ethan returned to the casino and had just walked past the ornate screen, a man blocked his path. The man was tall, easily six-foot-three. Even though Ethan had grown up doing manual labor and had some muscle, he seemed a full size smaller compared to this man.
He had short hair and looked to be in his forties, with rough, weathered skin.
Ethan noticed the calluses on the knuckles of his hands. During his training sessions with Wade Qi, Wade had mentioned that masters of fist-fighting developed this characteristic, and their punches were particularly brutal. If the calluses were very thick, even Wade wouldn't dare take a direct hit. Clearly, the man blocking his path was one of those.
"You're Ethan Chen?" the man spoke, his eyes appraising.
Under his gaze, Ethan felt like he was being sized up by a predator.
"First time meeting." The man extended his hand.
Ethan shook it.
The moment their hands connected, Ethan felt an immense pressure. He immediately countered with his own strength, all while maintaining eye contact.
A smile played on the man's lips. "You should consider yourself lucky. Lucky I ran into you here."
With that, the man suddenly released his grip and strode away.
Ethan's entire right hand felt numb. He shook it vigorously and watched the man's retreating back.
"That's Victor Mu. Mulan's older brother," Serena He said, walking over. "If you hadn't come back tonight, he probably would have sought you out for a chat in a very different way."
"But you managed to resist the temptation. A gorgeous woman, dead drunk, specifically requesting you take her home. A delicious meal served right to your lips, and you didn't take a bite?"
Ethan gave a wry smile.
"Scared, huh?" Serena said, as if she understood completely. "Come on, let's go collect your money. You should be thinking about how you're going to spend it tomorrow."
Ethan walked into the office and his eyes immediately fell on the briefcase on the desk. Inside was packed with cash!
"Six million, eight hundred thousand."
Serena placed a cash counting machine on the desk.
"Count it yourself."
"This..." Ethan was stunned. So much money, all in cash, just sitting there. He had never seen anything like it.
A month ago, Ethan was using an old-fashioned flip phone, going home after school to help sell fish to make ends meet.
A month later, the liquid cash Ethan now had access to—including the few thousand he'd kept for himself, the tip from Mulan, the bonus from a few days ago, and the salary and commissions on the table—added up to a total of nine million dollars.
It was a figure he wouldn't have dared to imagine before.
"Cat got your tongue?" Serena waved a hand in front of his face.
It took Ethan a long moment to recover. "The commission is this high?"
"Given this month's performance, it's not an exaggeration," Serena explained. "Like I said last time, commission-based agents take one percent. Plus, you signed off on a lot of the markers since we opened, and you personally collected on many of them. That's all commission. Then there's your share as manager, your base salary... it adds up."
"You have to understand, some people doing just agent work become billionaires."
Having several million dollars in cash laid out before him was a shock to his system. In that moment, he felt his entire value system being challenged.
One month!
Earning nearly ten million!
This was more than many people earned in a lifetime!
For a fleeting moment, a thought surfaced in Ethan's mind: all his hard work studying and striving for academic excellence seemed... pointless.
The moment the thought emerged, he recognized its danger and shook his head vigorously, banishing it. The benefits of studying hard and getting an education absolutely were not measured by how much he earned in a single month.
He stepped forward and closed the briefcase. Once the sight of the vibrant red bills disappeared, the impact on him lessened somewhat.
Ethan sat down, leaning back heavily into the office chair, and let out a long sigh.
"Here." Serena thoughtfully poured a cup of tea and placed it on the desk for him.
"Thanks." Ethan picked up the cup and sipped it slowly.
Serena patted Ethan on the shoulder and left the room.
Ethan closed his eyes. The lingering effects of the alcohol kept washing over him, making him feel dizzy and hazy.
It took a full twenty minutes for him to start feeling better. He then picked up the briefcase and left.
On the way to the hospital, Ethan leaned back in his seat. "Brother Seven, you told me that people with calluses on their knuckles throw devastating punches. What about someone with calluses all over their palms? How do you get those?"
"Mr. Chen, if your enemy is that type of person, your best option is to run."
"What do you mean?"
"That comes from handling firearms."
Ethan thought of the man named Victor Mu. The reason he had asked Wade was precisely because Victor Mu was such a man.
"Oh, and Brother Seven." Ethan opened the briefcase, took out two bundles of cash, and tossed them onto the passenger seat. "Your salary. You never told me an amount. Here, take this for now."
Wade picked them up, hefted them, and said, "Mr. Chen, this is too much." He put some of the bills back.
Ethan smiled. "Made a lot this month."
Wade shook his head. "Mr. Chen, you might have earned a lot this month, but when distributing money to your subordinates, you can't base it solely on how much you made. The idea that giving your people more money will make them loyal to the death doesn't really hold true. Or, perhaps, out of a hundred bosses, only one or two who do that actually gain fiercely loyal followers."
"Human desire is endless. To be honest, if you give me two hundred thousand this month, and next month you have no performance, have no money yourself, and can't give me nearly as much, I'll become dissatisfied."