Chapter Thirty-Three: Vanity and Taboo

Ultimately, in a club that sees tens of thousands of visitors each day, who would notice if there were one more person, or one less? Yet in a place where no one cares, the sudden presence of someone acutely conscious of their own identity naturally draws attention.

Curiosity is intrinsic to human nature. The more you try to keep something hidden, the more you forbid them from seeing or knowing, the more determined they become to uncover the forbidden, to reach out and touch what is off-limits.

Like those on the dance floor, lazily swaying, pressing their bodies against strangers. Even when a fingertip lingers on a subtle spot, even if a knife slips unnoticed into someone’s flesh, even if bloodied hands mixed with bodily fluids drip from a body, their faces remain oblivious, their limbs slack and limp.

Chen Qing frowned, casting a glance toward Jiang Wan. “This isn’t something you’d see in the ordinary world.”

She nodded, her expression grave. She had always thought stories about people harvesting kidneys were just urban legends.

“But I’m serious,” Chen Qing tilted his head. “What are they even doing with these kidneys? Stir-frying them?”

Jiang Wan froze for a second, then let out a sudden laugh, startlingly out of place among the crowd.

“Why stir-fry?”

“Because it tastes good. Besides, anything harvested in this kind of environment couldn’t possibly be of any use, could it?” As he spoke, a man sidled up beside him, seeming dazed, as if drunk. He staggered, leaning heavily on Chen Qing’s arm, bringing his mouth close to his ear and murmuring, “Want a thrill? 1.3 million for five minutes.”

He tugged at Chen Qing’s arm, his eyes flicking to Jiang Wan. “Bring her too! Try it out—don’t say I never did you a favor! Free trial for thirty seconds. You’ll never want to stop.”

Chen Qing’s gaze sharpened, but he smiled and countered, “Powder or pills?”

The man curled his lip in disdain. “Come on! You think I’d deal in such cheap stuff?”

He unzipped the bag slung at his waist, revealing a few red and yellow items nestled inside.

One glance was all it took for Chen Qing to sense what those things were.

“Don’t worry, absolutely safe! Absolutely healthy!”

They were items so tainted with the aura of the forbidden, so bizarre, that they wouldn’t even qualify as grade F materials.

He grabbed a random man from nearby—a man who swayed on his feet, his greedy eyes darting about.

“Not yet... not time yet. Brother Zhang, not time yet!” he mumbled, clutching his chest as though terrified anyone might discover where he’d hidden his stash.

But the procurer made no move to snatch it. He simply grinned at the addict. “Trade for something else. When you’re done, I’ll give you an extra ten seconds.”

“Trade... I’ll trade!” Saliva dribbled from the addict’s lips as he reluctantly fished something from inside his clothes, then selected an item from the man’s bag.

He glanced at Chen Qing, but didn’t bother to speak, eyes locked on the object in his hand as he pressed it to his chest.

The procurer chuckled, appearing more animated, slipping an arm around Chen Qing, while Jiang Wan, watching, could hardly bear it any longer.

She frowned, about to intervene, but saw Chen Qing’s fingers gently motioning her to wait.

Chen Qing studied the man before him, a different thought already taking shape in his mind.

...

That man known as Brother Zhang wasn’t really surnamed Zhang—there was simply a Zhang in his full name. He was nothing more than a lackey in the club, eking out a living selling items tainted with the aura of the forbidden, objects carrying the taint of forbidden relics.

For those who couldn’t afford to buy, he offered rentals—a strategy that, in just a few decades, had made him a fixture on this dance floor, hailed as Brother Zhang by all.

In this place, he was a man who could move millions in minutes.

He hung on Chen Qing’s arm, growing restless inside, but not letting it show. Watching Chen Qing’s hesitation, he glanced down at his bag, his left hand darting in to pull out an object still warm from someone’s body.

“Don’t worry—everyone here is respectable. If anything goes wrong, they’d tear me apart. Give it a try, you’ll love it!”

Struggling to suppress his reluctance, wrestling with the desire to keep the item for himself, he forced himself to choose the future over the present—an addicted client was worth far more than a few minutes’ profit.

He repeated this mantra in his mind, forcing the object into Chen Qing’s hand.

He raised his right hand, watching the second hand on his watch tick forward.

“One second... two seconds.” He looked up, but Chen Qing’s face was unmoved.

“Five seconds... six seconds.” He looked down, seeing how firmly Chen Qing gripped the item.

Brother Zhang began to look bewildered, clenching his teeth, a trace of resolve in his gaze. “That one’s been ruined by that bitch! I’ll swap it for you!”

He muttered, left hand once again searching the depths of his bag.

When he opened a hidden compartment, both Chen Qing’s and Jiang Wan’s expressions shifted.

They watched as Brother Zhang began to tremble uncontrollably, his eyes glazed, then suddenly sharp with resolve. Jaw clenched, he teetered on the edge of obsession as he handed the object to Chen Qing.

Panting, as if the effort had drained him, he whispered, “This... this one will work.”

“It will indeed.”

Chen Qing examined the forbidden relic, its details flooding his mind.

“F-grade relic—Withered Blood Glass. When struck upon a target for the ten-thousandth time, the target’s organs lose control for as long as the time spent striking. Must be stored in an aluminum bag. After each use, the user will experience the same pain as the strikes delivered.”

He spoke softly, asking, “How much for this?”

“This...” Brother Zhang seemed utterly spent. “This one’s not for sale...”

He bit his lip, his eyelids drooping, but in the next instant his gaze turned crystal clear, legs trembling as he faced Chen Qing.

In his line of work, there were taboos—far too many for an ordinary man.

Seeing Chen Qing’s calm composure, his knees began to shake.

He shook his head, voice trembling on the verge of tears. “No... no, it’s not for sale.”

He had already slipped his arm from Chen Qing’s grasp, quietly tugging at the clothes of several people around him, trying to draw them between himself and Chen Qing, but Jiang Wan caught on. She took the pendant from Chen Qing’s hand, pressing its sharp end against Brother Zhang’s waist.

“In such a hurry to leave? The deal’s not done yet.” He smiled, eyes darting behind him, catching sight of the private room he had come from.

But just as he was about to speak again, Chen Qing noticed the crowd around them had cleared half a meter, forming a ring. Inside the circle, Chen Qing saw several familiar faces.

They were all terribly gaunt, skin clinging to bone, ribcages visible beneath their shirts. Their faces were haggard, teeth mottled with yellow from constant vomiting.

They looked familiar—weren’t these the young men who’d arrived here just yesterday?

They pushed through the crowd, ignoring Chen Qing and Jiang Wan, and headed straight for Brother Zhang.

“Brother Zhang... Brother Zhang~ my good Brother Zhang, some friends are coming tonight... is this it?”

The ringleader, the sickliest among them, hooked his arm around Brother Zhang’s neck, his teeth sharp and blackened. His other hand reached for Brother Zhang’s bag, only to have it slapped away.

Brother Zhang looked up, his gaze no longer as soft as before. He grinned at the youth before him, lips curling. “Tired of living?”

The young man scratched his head, hesitating, his hand pausing mid-air, an awkward smile on his face. “We’re all friends, all...”

Brother Zhang patted him on the head, but in the next instant his grip tightened, fingers digging in. The youth’s hair was already sparse, and the rough hold made him wince.

With a quick jerk of his head, the youth broke free, a glint of menace in his eyes. “Brother Zhang... so much anger?”

He turned, eyes landing on Chen Qing and Jiang Wan, who remained inside the circle, not retreating. This clearly irked him.

The ringleader rubbed his aching scalp, curled his lip, and swaggered up to Chen Qing, feigning casualness.

He was short, perhaps from hunching his back. He slapped Chen Qing’s face, grinning. “Who the hell are you, kid?”

Chen Qing couldn’t help but laugh, pulling Jiang Wan’s hand as he quickly retreated two steps, melting into the crowd.

Brother Zhang, witnessing this, was clearly displeased, gritting his teeth but not daring to call out. His frustration ultimately turned to resentment toward the ringleader.

But after basking in that fleeting sense of superiority, the ringleader seemed unsatisfied. Not a soul cheered for him; the lack of attention made him scowl.

He wiped his nose with his thumb, picked up an expensive-looking bottle from the floor, smashed its bottom, and pointed the jagged, liquor-stained neck at Brother Zhang.

“Don’t say I never gave you respect. I call you Brother Zhang, and you still put on airs? Who the hell do you think you are? Believe I’ll kill you right here.”

At his words, the music and revelry abruptly ceased. All eyes fixed on him as, in that moment, the scrap of paper pressed to his chest, combined with the tattered relic steeped in forbidden power, sent him into a fit of violent trembling.