After years of separation, Tang Yulan returned to Lingjiang City.

Lingjiang, a renowned tourist destination in China, thrived at the confluence of river and sea. Its convenient transportation and booming economy had propelled the prosperity of surrounding regions.

Three years in prison had dulled his senses, but now, breathing in the familiar air of his hometown, Tang Yulan felt a surge of excitement and restlessness. He couldn’t return home just yet—though he had escaped, the old commander needed time to cover his tracks. It could take a week, three months, or even half a year, but definitely no longer than that.

"The city sure has changed," Tang Yulan observed, traveling light with only a few changes of clothes.

It was May, and the streets were alive with women in sexy shorts, their fair legs and swaying hips drawing admiring glances. Tang Yulan openly admired the view, his mind subtly analyzing the probable colors of their underwear from a psychological perspective while calculating the difficulty of seducing them.

After three years behind bars, could he possibly remain indifferent to women?

He pulled out a cheap Lushan cigarette, flicked the bottom of the pack with his finger, and a single cigarette leapt out, neatly landing between his lips. With a flick of his thumb, the Zorro-branded lighter—gifted by Xiao Chen before his escape—sparked to life, the flame flaring up smoothly.

The motion was fluid, almost artistic.

Two scantily dressed women approached—on the right, a curvaceous beauty in a low-cut tee, her ample breasts threatening to burst free with every step; on the left, a plainer girl with stubby legs.

Tang Yulan straightened his posture, making himself appear taller, and approached with a smile. "Miss, hello..." His gaze flicked to the white lace bra peeking from the hem of her shirt.

The woman scowled. "Who the hell are you calling 'miss'? I’ll have you know my whole family’s respectable!"

"Uh... I was just wondering how to get to—"

"No time," she snapped, linking arms with her plain friend and walking off.

"Xiaodie, did you see the way he was looking at you? He was totally hitting on you," the plain girl giggled.

"As if. The only man I like is celebrity Qiu Yuefeng. If he thinks he can flirt with me, he’s got another thing coming."

Tang Yulan shrugged and hailed a taxi, arriving at Drunken Heart Bay Apartments—a high-end complex with top-tier security and amenities—using the address the old commander had given him.

"Halt, what are you doing? Do you have an entry pass?" A diligent security guard blocked his way.

Tang Yulan, dressed in a worn shirt and faded jeans, looked every bit the part of a migrant worker. "I live in Unit 4, fifth floor. Here’s my key."

The guard scrutinized him. "Never seen you before. What’s the resident’s name?"

"Uh..." Tang Yulan faltered.

Growing suspicious, the guard demanded, "ID, please. We need to register."

No problem—Tang Yulan casually opened his bag, revealing two IDs with identical photos but different names, addresses, and birthdates.

The guard’s eyes widened. "Say, who the hell are you? Have you been stealing from the apartments?!"

With recent thefts unresolved, the guards couldn’t afford any slip-ups.

"What, a fugitive? Explain yourself!"

Fugitive? Could he really say that?

"Relax, bro, have a smoke," Tang Yulan said with a wry smile, pulling out another Lushan.

"Don’t play cute with me!" The guard turned and yelled, "Old Zhang, get over here, we’ve got a situation!" burly guard in his forties emerged, radio and baton at his side.

Tang Yulan could run—but the guards had already seen his face. If they reported him, complications could arise, especially given his status as an escaped prisoner.

The two guards stared him down, hands hovering near their batons.

"Name’s Tang Yulan. I’m a salesman for Tianlan Advertising. You guys sell fake IDs? I’ll give you a good deal if you let me slip in and distribute some flyers."

The guards visibly relaxed.

"Damn, Old Fang, you had me spooked—just a salesman," Old Zhang said.

Old Fang narrowed his eyes. "Scram. No posting flyers here, or I’ll make sure you regret it." With a dismissive wave, he turned and strolled off, hands behind his back, whistling.