Urban Warlord: The Unstoppable Mercenary

Chen Liuhe brushed off her question with no intention of elaborating, offering only a breezy smile. "What, dazzled by my charm already? Isn't this physique just perfection?"

Qin Ruohan's gaze shifted, noticing that beneath the web of scars lay a body sculpted to near perfection. Every muscle on Chen Liuhe seemed brimming with power.

Unlike the hulking, intimidating builds of bodybuilders, his frame was leaner—lines sharp and defined. His chest muscles were firm, not massive; his eight-pack abs were crisp and distinct. Even his waist, ribs, shoulders, and arms carried explosive strength, hitting the senses with a raw, visceral punch.

Compared to those beefy, bull-like fitness freaks, Chen Liuhe's build wasn't as in-your-face, but Qin Ruohan was certain anyone seeing it would think violent beauty. She had no doubt his strength rivaled—or surpassed—those muscle-bound maniacs. After all, this was the guy who'd punched 1091 pounds on a whim.

If she knew that wasn't even his full power, who knows what she'd think…

"What… have you been through?" Qin Ruohan asked again, her expression dazed.

Chen Liuhe chuckled lightly. "Rein in that overflowing curiosity. Things you shouldn't know? Best not to dig."

She pouted, a touch defiant. "Fine, don't tell me. What's the big deal?" Forcing down the ripples in her chest, she grabbed her cue and bent over the table to start a new game.

"Doesn't matter how tough you are—I'll still strip you bare tonight. Concede now, and I'll mercifully let you keep a scrap to cover up," she taunted.

Chen Liuhe replied with two soft words: "Break."

Maybe Qin Ruohan's nerves were off, or maybe it was something else, but her break shot sank nothing. Chen Liuhe stepped up, cue in hand, striking a textbook stance.

Crack! A clean shot, and a solid ball dropped neatly into the pocket.

He didn't want to lose his pants, so he got a little serious. Anyone who knew Chen Liuhe knew a serious Chen Liuhe was a force of nature—terrifying in anything he touched.

What followed was a masterclass in reversal. He wielded the cue with precision, power, and ruthlessness. Every targeted ball, no matter the difficulty, sank flawlessly. Two shots Qin Ruohan deemed impossible? He nailed them without breaking a sweat—pure, exhilarating dominance.

Qin Ruohan stared, jaw slack, disbelief washing over her again. Was this guy… pro-level?

No, pros slipped up sometimes. Chen Liuhe's game screamed steady—freakishly steady.

The final black 8 dropped, and he shot her a "your move" look. She nearly cursed, gritting her teeth. "Chen Liuhe, you liar! Playing dumb to eat the tiger?!"

"Hey, Boss Qin, where's that coming from?" he asked, grinning innocently.

"This is your 'can't play'? You're at least pro-level!" she snapped, feeling toyed with.

He rolled his eyes. "Did I ever say I couldn't play? Qin, my beauty, don't make lame excuses just 'cause you can't handle losing. A bet's a bet, right?"

"You—!" She huffed, then snorted. "Who can't handle it? Off it comes, big deal." She unbuttoned her blazer and shed it, revealing a white, slightly sheer blouse that caught the light—and Chen Liuhe's eye.

"Smirking for what? It's one-one, a tie. You just got lucky. I don't buy you'll luck out every time," she said, unconvinced this combat freak could dominate her best game too.

But reality proved Chen Liuhe's freakishness defied comprehension. If the second round gave her a chance to touch the table, the third—his break—left her sidelined entirely.

She gaped as he cleared the table in one go…

"Keep going?" he asked, all smiles.

Her face flushed with fury, eyes blazing with stubborn defiance. She couldn't accept being crushed in her own domain.

Without a word, she kicked off her heels, baring delicate feet—no socks, just purple-painted toes with intricate designs, oozing charm.

"That counts?" Chen Liuhe asked, bemused.

She glared, defiant. "They're on my feet, aren't they?"

He shrugged. Didn't matter how she dodged—it wouldn't save her. She wasn't winning tonight; she'd end up with nothing.

Joking aside, Chen Liuhe wouldn't have agreed without certainty. He'd never trained formally, but pool was simple to him: control of force and precision in angles. For a freak like him, that was child's play. Five years back, he'd hustled semi-pros and walked away loaded—Qin Ruohan didn't scare him.

"Again?" he teased.

"Break!" she barked, face dark with unyielding grit.

This round mirrored the last—she didn't get a shot.

"What's next?" Chen Liuhe asked with a wicked grin.

Qin Ruohan bit her lip hard, hesitating. After a moment, she clenched her jaw, turned away, and—under Chen Liuhe's stunned gaze—did something bold.

He finally saw it clearly: lotus flowers, not orchids…

His eyes flicked over her, and even with his iron will, he swallowed hard. Qin Ruohan right now was… something else.

The vibe was indescribable.

"Staring at what? Had enough? Keep looking, and I'll gouge your eyes out!" Her flushed face looked ready to drip, a mix of fury and humiliation. Only sheer stubbornness kept her tears at bay.

This was her first time so exposed and mortified before a man—utterly vulnerable.

Chen Liuhe shook his head, testing the waters. "Keep going?"

"Yes!" she roared, pure defiance. She couldn't stomach losing three straight without touching a ball. She hated his smug grin.

"My break this time!" She snatched the cue and bent over, but her rattled state botched it—no balls sank.

Her face paled. Chen Liuhe sighed, taking over. Each shot was steady as ever, balls dropping one by one. Qin Ruohan's expression darkened, tears welling up.

Unmoved by her pitiful look, Chen Liuhe sank the last black 8, set down his cue, and turned to her calmly.

Pity? He didn't do that with opponents—battlefield or otherwise. To him, Qin Ruohan's pride needed a knock. If he'd lost, she'd have humiliated him just the same.

A bet's a bet—win or lose.

"Now what?" he asked, lighting a cigarette with casual ease, exhaling a playful puff.

Qin Ruohan gripped her shirtfront tight, tears multiplying until they spilled over.

"Chen Liuhe, you bastard! Bullying a woman—what kind of skill is that? You're a rotten jerk—why do you get to treat me like this!" she cried, voice breaking.