Chapter Sixty-One: Tigress, Alluring as the City

Arrogant and domineering—such a voice could only be shouted by a woman of untamed wildness and force. Yet, to everyone’s bewilderment, the sound was unexpectedly melodious. Even as they were being scolded, people couldn't help but wish to hear more.

A bunch of worthless fools, they mused. If anyone knew what they were thinking, they would surely sneer and offer a four-word verdict: “Lost to beauty’s charm.”

From the direction of the kicked-in door, a long, shapely leg was the first to enter their view. The deep autumn night was brisk and cool, but this leg, sun-gold and unashamed, was brazenly displayed. The skin glowed with a natural wildness, accentuated by a black, knee-high military boot on her right foot, taking that wildness to its limit.

Her figure was slender, clad in a camouflage-patterned mini skirt—virtually no different from an ultra-short skirt—while the loose jacket above could not conceal the proud fullness of her chest. With every step, that curvaceous form rose and fell with a steady rhythm. The zipper at her chest had been deliberately lowered, revealing a tantalizing glimpse of cleavage, the wheat-gold skin of her breasts matching her thighs.

When she finally entered the room, her exquisitely beautiful face came into view. Now, at last, everyone could see her clearly: the same sun-gold complexion, large eyes sharp and deadly; a proud nose, delicate and charming; full lips that begged to be kissed. Her shoulder-length hair was hidden beneath a military cap, adding to her crisp, disciplined air.

Standing over one meter seventy-five, this statuesque beauty instantly became the focus of all attention—her beauty unlike the pale, sheltered daughters of the wealthy. Hers was a savage allure that made onlookers yearn to be conquered.

To die beneath a peony—what a glorious and romantic fate.

The men present, all perfectly normal in their desires, couldn’t help but wish to be subdued beneath her skirt.

As she strode through the door, her keen gaze swept the room, finally alighting on Lin Yang for a brief second. In that fleeting moment, her sharp eyes softened, though only for an instant, before she turned her steely gaze to face Leng Tianhao.

“Tiger Girl, Lin Qingcheng? Why is she here?” Leng Tianhao, who had been ready to strike Lin Yang with his knife, frowned deeply at this sight. The blade he had been about to bring down was quickly withdrawn, putting distance between himself and Lin Yang, his vigilance fixed on the woman approaching them step by step.

“Leng Tianhao, are you tired of living, or was your head crushed by a door?” the woman barked, her voice fierce as a blade.

Her eyes were ice, her words barbed; every sentence was a challenge, every gesture overbearing. From the moment she entered, this was the impression she gave: wild, dominant, unyielding.

Tiger Girl—now everyone understood the truth of that nickname. She was indeed a tigress: fierce, untamable, the name could not have suited her better.

“Young master, are you alright?” she asked Lin Yang with calm composure, stepping up to him and, without a trace of shyness, running her hands over his body to check for injuries, as if determined to inspect every inch of his skin for wounds.

When she reached for the area between his legs without the slightest reservation, Lin Yang panicked internally, cursing her lack of shame. This was a public place! Did she really intend to go that far in front of everyone? Was she planning to pleasure him right here?

If no one had been around, he wouldn’t have minded at all—she could touch, she could do as she pleased. If, by accident, his body responded, he’d just take her then and there.

Grabbing her smooth hand before it could go any further, Lin Yang grinned awkwardly. “Qingcheng, I’m fine. Don’t you know my skills? How could he possibly be my match?”

Sensing the strange looks from those around, the woman finally withdrew her hand, turning her cold gaze on the retreating Leng Tianhao. “What’s this? Is the Leng family declaring war on ours?” she snapped icily.

She was the old master’s favored protégé, almost a foster daughter to the Lin family, with the authority of a colonel. Lin Qingcheng’s words carried real weight. In some respects, she could be called Lin Yang’s personal maid—or, more accurately, his bodyguard. Their relationship was so close that, even if Lin Yang demanded she share his bed, she would not refuse.

Knowing the Leng family’s background, Lin Yang understood that, in Jin Hai City, even with powerful friends, he was still no match for them—the equivalent of an egg thrown at a rock. After careful thought, he’d been forced to play his trump card: Lin Qingcheng, his former bodyguard and maid. Ever since he’d left home, she’d been more in name than in fact, and with the girl summoned back by the old master, they hadn’t been in touch for some time.

On his way to the Tianchen precinct, he’d deliberately called her for help. Luckily, she’d arrived in time—otherwise, the consequences would have been unimaginable.

“So what if it’s war?” The one who interrupted was Leng Lang, a hot-tempered brute who exploded at the slightest spark. Seeing this exceptional, overbearing beauty suddenly appear, he couldn’t help but step forward, eager to show off—completely ignoring the helpless looks Leng Tianhao shot him.

Rank crushes rank, especially in the military—a colonel outranks a lieutenant colonel. Was Leng Tianhao really so eager to die?

“War? You really overestimate yourselves,” the woman replied, her eyes sharp as blades, a killing aura brewing within. Her words were like a summons from hell.

Before Leng Lang could react, her right foot—seemingly without any strength or impact—shot out like lightning, aiming for his nose. She’d intended to aim higher, for his head, but her height limited her reach, so she settled for the nose.

The kick landed squarely, precisely on target.

Crack—a crisp fracture echoed through the room, making everyone’s skin crawl.

A mouthful of blood, mixed with two front teeth, sprayed out in a bright arc, quickly followed by a torrent of nosebleed and Leng Lang’s anguished screams as he clutched his face and hopped about.

Ferocious—this was the word burning in everyone’s mind, though no one dared utter a sound, the tension was suffocating.

Wang Ergou, ever astute, had already retreated to the sidelines, washing his hands of the whole mess. Let them tear the precinct down if they wanted—he had neither the power nor the desire to intervene. Better to step aside and watch the show.

“You—how dare you hit me?” Leng Lang bellowed, still stunned, as if he hadn’t yet grasped what had happened. He made to charge at the woman for revenge, but Leng Tianhao quickly pulled him back, sparing him further humiliation.

Reluctantly, Leng Lang glared daggers at Lin Qingcheng, spat a threat, and then fell silent, standing behind Leng Tianhao. After all, the man was his uncle—he had no choice but to obey.

Unable to win with force, Leng Tianhao resorted to verbal sparring. He sheathed his dagger, straightened his clothing, and sneered, “Lin family brat, don’t you think you’ve gone too far?”

“Too far? I don’t think so,” Lin Yang replied with infuriating nonchalance. Seeing his opponent back down, he leisurely took a cigarette from his pocket. Before he could light it, the woman, quick as ever, produced a lighter from who-knows-where and lit it for him without a word.

Leng Tianhao was seething, but he forced himself to remain calm and spoke in a frosty voice, “Nini is from my family, isn’t she?”

“Mhm,” Lin Yang answered honestly.

“Then, taking Nini back is a family matter, isn’t it?” Leng Tianhao smirked, feeling sure that reason was on his side—this was a world that prized logic, and the Lin family still had no right to meddle.

“That sounds reasonable,” Lin Yang replied, thinking, You want to play games? Fine, I’ll play along and see what tricks you have up your sleeve.

“Then why did you attack my men when they came to fetch Nini?” Leng Tianhao pressed, his tone haughty and overbearing.

“Where did your men go?” Lin Yang shot back instead of answering, a mischievous glint in his eyes. You want word games? I’ll play you into a corner.

“Nini’s residence,” Leng Tianhao replied, though his heart skipped a beat. He had momentarily forgotten that the girl was staying at Lin Yang’s place, but he quickly regained his composure and tried to bluff his way through.

“Nini’s residence? You really can lie without batting an eye. Your shamelessness rivals the thickness of a city wall,” Lin Yang sneered. He was determined to infuriate his opponent—he owed it to his dead brothers and the four hundred thousand in compensation owed to their families.

“Hmph, so what if it’s your place? We were after Nini, not you,” Leng Tianhao retorted, his skin so thick it was almost impressive.

Truly, no one could match such brazenness.

“Breaking and entering, murdering the innocent—the dead were my brothers, and you invaded my home. And you say it had nothing to do with me? Was your brain gouged out by a pig, or did some woman’s chest do the damage?” Lin Yang’s face darkened as he barked back. Without warning, he slapped Leng Tianhao’s right cheek with lightning speed.

The blow was so fast and forceful that four crisp smacks rang out before anyone could react. When Lin Yang stepped back, four bright red handprints bloomed on Leng Tianhao’s face, swelling up like steamed buns.

“That’s for my four fallen brothers. And the forty thousand apiece owed to their families—not a penny less. Otherwise, this will not end,” Lin Yang declared, his voice brooking no argument. Judging by his poised hand, if Leng Tianhao so much as uttered a word of refusal, Lin Yang was ready to strike again.

The atmosphere was tense and silent, the threat of violence thick in the air—everyone knew that a single spark could trigger an all-out brawl.