Chapter 66: If You Don't Tell the Truth, How Can I Take a Daring Risk for You?

Cheng Yao didn't object to bars, nor did he mind going to bars himself. He just didn't like his own woman going to bars. Double standards? Absolutely. He didn't believe anyone would willingly send their woman to a bar—was it because they didn't think their horns were green enough?

But the environment in bars was truly terrible, not to mention the deafening noise that made your eardrums ache.

They chatted over dinner, and soon it was half past seven. After leaving the mall, Lin Ketong asked, "When will you pick up the car you ordered?"

"After the National Day holiday. I haven't had time lately."

"Alright, let's take a taxi. My feet are killing me..."

Cheng Yao hailed a ride, and by the time they reached the bar, the place was already bustling. There were quite a few people at the entrance, and the prime parking spots were occupied by two Ferraris—a yellow and a red one—and a white Lamborghini.

Cheng Yao glanced over. "The Lamborghini's nice, and the Ferraris too—they're all cool. But the McLaren is still the best-looking."

"Yours is definitely handsome, though it loses value fast," Lin Ketong admitted. In terms of looks and interior, the McLaren was second to none. "Let’s wait a bit—they’ll be here soon."

"They're all your friends?"

"Two are my friends, the rest are from the company. Our station's sales supervisor is here too. Don’t mind them."

"Alright."

Cheng Yao hadn’t cared in the first place. Clearly, selling just one car earned them a hefty commission.

Soon, a man in a suit approached with several tall, graceful women, all around twenty-five or twenty-six, each strikingly attractive. They were all young models...

Ahem, car models!

Cheng Yao felt he’d been corrupted by Wang Wenbo.

"Hello, Mr. Cheng. We meet again." Wang Yiming, the McLaren sales supervisor who’d handled Cheng Yao’s contract, had noticed Cheng Yao’s interest in Lin Ketong. In fact, nearly everyone was interested, but few had the means.

Good looks and wealth still made it easy to ask someone out.

Cheng Yao nodded lightly. "Let’s go in."

"Hello, Mr. Cheng, good evening!"

"Hi, I'm Wang Jing. Take care of me in the future, won't you?"

"Shameless..."

The female models were all adults, not shy like young girls—they were outgoing. Their jobs were much like female streamers—their appeal lay in their looks and figures. But that couldn’t last many years. As their beauty faded, their dream was to find a dependable man while they still could.

Who knew—they might get lucky like Lin Ketong and catch someone like Cheng Yao.

They all understood this, though none said it aloud to save face.

There were promoters at the entrance. Lin Ketong booked a booth toward the back.

All the famous bars—1912, 1916 Bar Street—were here. Farther out were lounges and pubs, but the bar was the rowdiest place.

Dim lighting, dazzling neon, the air tinged with the sweet, fresh scent of laughing gas—a banned substance, in truth.

On the dance floor and among the seats, students were everywhere, drinking and dancing the night away. With the music blasting, it was as if their parents’ hard work was all for nothing.

There were a few pretty girls, not many, but plenty who didn’t look particularly healthy.

Cheng Yao glanced around and spotted a girl with a "special stat" over fifty, wrapped in a man's arms, her spaghetti-strap top offering little security—not that she seemed to care.

He wasn’t judging them. If someone caught something, it was none of his business.

Bars were absurd places—passionate songs and rock music played for a crowd of the most unrestrained people, himself included.

At the booth, they were surrounded by people.

Even the cheapest booths required a minimum spend of several hundred, some a few thousand, and there was the emperor’s booth, starting at fifty thousand—a place made for showing off and picking up girls.

All the pretty girls gravitated toward the emperor’s booth, where the likes of "Black Ace hairwash" and other ostentatious displays took place.

Promoters lingered nearby, ready to bring drinks and mix cocktails.

The blaring noise made conversation impossible. Lin Ketong leaned in and asked in his ear, "Can you drink, Cheng Yao?"

"No problem."

"What would you like?"

"Anything. You choose."

"Alright."

Lin Ketong was treating, but didn’t order anything extravagant. Ostentatious drinks like Black Ace were only ordered by rich kids to impress girls. Rumor had it that the bar’s record was a rich kid buying 120 bottles of Black Ace in one night—spending 1.5 million.

Cheng Yao smiled to himself. He didn’t spend, yet still got the prettiest girls.

They ordered just a few thousand’s worth of drinks—cheap stuff, likely bought wholesale for a few bucks and sold here at dozens or hundreds of times the price.

But if you cared about that, there was no point coming. No one was here for the drinks, but for the company.

Lin Ketong sat close to Cheng Yao, which drew envious glances from the other women.

Cheng Yao was young and extremely wealthy—a 4.6-million McLaren, purchased in minutes, barely glanced at before signing the contract.

Lin Ketong’s smile was captivating—prettier than Lu Mengyao, though they weren’t even on the same path. Lu Mengyao had the sweet, innocent look—the campus belle of the conservatory’s performance department, a title her friends boasted about more than she did herself.

Wang Yiming glanced at Cheng Yao and laughed. "Just drinking is boring. Let’s play dice!"

Young master Cheng, if the girls don’t get tipsy, how will you get your chance?

Wang Yiming was a pro and soon had everyone playing dice—a simple game: shake for a number, in teams of three or just two, with the loser choosing between truth or dare.

Lin Ketong unhesitatingly teamed up with Cheng Yao, while Wang Yiming and several women played aggressively.

Lin Ketong asked, "How far does the game go? Let’s not get too wild."

"It’s only fun if it’s exciting. It won’t get as crazy as over there."

Everyone looked over—a woman had her black stockings torn to shreds, clearly lost in the game. In another corner, a man and woman were already kissing.

First round over, Wang Yiming laughed, "Good luck, Cheng. Truth or dare? Or three penalty drinks if you can’t do it."

"Dare."

"Alright, you and Lin Ketong have to eat a French fry together. Not too much, is it?"

"…"

Cheng Yao glanced at Wang Yiming. If only he had a company—Wang would have been promoted the day he stepped through the door.

Sharp as a tack—no wonder he was the best in sales.

Cheng Yao looked at Lin Ketong, who covered her face and laughed, a bit embarrassed.

He was reminded of the saying: "The hunter often appears in the guise of the prey."

But so what?

If she really was a hunter, Cheng Yao thought it might actually be easier to win her over.

"Quit stalling—it’s not like we’re asking you to kiss. It’s just a French fry."

"Exactly."

The models joined in, egging Cheng Yao on, giving him his chance.

For the first time, Cheng Yao realized just how important wingwomen could be.

…