Chapter Five: Cornmeal

A single video caused the incident in Yangcheng to explode overnight across the internet.

The video itself began simply enough—a normal red light. A Mazda had stopped quietly at the white line, waiting patiently for the green. And then—

Suddenly—

A BMW, moving at a terrifying speed, so fast that the camera could only capture a blur, crashed viciously into the Mazda, barreled through the intersection, and continued its rampage, hitting several more cars before finally coming to a halt.

The speed of that BMW was truly appalling.

Naturally, the whole incident ignited heated debate—not just on the Lingnan forums, but nationwide. Eyewitnesses recounted, “That’s not all. After the driver got out, you could clearly see white powder in his car. I’d bet anything he was driving under the influence.”

“You were there, I was there—we both saw the white powder. I’ve never seen it in person before, but I’d wager that’s exactly what it was.”

“And the driver looked all wrong—like he was high. He kept slamming his head against the wall over and over. It wasn’t normal.”

“Damn it, he drives a BMW X7, does drugs in his luxury car, then plows into people at over two hundred kilometers an hour. These rich second-generation brats are truly despicable.”

“That spoiled brat deserves to die.”

“Two promising young people, just waiting obediently for the light, mowed down by a drugged-up playboy. It’s infuriating.”

“You’re all so naïve. This is no ordinary spoiled brat—he’s the son of Qin Zhengtian, Yangcheng’s real estate tycoon. Qin Zhengtian is a man of immense power. No matter what his son does, he can make it disappear. Just wait and see,” someone with the username “Baiyun Blackman” posted.

“I find that hard to believe. His father’s just a businessman—how much power can he really have?” another user questioned.

“Just wait and see,” Baiyun Blackman insisted.

Two days passed.

And after those two days, the story twisted sharply. Everything Baiyun Blackman predicted came true.

The BMW, originally so fast it was little more than a shadow, with a speed estimated at over two hundred kilometers per hour—was now officially clocked at seventy. And the white powder? Magically, it became cornstarch. A man with a million-yuan car who just happens to have cornstarch lying around—how convenient. But, as always: believe it or not, I already do.

So, this time, Qin Yan’s incident became nothing more than an ordinary traffic accident. Simple, routine. Pay some compensation to the victims, and that was that.

The forum crowd, who had been eagerly awaiting the outcome, could only sit back and watch, both shocked and resigned.

Indeed, it was astonishing.

…

Since it was now just a routine traffic accident, Qin Yan was quickly released. He returned to his luxury apartment overlooking the river.

A few days in the detention center had made him irritable. He picked up his phone and called a fixer. “Send over a few internet celebrities. And make sure Zhizhi comes too—the one who’s famous on Douyu. She was a great time last time.”

“Alright,” replied the fixer—no, in these modern times, you’d call them an agent.

A short while later, the doorbell rang.

It must be the influencers, Qin Yan thought—they’d arrived quickly. He glanced at his pillbox, where more than a hundred little blue tablets still lay.

He was only twenty, the age when a man should be at his peak, with no need for blue pills to have fun. But Qin Yan was no ordinary young man. He’d lost his virginity at thirteen, attended countless wild parties since, and his body was no longer up to the task—he had to rely on pills.

After looking at the pillbox, he walked over and opened the door.

But instead of the sweet, pretty influencers he expected, he was confronted with a towering, jet-black man—built like a fortress, well over six feet tall.

“Who are you?” Qin Yan was startled, instantly on guard. Was someone here to kidnap him? Life as a rich heir had been too good to give up now.

“I’m the bodyguard your father hired to protect you for the next month,” the man replied coldly. “My name is Wang Tiecheng. You can confirm this with your father.”

With that, Qin Yan’s wariness faded. He pulled out his iPhone and called his father. “Dad, did you send over a huge, dark-skinned guy as my bodyguard? He’s called Wang Tiecheng. His arms are as thick as my thighs.”

From the other end, Qin Zhengtian’s voice came: “Yes, I hired him especially for you. He’s extremely capable—former mercenary, a real king of soldiers on the African battlefields. You’d better behave and not cross him.”

“Why on earth did you get me such a formidable bodyguard?” Qin Yan asked, both curious and confused.

“To keep you out of trouble. This time, although things have mostly been handled, there are still loose ends. The two people you killed had connections, but I used stronger connections to suppress the fallout. Their family isn’t satisfied; I’ve heard they’re looking for someone to come after you. So you need to be careful,” Qin Zhengtian said.

After hanging up, Qin Yan was thoroughly annoyed. A wave of restlessness washed over him, and a deep craving flared inside—he recognized it as withdrawal. The powder from the car had all been confiscated, and he was out of supply at home too. That only made him more irritable, cursing under his breath.

“Damn lunatics. These poor people are all insane. So what if I raped a few women, so what if I killed a couple of people? I’m a rich man, I can do whatever I want! Someone like me is nothing like those worthless peasants. Damn it, damn it.”

“I heard that in some capitalist country, a rich man raped a girl, and even managed to argue in court that he just slipped and his thing accidentally went in, and that’s why the stuff ended up inside her. The laws in those countries are so much better,” Qin Yan grumbled.

Wang Tiecheng said nothing. He simply closed the curtains, checked under the bed for cameras, and let Qin Yan rant as he pleased.

Just then, the doorbell rang again.

It seemed the influencer girls had finally arrived.