Chapter 509: Zhou Luyao, You Will Regret It!
"What is there to be afraid of saying? Even if Zhou Luyao came, I would still dare to say it!"
Tang Kun's harsh words were truly resounding.
Zhao Fansheng and the others simply shot him a dismissive glance, their lips curling into faint smirks before they turned away, pointedly ignoring him. The conversation flowed around Tang Kun as if he were a ghost at the feast, a non-entity. They chatted amongst themselves, trading amusing anecdotes from their recent lives or delving into the specifics of their careers, their voices a low hum of self-importance that filled the private room.
Zhao Fansheng, a second-generation heir with an easy charm polished by wealth, was the obvious sun in this small solar system. He effortlessly held court, navigating every topic with a practiced ease that drew the others into his orbit. He could talk about the stock market with the aspiring financiers, the latest celebrity gossip with those in media, and even offer a surprisingly insightful opinion on a recent art exhibition. He was the center of gravity, and everyone else was just a satellite.
"Brother Zhao is truly amazing," a pretty female classmate sighed, her eyes gleaming with a mixture of admiration and something more transactional. "He's destined to be a young master in high society. The rest of us could work our entire lives and never even touch the hem of his clothes."
The sentiment rippled through the group, met with nods of solemn agreement and envious sighs. They all knew their place. They were here, enjoying this lavish dinner, because of him.
Tang Kun, relegated to a shadowy corner, let out a silent sneer. 'What a performance,' he thought, watching Zhao Fansheng soak in the adulation. 'He's good at putting on a show now, but he's about to be the star of a much bigger, more humiliating one.'
Just then, as if on cue, Zhao Fansheng let out a perfectly timed, modest sigh. "What kind of high-society young master am I?" he said, shaking his head with a self-deprecating smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Even if my family's company manages to go public, we're still a long way off. In a place like Modu, a city teeming with dragons and tigers, we're just small fish in a very, very big pond."
He paused, letting the weight of his "humility" sink in before delivering the real payload. "Now, someone like Young Master Lu, Lu Xiuhan... a CEO with a net worth in the hundreds of billions... that's a true young master."
The name dropped like a perfectly placed stone, sending waves of excitement through the crowd. The air crackled with a new energy.
"CEO Lu Xiuhan! I've heard of him!" one person exclaimed. "He's like a character straight out of a romance novel—the domineering CEO, the impossibly powerful family, the devastating good looks. It's just a shame I'm not the female protagonist." A girl with a plain face, who had been listening intently, felt a brief, brilliant flash of fantasy light up her eyes, only for it to dim just as quickly into a familiar, resigned sadness.
"Brother Zhao, have you actually met CEO Lu?" another classmate asked, leaning forward with unconcealed eagerness. This man also worked in Modu's entertainment industry and was all too aware of the colossal influence wielded by Lu Xiuhan, the CEO of Lu Corporation. A single introduction, a casual connection, could be the ladder to his wildest dreams.
As the question hung in the air, every gaze in the room, sharp with curiosity and hope, swiveled to lock onto Zhao Fansheng.
A flicker of deep satisfaction crossed Zhao Fansheng's face. He let them wait a moment before answering, savoring the attention. "Of course I've met him," he said, his tone casual, as if it were the most normal thing in the world. "My family's company even has an ongoing partnership with Lu Corporation."
He took a sip of his wine, then leaned in, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "But let me tell you something," he began, a mysterious glint in his eye. "A hundred-billion-dollar CEO like Lu Xiuhan... he's still not at the absolute top of the pyramid."
The room fell silent.
"The truly top-tier young masters," Zhao Fansheng continued, his voice barely audible, "you'll never see their names in the media. You won't find them on any rich list. But you might, just might, catch a glimpse of their parents and grandparents on the 7 PM national news."
He sat back, a satisfied smile playing on his lips as he watched the pure, unadulterated astonishment wash over their faces. He had successfully elevated himself, not just by name-dropping Lu Xiuhan, but by implying he had knowledge of a world even further beyond their comprehension. He picked up his wine glass and raised it, the crystal catching the light.
"But these things are too far removed from us. From me, and from all of you," he said, his voice returning to a magnanimous boom. "Let's drink! Let's drink! Besides, Goddess Zhou Luyao will be here soon!"
With that, Zhao Fansheng cast a subtle, mocking glance towards Tang Kun, who was still stewing in his isolated corner. Then, with a flourish, he angled his arm, ensuring his wristwatch was perfectly illuminated by the overhead lights.
It was a magnificent piece. The case was forged from warm rose gold, catching the light with a soft, expensive sheen. It was held to his wrist by a strap of rich, dark crocodile leather, its texture speaking of craftsmanship and exorbitant cost. It was a statement—cool, stylish, and utterly unattainable for most people in the room.
A toady sitting next to him, ever the opportunist, immediately seized the moment. "Wow, Brother Zhao, is that your watch? The Jaeger-LeCoultre Master Series 1682410? I've seen photos of this piece a thousand times... but I know I'll never be able to afford one in my lifetime." His praise was loud, clear, and perfectly pitched for everyone to hear.
Zhao Fansheng gave the young man a look that said, 'Well done,' and nodded with a knowing, yet humble, smile.
Tang Kun merely pouted from his corner, unimpressed.
Someone nearby, less knowledgeable about haute horlogerie, leaned over and whispered, "Is that watch really expensive?"
The sycophant's eyes went wide as if the question itself was an insult. "Over six hundred thousand yuan!" he practically shouted. "You tell me, is that expensive or not?"
A collective gasp swept through the room, punctuated by sharp, audible intakes of breath. Six hundred thousand. The number hung in the air, thick and heavy. It was more than a watch; it was a luxury car, a down payment on a decent apartment, strapped casually to a man's wrist. The sheer, obscene wealth of it was staggering.
And at that moment, a short, sharp sneer cut through the awe-filled silence from the corner of the room.
Every head turned. All eyes fell upon Tang Kun.
Zhao Fansheng's smile tightened, the pleasant facade cracking to reveal a flash of irritation. "What is it, Tang Kun? Do you have an opinion?"
This was his moment. Tang Kun sat up straighter, a spark of life returning to his posture. He adopted an air of theatrical disdain. "It's just a watch," he said, his voice dripping with condescension. "That's all it is. Look at all of you, gasping like you've never seen the world."
"You?" Zhao Fansheng laughed, a harsh, grating sound born of pure incredulity. "A takeout delivery boy is going to lecture us about not having seen the world?"
The rest of the table was rendered speechless. A wave of secondhand embarrassment washed over them. Even the few who had initially felt a sliver of sympathy for Tang Kun, who had tried to speak up for him, now stared at him with expressions of pure bewilderment. He had gone from being pitiable to being delusional.
"A watch worth a mere six hundred thousand? I wouldn't even bother wearing it. I'd just throw it away," Tang Kun declared, his voice ringing with newfound confidence. "Let me show you my watches."
Under a barrage of mocking, disbelieving, and pitying gazes, Tang Kun slowly reached down, unzipped his unassuming bag, and began to take things out. One by one, he placed heavy, luxurious watch boxes on the table with deliberate, almost ceremonial care. The quiet, solid thuds silenced the murmurs.
"This one," he said, opening the first box to reveal a masterpiece of rose gold and intricate dials, "is a Patek Philippe 5204R. Worth about two million yuan."
He opened the next. "This one is a Lange 1815. I don't think much of it, personally. It's only about 1.2 million."
He moved to the third, revealing a watch with a stunning, hand-painted enamel dial. "This is from the Jaquet Droz Ateliers d'Art series. A little over four million. Not bad, I guess."
"…"
Someone started to blurt out, "Are those fakes?" but Zhao Fansheng shot him a sharp look, silencing him. Zhao Fansheng's eyes were glued to the small, official-looking cards and booklets nestled beside each timepiece—the authentication certificates. He leaned closer, his face growing paler with each one he examined. He whispered, his voice tight with shock, "They're all real."
In that instant, the very atmosphere in the room changed. It was as if the air had solidified. Every single person, including Zhao Fansheng, was now staring at Tang Kun with a completely different expression. The scorn was gone, replaced by a wide-eyed, jaw-slackened stupor.
There were eight watches in total. Eight. Each one was worth over a million yuan. The combined value was well over twenty million.
Although Zhao Fansheng's family was said to have assets exceeding one hundred million, assets were one thing—land, stocks, company shares. But to have twenty million in pure, liquid cash to spend on a collection of watches? That implied a level of wealth far beyond what they had imagined. It hinted at personal assets easily clearing a billion.
A quiet murmur rippled through the stunned silence. "How... how could a takeout delivery guy... have so many valuable watches? Did he steal them?"
Hearing this, Tang Kun let out another cold, confident sneer. "If you think I stole them, you can call the police right now." He was completely unbothered. The watches were all rewards from his Takeout Tycoon System, their origins processed and laundered, making them one hundred percent legal.
He leaned back in his chair, basking in the sea of astonished faces. At that moment, Tang Kun felt a wave of pure, unadulterated pleasure wash over him, as refreshing and exhilarating as downing an ice-cold cola on the hottest day of summer. He savored their shock, their confusion, their dawning respect.
"I originally wanted to get along with you all as an ordinary person," he said smugly, his voice echoing in the silent room. "But I didn't expect you to look down on me."
He paused for dramatic effect.
"Since that's the case, I won't pretend anymore."
Looking at Tang Kun, now sitting like a king on his lonely throne in the corner, Zhao Fansheng and the others no longer saw him with disdain. Their expressions were a complex storm of disbelief, regret, and envy. Could it be true? Was Tang Kun really some hidden tycoon who had just been keeping a low profile all this time?
Someone sighed softly, the words escaping in a breath of awe. "Tang Kun is so rich... maybe Zhou Luyao will really regret it."
Tang Kun loved the sound of that.
He was in high spirits, feeling an intoxicating rush of power. It was almost too easy. He felt like he hadn't even unleashed his full strength, and they had already crumbled before him. He had only taken out a few watches. He hadn't even mentioned the Bugatti Veyron he had just acquired, a beast of a car worth over a hundred million yuan.
"Apologies, I'm late."
At this moment, Zhou Luyao's voice, clear and pleasant, rang out from the doorway.
Everyone's gazes simultaneously swept over, and their eyes lit up.
Today, Zhou Luyao was wearing a black long dress, which further accentuated her snow-white skin, making her look cold and beautiful.
Tang Kun's eyes went completely wide. He thought to himself, as expected of Yaoyao, she's just so beautiful.
However, very quickly, Tang Kun's face hardened, and he let out a cold snort. He absolutely had to teach Yaoyao a lesson, make her realize her mistake, make her regret it, and only forgive her after three days of holding out—not a single day less than three days.
"Yaoyao, why are you so late? We've all been waiting for you."
A female classmate who had a good relationship with Zhou Luyao in college immediately asked.
Zhou Luyao tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear and chuckled,
"Was there traffic on the way? I'm sorry."
Whether it was really traffic or not, she didn't know. Zhou Luyao secretly cursed under her breath; she had almost lost her life. She still felt her legs somewhat weak and quickly found a sofa to sit on.
When Zhou Luyao sat down, she found everyone's expressions a bit strange and immediately asked in surprise,
"What's wrong? Why is the atmosphere so off?"
Everyone's gazes simultaneously turned to Tang Kun, and Zhou Luyao also looked over in confusion.
Tang Kun immediately puffed out his chest, as proud as a male peacock…
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