Wang Fan was caught in a nightmare—trapped between a sobbing woman and an angry mob, with no way out.

He couldn’t hit her, couldn’t curse her, not even shove her away. At this point, he was half-tempted to find a tofu block and smash his own head in just to end it all.

"Little girl, you’re right—those bastards are scum. But can you please stop crying? Let’s sit down, have a drink, and you can tell me what’s bothering you. Maybe I can help," Wang Fan said, though inwardly he was screaming: This has nothing to do with me!

"No way, I’m staying right here and crying!" she snapped, yanking at his shirt with even more force, nearly ripping it apart.

Wang Fan stopped trying to comfort her and instead frowned, glancing toward the entrance. burly, shirtless man with a tattoo on his shoulder stormed in, flanked by a group of scruffy, shady-looking thugs. Their swagger reeked of arrogance, like they owned the place.

"Bastard, let go of my sister!" the man roared before even reaching Wang Fan, his fists clenched as if Wang Fan had just raped his wife.

Wang Fan was about to retort, "Are you blind? She’s the one clinging to me, not the other way around. And since when do you have a sister this pretty? Stop pretending!"

But before he could speak, the woman who’d been crying on his shoulder did something that left everyone stunned.

She abruptly stopped sobbing, shoved Wang Fan aside, grabbed an empty beer bottle, and smashed it against the shirtless man’s head.

"Who the hell is your sister? I’ve never seen such an ugly brother in my life!" she shrieked. "How dare you flirt with me? Die!"

The bottle connected—crack!—but didn’t shatter. The man staggered, clutching his head, blood trickling down his temple.

"You dare hit me?! Brothers, kill the man, rape the woman—make these bastards wish they were never born!" the shirtless man bellowed, clutching his head as he signaled his thugs to charge.

"You jerk, insulting me like that? I’ll fight you all!" The woman, now fully drunk, swung the broken bottle like a warrior, ready for battle.

Wang Fan sighed. "Are you insane? Run!" He grabbed her wrist and yanked her behind him, then snatched two bottles and charged forward.

Smash! His left bottle shattered against the shirtless man’s skull, sending him crashing to the ground, blood gushing.

Smash! His right bottle exploded against a thug’s face, spraying blood everywhere as the man flew backward, crashing through two tables.

Without pausing, Wang Fan spun, delivering a brutal kick that sent six or seven more thugs flying like bowling pins.

The entire bar erupted in chaos. Customers screamed and scattered, diving for cover as the brawl spilled across the floor.

"Wow, you’re amazing!" the woman cheered, bouncing on her toes like an excited child. "Keep going, beat those bastards to death!"

"Beat your ass and run!" Wang Fan groaned, dragging her toward the exit. He spotted the bouncers rushing in—no time to stick around.

"Let go of me, I’m not done yet!" she struggled, still drunk and wild.

Wang Fan clamped a hand over her mouth and bolted, leaving the bar in a frenzy. This woman is a walking disaster, he thought, exasperated.

They sprinted until they were out of sight, finally stopping in a secluded alley. Wang Fan was fuming. This was supposed to be a relaxing night, not a bar fight!

He made up his mind: Never see her again. If I do, I’m running the other way.

"Ugh, I’m exhausted, but I still had fun today!" the woman—Song Rumei—grinned, eyes sparkling. "Oh, handsome, what’s your name? Your number? WeChat?"

She’d only wanted to drown her sorrows, but this unexpected thrill had lifted her spirits. And honestly, Wang Fan was the only guy in the bar she didn’t dislike—plus, he seemed honest.

Who knew he’d turn out to be such a badass?

Wang Fan ignored her questions, flagged down a taxi, and shoved her inside. "No names, no numbers. Let’s never meet again. Bye."

"You jerk!" Song Rumei’s face twisted in fury as she tried to leap out—but Wang Fan was already hailing another cab and disappearing into the night.

She stomped her foot, seething. "Next time we meet, you’re dead!"

Back home, Wang Fan took a cold shower and collapsed into bed.

The next morning, 9:45 AM.

Wang Fan arrived at Silverland Group right on time.

After greeting the receptionist and signing in, he took the elevator to the 10th floor and knocked on the HR office door.

"Come in," a sweet voice called.

Inside, Dai Yuying sat at her desk, reviewing documents. She wasn’t wearing a blazer—just a white checkered shirt with three buttons undone, revealing a hint of collarbone.

Wang Fan quickly averted his gaze, but then his eyes landed on a nameplate that made his jaw drop:

"HR Manager: Dai Yuying."

Wait, what?! He’d assumed she was just a regular employee, maybe a supervisor. But manager? That put her in the top tier—six-figure salary territory.

"Ah, Wang Fan, you’re here," Dai Yuying said, looking up with a smile. She handed him a stack of forms. "Everything’s ready. Fill these out, and I’ll take you to meet the team."

After he finished, she personally led him to the security department.

The other employees stared in shock. Dai Yuying was walking a new hire through the office herself—and being so friendly? Unheard of.

Rumors swirled: Who is this guy?

For the security team, it was even more surreal. Dai Yuying was their goddess—a distant, untouchable figure. And now she was personally handling this newcomer’s onboarding?

Speculations ran wild.

Meanwhile, the bouncers at the bar were still picking up the pieces, wondering what the hell had just happened.