Chapter Eighteen: My Lips Are Swollen, and It's All Your Fault (Second Update)

No wonder the restaurant owner had looked at him so strangely when he paid the bill. At the time, Fang Yuan thought the owner might have some unusual interests, and wondered what on earth had happened to his mouth. Try as he might, he couldn’t make sense of it, until the kind-hearted owner approached and asked, “Young man, are you used to eating spicy food?”

Fang Yuan shook his head. “I rarely eat spicy dishes.”

“That explains it,” the owner said sympathetically. “You ate something far too spicy, and your lips swelled up from the heat. Life can be tough, son, but you mustn’t be too hard on yourself.” The owner looked at Fang Yuan with pity, thinking that this young man was being far too harsh with himself.

Very few could endure that level of spiciness—such an extreme, numbing heat. All month, only two people had ordered the super-spicy noodles, including the portion Fang Yuan had just finished. When the owner saw Fang Yuan eating with such composure, he assumed the young man was a veteran when it came to spicy food.

When he watched Fang Yuan eat without so much as a flinch, the owner even wondered if he’d forgotten to add the chili. But then, as he watched Fang Yuan’s lips slowly swell, he realized it wasn’t his fault after all.

To be able to eat until one’s lips are swollen and still appear so unfazed—this young man truly commanded the owner’s respect.

Fang Yuan knew this was probably the work of Chong Chong, but he couldn’t explain in front of the owner, so he hurried home. Thankfully, it was already dark, and as long as he kept his head down, not too many people would see him on the way back.

“Ah, Mr. Fang, you’re back. Are you settling in well here?” As soon as Fang Yuan stepped into the apartment lobby, he heard a familiar greeting. There was no need to look; it was the apartment manager, who was usually found in the lobby unless he had something else to do. Seeing Fang Yuan return alone, the manager worried that, being new and on his own, Fang Yuan might not know everything around here. A few extra questions cost him nothing.

“Yes, fine, very well. I’ll head upstairs now.” Fang Yuan replied quickly, keeping his head down.

“Oh, by the way, Mr. Fang, a gentleman came by today looking for you. Said he was a friend of yours and left this for you.” The manager smiled, holding out a parcel. He didn’t know what was inside, but he had heard a thing or two about the person who had delivered it.

The man was from an escort agency—a modern-day version of the old security courier service. Don’t think such professions existed only in ancient times; in fact, they still exist today, though the job description has changed a bit. In essence, they work for whoever pays them.

Someone had hired the Dragon Gate Escort Agency to deliver something to Fang Yuan. Once the location was confirmed and the payment received, the package was promptly delivered. The speed was impressive—just a few hours from start to finish.

To put it bluntly, it was really a courier company, but with a grandiose name: Dragon Gate Escort Agency. The owner likely read too many old martial arts novels and fancied himself a hero.

Dragon Gate Escort Agency only handled deliveries within the city, promising delivery within two hours for urban areas, and no more than four hours for the suburbs. Because their fees were steep, their clients were usually large companies or wealthy individuals. Ordinary folks would rather run errands themselves than pay such prices.

For Fang Yuan to receive a package from Dragon Gate Escort Agency suggested he either had wealthy friends or was a successful businessman himself. Manager Xue was convinced of this and treated Fang Yuan accordingly, his smile shifting from polite courtesy to genuine warmth.

“Who would have thought, Mr. Fang, that you’d just arrived and already have friends sending things to you. You must be a busy man,” Manager Xue said smoothly, conveying his meaning without overstepping.

Fang Yuan was no stranger to people like Manager Xue. Not exactly detestable, but hardly endearing either. If you were important to him, he would go to great lengths to help you, motivated by whatever reward he might extract in return.

“It’s just a regular delivery. I’ll go rest now,” Fang Yuan replied, not in a hurry to open the package.

He lived on the top floor. As he stepped into the elevator, he glanced at the sender’s name on the package—blank. The recipient, though, was clearly marked as himself.

He’d only been here two days, and in that time, the only person he’d really met was Pei Xi.

So, was this something Pei Xi had sent?

Back in his room, Fang Yuan showered first, then sat down and leisurely opened the package. It had some weight to it, though he had no idea what it might be.

While Fang Yuan was unwrapping the parcel, far away among an indigenous tribe—supposedly to experience local life—Old Master Pei was feeling quite curious. Had the package been received yet? He’d been here for some time, relishing the chance to interact with the local people, and had no plans to return just yet.

Still, the days were a bit dull. When he received a satellite call from Zheng Hao, informing him that an unfamiliar man had spent the night in Pei Xi’s room, he was so angry he almost wished for a pair of wings, so he could fly back and give that brat a good thrashing.

But upon reflection, since he wasn’t planning to return just yet, if the young man could endure a little hardship, he had an even better way to punish him.

“Do you think, by now, that brat Fang Yuan has received our first little gift? I’d love to see his reaction,” Old Master Pei said, waving away the mosquitoes as he spoke. To better blend in with the locals, he wore only a vest, which after days without water looked nothing like its original white color.

Pang Dahai really couldn’t understand what Old Master Pei saw in this place. If he knew, he’d have tried to renovate the whole area.

“Sir, I just got a call from Zheng Hao. He says Miss Pei Xi is suffering from vomiting and diarrhea, and they’re on their way to the hospital,” Pang Dahai said, his worry evident. He had watched Miss Pei Xi grow up.

She had always been healthy and rarely fell ill. But this time, because Zheng Hao had botched things, Miss Pei Xi had eaten the food meant for Fang Yuan.