CHAPTER 65: FAKE FUNERAL

The men looked at each other before the thinnest of them nodded. "Of course, just sit. You don’t have to ask," he said with a relaxed grin.

Zhao Yiming and Luo Yanyu took their seats, though a sense of awkwardness hung between them. They tried to blend in, but the men’s dominating presence and rough energy made it hard.

"You one of Haolong’s friends too?" the thin man asked again. "Ah, name’s Gao, by the way."

"I’m Zhao, and this is my girlfriend, Luo Yanyu," he introduced casually. "We were more like acquaintances. I lived in his apartment complex."

"Ohh, I see... We were his fishing buddies," another man said, the one with bleached blond hair and a pierced eyebrow.

"Fishing buddies?" Zhao Yiming blinked.

"Yeah. Sad that he’s dead, sure... but honestly? Kinda glad too," the blond added, shrugging. "The guy talked way too much."

"Right? And most of what he said was complete bullshit!" another laughed, shaking his head. "Dude could talk about a goldfish like it was some royal koi from ancient China."

The group chuckled among themselves, trading roast after roast, casually tearing into Jin Haolong.

It was crude and mocking—but weirdly affectionate. They knew him well. Too well. The kind of mockery that came from real friendship, not malice.

"Ugh... I don’t think they’re our guys," Luo Yanyu whispered to Zhao Yiming, eyes scanning the group again.

"Yeah. Agreed." He gave her a slight nod.

Quietly, the two excused themselves and moved on to another table—this one surrounded by yet another bizarre group of Jin Haolong’s so-called ’friends.’

There was a jewelry enthusiast group showing off glittering rings. Another filled with flashy sports car junkies.

One even had members from an exotic animal club, proudly passing around pictures of snakes and rare birds like trading cards.

Zhao Yiming observed it all, unimpressed.

It was painfully clear: Jin Haolong never cared much about these hobbies.

He used them to show off his status. To build connections and more importantly to feel important.

And none of these people truly mourned him, except for that fishing buddy that weirdly look like a gangster than even a group of gangsters itself.

They were here for appearances—just like he always had been.

After circling half the hall, sitting with at least four different cliques, and enduring an hour’s worth of fake condolences, Zhao Yiming felt like his soul had been wrung dry.

"This is exhausting... they aren’t our men!" Luo Yanyu muttered beside him, slumping slightly as she picked at a cold dumpling on her plate.

"Also, fake friends, fake tears, fake interests. What the hell did that guy even like for real?"

"His own voice and face, probably," Zhao Yiming replied dryly.

Yanyu sighed, rubbing her temple. "We’re not getting anything useful like this. Everyone’s just here to gossip or network. No one’s letting anything slip."

"I need a break," Zhao Yiming mumbled, standing up slowly.

"Gonna hit the toilet. Maybe splash water on my face before I punch someone for talking about their koi fish again."

Yanyu waved him off halfheartedly. "Don’t take too long. I’m gonna pretend I’m mourning."

Zhao Yiming wandered down the hall toward the restroom, slipping into the men’s room with a sigh. It was quiet—eerily so. Just the hum of the ventilation and the soft echo of footsteps.

He entered a stall, shut the door behind him, and leaned against the wall.

"Fuuuck..." he whispered, dragging a hand down his face.

As an introvert, it was painful for Zhao Yiming in that room. It felt like when he socialized with his boss when he was still working in a company.

It was painful, all of his energy was draining. They were just like Dracula but sucking on his soul instead.

And now, he realizes that the men they’ve been searching for might not even come to Jin Haolong’s funeral.

"Damn it, what a waste of time." he sighed in frustration.

Just then, the door creaked open again. Heavy footsteps echoed in. Two voices followed—low and familiar, just outside the stall.

"...Yeah, that old couple has been a thorn in the side for too long," one of them said with a snort. "Old hag should’ve fallen harder. Can’t believe she survived."

Zhao Yiming froze, his breath caught mid-inhale. He recognized this voice, a voice that mocked Madam He in that room, the man that pushed her!

The second man laughed. "Right? Mr. Wu’s been barking around like a wounded dog too."

"Lianwu Street is the problem. Those stubborn dogs still think they can keep their homes. But let’s see how long they hold out once we start cutting utilities, roughin’ up a few tenants. No one wants to fight when their lights are out and windows smashed in."

"Yeah," the first man said. "And that old couple in 3-B? I say next time, don’t just scare ’em. Someone should really push harder—if you know what I mean."

Zhao Yiming’s fists clenched. Every muscle in his body went taut. So it was them... they’re the ones behind the harassment and violence on tenants in Lianwu Street.

"Who’s handling it next?" the second voice asked, casually like they were ordering takeout.

"New guys-"

However, before their conversation could end, Zhao Yiming suddenly burst out of the stall. Without warning, he rushed them and landed a brutal punch straight to the face of the nearest man.

A sickening crack echoed through the restroom as the man’s nose broke, and his body slammed into the door with a thud.

Before the other could react, Zhao turned and marched over to the entrance, locking the door from the inside with a loud click. No one could come in. No one could leave.

Which meant he could beat the shit out of them for as long as he damn well pleased.

"Wh-Who the hell are you?! What group are you from?!" the second man shouted, his back pressed against the far wall, eyes wide with terror.

"Me?" Zhao Yiming grinned darkly, cracking his knuckles. "I’m the nightmare that’s gonna haunt your sorry ass every time you even think about insulting Madam He or anyone else in Lianwu, you fuckers!"

He lunged forward again, aiming for the second guy—but the man scrambled into a nearby stall and slammed the door shut just in time.

Zhao didn’t hesitate. He raised his leg and kicked the stall door hard, the metal groaning under the impact.

"Come out, you bastard!" he shouted, fury blazing in his eyes. "Let me hit you at least once—just once! I swear, you’ll need plastic surgery to fix your damned face!"

He kicked again. And again. Each blow bent the door inward, rattling the whole stall as the man inside screamed.

"You—you crazy bastard! Stay the hell away from me!" the second guy shouted, desperately trying to crawl onto the toilet and away from the door.

But Zhao Yiming didn’t stop. He wasn’t here for mercy. Not for scum like this.