At night, the lights were enticing. Tang Yulan saw an old man in his fifties digging a hole under a ginkgo tree on the sidewalk and putting shiny things into it. As he approached, he realized that what the man was burying were actually coins. He asked with confusion, "Uncle, what are you doing?" The old man looked up, sized Tang Yulan up, and said, "Without money, there is no life. Without money, people can't survive, let alone these trees." Tang Yulan felt a vague touch in his heart and asked, "Uncle, do you need my help?" "Young man, thank you for your kindness, but I must do my own things," the old man replied, then ignored Tang Yulan and continued to dig holes under the ginkgo tree, burying coins. "No money, no life," he suddenly felt somewhat ridiculous, and beyond the ridicule, he felt a bit sad. Having not drunk alcohol for over three years, Tang Yulan now really wanted to have a drink. Nightshade Bar. Two tall bouncers blocked Tang Yulan in front of the glass doors: "Sir, we're very sorry, but those who are not properly dressed cannot enter."

The voice sounded polite, yet it carried an attitude that kept others at a distance. Normally, there were many who were not well-groomed, but they would either leave a tip of a hundred or two, or simply pull out a VIP card, and the host would certainly not stop them. However, Tang Yulan was wearing a shabby shirt with frayed sleeves, jeans, and worn-out sneakers, with a three-yuan Lushan cigarette dangling from his mouth, clearly an ungrateful migrant worker. Letting him into a high-end bar would be like turning it into a refugee camp. Tang Yulan sneered, narrowing his eyes and said, 'I may be dressed casually, but this shirt was given to me by the British Royal Duke of Doncaster. In all of China, I am the only one who owns it; even the buttons exude extravagance and luxury, not even the mayor is qualified to wear it. My jeans are a limited edition from the world-famous Prada brand, with only a hundred pairs issued in all of China, and you can't afford the front zipper. Just look at these shoes, designed and handmade by the Dior design team, one shoelace is enough for you to support three wives, now get lost!' The host felt as if his head was going to burst, sweating profusely, and said, 'Sir, no matter what brand you are wearing, the rule is that those not properly dressed cannot...' As he spoke, a fashionable lady walked by, dressed in a bikini that covered less than the palm of a hand, and walked in with her flip-flops slapping loudly. Tang Yulan grabbed the host's collar and pointed at the lady who had just entered, saying, 'Oh? Does that count as properly dressed?' The host retreated, holding up his hands and said, 'Let's talk this over... Sir, let's talk this over nicely!' 'Get lost, I don't have time to waste my breath on you fools!'

He threw the receptionist to the ground with a flip, then walked in with his nose in the air. Tang Yu ordered a drink and sat in the corner, the dim light concealing the simplicity of his attire, yet accentuating the contours of his face more clearly. A sense of vicissitudes and melancholy emanated from him. Before long, he attracted a sexy lady. Her walking posture was very elegant, her stunning beauty accompanied by arrogance and disdain. She wore a cool crop top, and on the bottom, a hot pair of shorts, revealing her straight and slender legs. Her sexy figure made her already beautiful body look even more charming. During the time the lady arrived, seven or eight men offered toasts to her, but she only took a light sip. For some reason, she became interested in Tang Yulan in the corner. "Are you alone, sir?" "Yes," Tang Yulan nodded gently in acknowledgment, then looked up to see the lady's face clearly. She had a delicate oval face, snow-white and smooth skin, a straight little nose, and lips with very enticing contours. What was stunning were her eyes—bright, clear, and particularly moving, with a subtle hint of seduction. If described in two words, it would be 'devilish.' Tang Yulan noticed that many men in the bar were stealing glances at her, their eyes showing a dazed look. A man beside her tried to puff out his chest to make himself look more upright. "Don't be surprised, I just feel that you resemble a friend I haven't seen for many years. My name is Hua Qinrou." "Tang Yulan," Tang Yulan said indifferently. Hua Qinrou felt a sudden 'thump' in her heart.

Trembling slightly, the name had long been buried in the depths of his heart, a place so distant that he couldn't bear to touch it. Instantly, sweetness and sourness surged through his heart, causing the crystal glass in his hand to wobble slightly, nearly falling onto the table. She had never dreamed that, years later on this day, she would have the chance to meet him again. He was taller than she remembered, his handsome face less boyish, with an added touch of vicissitudes and maturity. At that moment, a large hand suddenly reached out from behind, pressing down on Tang Yulan's shoulder, and a gruff voice sounded from behind: 'Hey buddy, you're sitting in my seat.' Tang Yulan turned his head to look, and standing behind him were four scruffy youths with disheveled hair like a chicken coop. They lifted their jackets, revealing sharp daggers at their waists. Tang Yulan glanced at the daggers, seemingly fearful as he swallowed saliva and stood up to leave. 'Haha, just as expected, pretty boys are unreliable...' The four hooligans laughed heartily without any restraint. Hua Qinrou looked at Tang Yulan with disappointment. Was this really the proud him? Where had that arrogance and coldness gone? Her face paled slightly, her hands trembling. Perhaps, it was just a coincidence that they shared the same name.