Chapter Fifty: The Fops of Dunkirk

Jin was in a foul mood.

To be precise, his bad mood had lasted for three days, ever since both his left and right eyelids began twitching simultaneously, and the twitching hadn’t stopped since. The Jin family, the most prominent bankers in Dunkirk, possessed a peculiar hereditary ability: whenever misfortune was about to befall them, their eyelids would begin to twitch uncontrollably.

The worse the coming disaster, the fiercer and longer the twitch would last.

Ten years ago, when Jin’s father made a disastrous investment that cost the family hundreds of thousands of gold coins and nearly triggered a bank run, his eyelid had twitched for a full day and night. But this time, Jin’s eyelid had been twitching for three whole days! Was he being stalked by the devil himself?

Restless and plagued by poor sleep for days, Jin, once considered a handsome young man, had grown haggard. With pronounced dark circles under his eyes, a prominent hooked nose, and a sallow, shadowed complexion, Jin stared at his reflection and thought he resembled a damned dark elf, or perhaps a vampire who deserved a silver stake through the heart.

After two days with no sign of impending disaster, Jin finally gathered his spirits and, accompanied by his personal valet, headed to the family’s own Golden Rose Lounge. Though called a lounge, the Golden Rose was, in truth, the most extravagant den of indulgence in all Dunkirk. It boasted a casino, a beast arena, a gladiator pit, and auctions for slaves and exotic treasures. More importantly, one could savor the finest women, wines, and delicacies from every continent. It was, therefore, the preferred playground for the city’s young aristocrats and noble ladies.

In the bleak depths of winter, commoners toiled miserably to survive, but the scions of the noble houses would never brave the blizzards for entertainment. The long winter months meant only indoor amusements provided relief, and the Golden Rose was the perfect place for anyone with enough gold to find pleasure and delight.

Jin hadn’t come to oversee the Golden Rose’s business for two days, all thanks to his twitching eyelids. Yet, as soon as he arrived at dusk, he heard a commotion in the lounge: the famed beauty Angel was loudly exclaiming in the main hall, “It’s really him, I wasn’t mistaken, I could never be mistaken! It’s that villain—the one who took all my brother’s money, broke his head, and pushed me into, into that dreadful place!”

A villain who had robbed Angel’s brother and pushed her somewhere? Why did that sound so familiar? Jin’s sleep-deprived mind raced, searching for any connection to the incident.

After a long moment, a name surfaced—one that haunted Jin’s nightmares: Lin Qi!

The very same Lin Qi who had tormented every scion and lady of Dunkirk’s noble families, who had left all the so-called gentlemen in disgrace and all the impeccably dressed young ladies in tears. For years, his shadow loomed over Dunkirk until, three years ago, he suddenly vanished without a trace.

Lin Qi!

A chill shot from the crown of Jin’s head straight to his soles, and his body shuddered involuntarily. His head, neck, shoulders, waist, hips, legs—every part of him that had ever felt Lin Qi’s fists began to ache with phantom pain.

Angel was still lamenting, “I saw him yesterday. God, it was a nightmare! The moment I saw him, everything went black—I nearly fainted! I told Anlin and the others at the ball last night, but they didn’t believe me!”

Fanning herself in agitation, Angel went on, “But you must believe me! He’s really back! God, that demon, that disgrace, the shame of every great family in Dunkirk, that savage brute—why haven’t the gods punished him?”

In the lounge, dozens of young men and women sat in silence on the plush sofas, their faces ashen. They were all scions and daughters of Dunkirk’s grandest families. Their elders were either local nobles with vast lands and estates guaranteeing a life of ease, or tycoons who dominated the city’s commerce and ensured their children lived in luxury.

Yet, deep within each of their hearts, a dark, twisted name was branded—a name that haunted their dreams with cold sweat: Lin Qi.

It didn’t matter if they were fifteen-year-old youths or nearly thirty; they all remembered that name, and the monster behind it.

That brute, who from childhood relied on sheer strength to beat Dunkirk’s young gentlemen black and blue, stripping them of every last copper. That fiend, who from an early age tormented the city’s noble ladies with shamelessness and brute force, forcing them into humiliating encounters with gutters, puddles, and every manner of animal filth.

Three years ago, his father had forcibly sent him to the Imperial Capital for his studies, and all the young gentry had breathed a collective sigh of relief. Not a whisper of him had been heard since then—three blissful years, as if divinely blessed, during which the youth of Dunkirk flourished and lived in unbridled freedom.

But now, he was back.

Jin’s facial muscles twitched violently, in perfect rhythm with his ever-jumping eyelids.

That devil who, at thirteen, had sneaked into the Golden Rose’s casino and—somehow—cleaned it out five times in a row, was back? Heaven help him, would Lin Qi come straight to the Golden Rose to line his pockets again?

Thinking of how Lin Qi had, three years prior, treated the Golden Rose as his personal bank, Jin felt his calves turn to jelly.

“An... An... Angel!” Jin stammered, forcing himself to speak. “For the love of God, tell me you’re joking. Ha, ha, ha, Lin Qi—that fellow, how could he possibly come back? Maybe he’s already dead in some alley in the capital?”

Everyone stared intently at Angel. Jin had voiced their dearest hope—perhaps the villain had already met his end in the capital? After all, that was the Imperial Capital, a place teeming with high-ranking officials and nobles; Lin Qi might have run rampant in Dunkirk, but the capital was full of people he couldn’t possibly provoke.

But as soon as Jin finished speaking, the Golden Rose’s legendary solid gold doors were kicked open with a deafening crash.

A voice rang out—Lin Qi’s voice, powerful and unmistakable, carrying straight into the lounge.

Inside, the faces of Dunkirk’s pampered sons and daughters turned deathly pale, and every eye turned with dread to Jin.