Chapter 135 The Master Steps Up

The customary triple plea! Votes, recommendations, and bookmarks—please, please, please bookmark!

"Hold on!" Wan Hailu made a gesture. "If you want to thank someone, thank the Master first!"

President Qian was momentarily stunned, then immediately shot another look at the female singer.

The female singer hastily and obediently stood up, bowing formally to Yang Tang. "Thank you, Master!" Only then did the others realize she was at least 1.66 meters tall.

"No need to thank me," Yang Tang waved a hand. "I already said I only lent a hand because you have a very comical aura."

The female singer was dumbfounded.

President Qian’s eyes rolled as he carefully probed, "May I ask, Master, where does this comical aura come from?"

Yang Tang cast a lukewarm, cynical glance at President Qian and sneered, "It comes from inside your trousers."

President Qian’s expression changed drastically on the spot. He flapped his hands in panic toward Wan Hailu and babbled, "President Wan, there is absolutely no such thing! Absolutely none!"

One had to understand that in this world's China, engaging in sexual relations with anyone under sixteen—regardless of the female's consent—was classified as statutory rape. Furthermore, for relationships involving individuals between sixteen and eighteen, both parties were highly susceptible to having their reputations completely ruined for life. That was why, the moment Yang Tang made that veiled allusion, President Qian’s face drained of color and he denied it vehemently.

The female singer’s face turned beet red, looking as wronged as if she had suffered a monumental grievance, her eyes welling with tears.

Wan Hailu looked at Yang Tang, knowing there was more to come.

"Alright, you two, I am not talking about illicit carnal acts. After all, Miss Jiang here is still a virgin as of today, and should be exactly one hundred days shy of her eighteenth birthday, am I right?"

"Y-You... how did you know?" the female singer blurted out in shock.

Wan Hailu intervened with a displeased frown, "Call him Master!"

"Master, how did you know?" the female singer repeated, correcting herself.

President Qian, listening from the side, was burning with anxiety. He thought to himself, *Are you an idiot, girl? With Wan Hailu’s resources, finding out your birthdate is child's play. And you're still hung up on 'Master'—*

Before he could finish that thought, Yang Tang continued, "Not only do I know that Miss Jiang is one hundred days away from turning eighteen, but I also know that this morning, when President Qian was wiping his backside, he accidentally smeared shit all over his hand."

Hearing this, President Qian nearly leaped out of his skin. "How do you know that? That's impossible!" Who on earth would go around bragging about accidentally getting feces on their fingers? Yet, a secret known only to the heavens, the earth, and President Qian himself had been hit dead-center by Yang Tang. It was no different from running into a ghost.

Could it be—

"Master, did you have someone install a pinhole camera in my house?" Try as he might, President Qian refused to believe Yang Tang was truly that divine.

"Audacious!" Before Yang Tang could reply, Wan Hailu was the first to take offense. "It is effortlessly simple for the Master to divine your past and your future. Why would he need to resort to something as sordid as a pinhole camera?"

President Qian remained utterly unconvinced and defiant.

Yang Tang asked, "President Qian, after taking your medicine, your stomach hasn't acted up for a few hours, has it?" At these words, President Qian’s expression flickered slightly. "This morning on your way to work, you stopped at a public restroom by the roadside, had a bout of watery diarrhea, and almost slipped into the squat toilet pit, didn't you?"

President Qian’s face went through a wild transformation. Because of his stomach trouble, he had used the toilet four times that morning: the first time at home, the second time at the roadside public restroom. If someone installing a pinhole camera at his house was somewhat plausible, the probability of a pinhole camera being installed in a random public toilet stall he chose on a whim was virtually zero.

"Alright, enough digression. Let’s return to the topic at hand. The reason I helped Miss Jiang secure a role from President Wan is indeed because of the comedy originating from President Qian’s trousers."

Broached with the subject once more, President Qian didn't dare to jump up and deny it. Instead, he asked with a trembling voice, "Master, what possible comedy is there in my trousers?"

Wan Hailu also pricked up his ears.

Yang Tang slanted a look at him. "President Wan, it wasn't the color of a pitch-black dung beetle, quite rare, isn't it?"

Wan Hailu paused, then nodded.

"What if the underwear of both individuals happened to not be the color of a black dung beetle?"

As soon as these words fell, the atmosphere froze instantly. Then, the complexions of both President Qian and the female singer shifted dramatically, making them wish a crack would open in the ground so they could crawl into it.

After finishing their discussion with President Qian regarding the rental of the recording studio, Wan Hailu offered to treat them to dinner, but Yang Tang politely declined, saying he wanted to walk around Houhai a bit longer. Since Jiang Zhizhen had been here twice before, President Qian assigned her the role of tour guide.

"Brother Yang, you're so bad! Why did you tease me and President Qian like that?"

Yang Tang spread his hands. "Little Beauty Zhizhen, how was I teasing you? It's just the facts. Weren't you wearing dung-beetle-colored underwear?"

"Ugh, stop talking!" Jiang Zhizhen stomped her foot in exasperation.

"Fine, fine, I'll stop!" Yang Tang raised his hands in surrender while tilting his head to admire Jiang Zhizhen’s lovely features. "So, where is this shop you mentioned?"

Jiang Zhizhen pointed forward with a delicate, spring-onion-like finger. "Look, right over there." Lowering her voice, she asked, "What about those two bodyguards of President Wan following us? Should we really just ignore them?"

"I said we don't need to pay attention to them, so we don't. Lead the way!"

It had to be said that the Houhai area, while appearing artistic and seemingly less noisy than the nightclubs in Sanlitun, was actually a mixed bag of dragons and tigers. Furthermore, the backgrounds and statuses of the patrons visiting here were often far more complex than those in Sanlitun.

The bars in Sanlitun were somewhat wilder, frequented by various second-generation offspring of the wealthy, officials, and celebrities, alongside numerous minor models. Consequently, raw transactions easily sprouted there, and with the embassy district close by, foreigners were also plentiful. However, those foreigners belonged to the lower tiers of the various embassies, frequenting bars merely for amusement.

Conversely, Houhai had a more bohemian and literary vibe, causing successful individuals of advanced years to occasionally haunt its bars and nightclubs. As to whether such people came for pleasure, business networking, or trade, few could ever tell.

"We're here, Brother Yang, right this place!" With that, Jiang Zhizhen pushed open the shop door and bounced inside first.

Yang Tang followed, and the moment he crossed the threshold, he heard scattered patrons jeering. On the stage, a fellow with shoulder-length dyed yellow hair and a guitar slung over his shoulder was scurrying off the stage in a panic, as if lingering a second longer would mean being buried alive.

"It's that yellow-haired weasel again, serves him right!" Jiang Zhizhen clearly had a minor grievance with the fellow; otherwise, she wouldn't have spoken with such venom.

"Who's that weasel?" Yang Tang asked casually. "Did he offend you?"

"Just a guy who's all talk and no substance. An outsider, drifting in Beijing!"

Jiang Zhizhen gave a brief introduction without delving deeply into it. Yang Tang didn't mind either, motioning her to sit at a corner table. Immediately, a waiter came over to greet them.

"You two, what would you like to order?" Seeing that Yang Tang looked unfamiliar, the waiter was about to probe his background, but catching sight of Jiang Zhizhen and finding her vaguely familiar, he changed his phrasing.

Yang Tang pointed at Jiang Zhizhen. "Get her a glass of fruit juice. I'll have whiskey, on the rocks!"

The waiter paused for a moment, then went back to the counter and returned with a device resembling a POS machine. "This gentleman wishes to alcohol. Please verify your fingerprint!"

"Verify my fingerprint?" Yang Tang blinked, only then remembering that the laws of this world's China indeed stipulated a strict minimum age of eighteen for alcohol consumption. He promptly extended his thumb and pressed it against the screen. *Beep, beep!*

Verification passed.

"Please wait a moment, your orders will be right up!"

At that moment, a female singer had taken the stage and was singing: *"One wrong step, a lifelong mistake; entering the sea to dance for a living. A dance hostess is also human; who can I tell the pain in my heart? Driven by the torment of survival, swallowing tears down into my stomach. Is this fate, destined to spend one's life drifting in the dust?"*

One had to admit, it was a fine song with a decent melody, but it was somewhat out of step with the times and failed to match the current atmosphere of the bar. Sure enough, before the female singer could finish, the patrons began jeering and heckling again.

"What kind of garbage is this to sing?"

"Yeah, 'a dance hostess is also human'—"

"If a dance hostess doesn't accompany guests, what does she accompany? A giant panda?"

"Exactly, get lost!"

"Get off the stage, get off, get off!"

Seeing this, Jiang Zhizhen couldn't help muttering, "Don't these people have any appreciation for art?"

Yang Tang teased, "Shall our second female lead go up there and belt one out?"

Jiang Zhizhen was startled, then waved her hands frantically. "Me? No, no, no! If President Qian finds out, he'll beat me to death!"

Yang Tang raised an eyebrow. "He'll beat you? Does he really dare hit you?"

Knowing that Yang Tang was showing concern for her, Jiang Zhizhen felt a warmth blossom in her chest, though she didn't dare seize the opportunity to dig a pit for President Qian with her words. "No, no, I just mean he would definitely scold me to pieces."

Yang Tang was noncommittal and asked further, "Do you really not want to go up?"

Jiang Zhizhen shook her head. "Nope."

"Then I'll go up and mess around. It's been a while since I played the piano, my hands are itching!"

"Ah?!"

Jiang Zhizhen watched in astonishment as Yang Tang walked toward the upright piano over by the side.

At that moment, seeing that nobody else was going up to take the stage and perform, the surrounding patrons resumed their idle heckling.

Yang Tang sat down at the piano without addressing anyone, launching straight into a rendition of *The Flight of the Bumblebee*. The surrounding clamor gradually subsided into silence.

Sitting in the corner, Jiang Zhizhen watched this scene with her mouth slightly agape, absolute disbelief written all across her face. One had to know that she had gone to South Korean entertainment agencies as a trainee at the age of twelve. At fifteen, when her company was acquired by Baishi Media Group—where President Qian currently worked—she had caught President Qian's eye and subsequently received much more systematic training. While she couldn't claim to have mastered all instruments to the absolute pinnacle, she at least possessed a professional standard, and correspondingly, her aesthetic appreciation was equally professional. From her perspective, the piano piece Yang Tang had just rattled off was proficient enough to grace the Vienna Musikverein.

The other patrons naturally lacked Jiang Zhizhen's professional discernment, but they could still tell that Yang Tang's playing was extraordinary, and they were more than happy to wait for his next move.

*Snap!*

Yang Tang snapped his fingers, summoned the waiter, and whispered a few instructions. With a bewildered expression, the waiter returned to the counter, retrieved a tall goblet, and handed it to Yang Tang.

"Thank you!"

Yang Tang took the tall goblet and placed it atop the piano. Casually striking a few keys, he spoke in a moderate volume, "I've always believed that reason doesn't rely on shouting, so when I sing, I don't particularly like using a microphone. Well, let me present a refreshing Russian song for everyone!"

"A Russian song?!"

"What kind of nonsense is that?"

"Shh, just listen first!"

The piano accompaniment swelled right on cue.

*"The house is built,*
*The front door slams shut behind me,*
*The autumn wind beats against the window,*
*Weeping desolately for me.*
*Night thunders roll, morning mists linger,*
*The sunlight has grown utterly cold,*
*Ancient pains follow one after another,*
*Everyone get ready..."*

The patrons began to whisper amongst themselves again.

"Hmm, not bad to listen to."
"It's just a bit too bland."
"We need something exciting—"

Just as they showed signs of stirring up trouble again, a pitch-high, piercing shriek abruptly burst from Yang Tang's throat.

*"Oh-oh-oh-oh-oh—"*

That's right, a shriek. High-pitched, yet reminiscent of the calls of a dolphin.

*"Oh-oh-oh-oh-oh—"*
*"Crack, crack-clack!"*

As Yang Tang delivered the second shriek, the tall goblet resting on top of the piano shattered.