黑帮三三

The wind off the Yellow Sea carried the scent of salt and diesel as Park Daegun stood at the edge of Pier 7, his stocky frame planted like a mooring bollard. The temporary head of the Damen Gang squinted against the late afternoon sun, watching the freighter ease into the harbor. Behind him, six of his men lingered near a pair of black sedans, hands tucked inside their jackets. Yedong City hummed around them, a lawful veneer over an underworld built by three nations.

The freighter's horn bellowed twice. Deckhands scrambled to toss lines to the dockworkers below. From the bow, two figures stood apart from the crew. The woman raised a hand in a slow, deliberate wave, her brown hair catching the light in waves that fell past her shoulders. Yi Mei'er wore a simple white blouse and navy slacks, but the way she carried herself—straight-backed, unhurried—marked her as someone who commanded rooms, not ships. Beside her, Li Qing kept a hand on the railing, his slight frame nearly hidden in her shadow.

Park Daegun dusted off his jacket—a cheap brown thing that pulled tight across his shoulders—and walked to the gangplank as it lowered. “Welcome,” he called out, his voice a graveled boom that traveled over the noise of the harbor. “Welcome to Yedong. Both of you, honored to have the number ones here.”

Yi Mei'er stepped onto the pier first, loose pumps clicking against the concrete. She offered a polite nod. “Thank you for meeting us, Daegun-ssi. The trip was smooth.”

Li Qing followed a beat later, adjusting the collar of his button-down. He was shorter than his fiancée by a hand’s width, lean in a way that suggested a life of paperwork and boardrooms rather than street brawls. “Is it always this humid?” he asked, squinting at the gray haze above the city.

“Summer hits hard here,” Park Daegun said. He motioned toward the cars. “I booked a seaside hotel for you. Hotel Bluefin. Quiet, private, good view of the coast. Figured you’d want rest after the voyage.”

Yi Mei'er exchanged a glance with Li Qing, then nodded. “That will be fine.”

The three of them walked toward the lead sedan while Park Daegun’s men spread out, scanning the dock. The driver opened the rear door, and Park Daegun slid in first, his short legs barely reaching the floor mat. Yi Mei'er and Li Qing settled on either side of him, the leather seat sighing under their weight.

The car pulled away from the pier, winding through streets lined with warehouses that gradually gave way to boutique storefronts and neon-soaked karaoke bars. Through the tinted glass, Yedong revealed its split personality: glossy storefronts selling Korean cosmetics next to Chinese herbal shops, Japanese signage on third-story windows above Korean BBQ joints. A city built on friction and trade.

“Daegun-ssi,” Yi Mei'er began, breaking the silence, “you mentioned something urgent in your message. About the Zhuchi Group.”

Park Daegun nodded, his jaw tightening. “They came into our territory three months ago. Quiet at first. Offered to handle our ‘overflow’—drugs, weapons, women. Said they could move product faster than our routes. I told them no.” He paused, rubbing his thumb over a scar on his knuckle. “Then my father took a knife in the ribs during what looked like a random street mugging. He’s bedridden. I’m running things until he recovers.”

Li Qing leaned forward. “You’re sure it was them?”

“No proof. But the timing stinks. And since then, they’ve been making noise about replacing us as the middleman between the mainland and the docks. They want to be the ones who control what comes in and out of the island.”

Yi Mei'er's expression remained composed, but her eyes flickered with calculation. “The Qinglong Gang has noticed their movements too. They’ve been buying up shipping contracts, making overtures to some of our partners. We’ve been watching.”

“Then you understand why I need this alliance,” Park Daegun said, his voice dropping. “The Damen Gang is small. We’ve scraped for every inch we have. But with you and the Xuanwu behind us, the Zhuchi Group would think twice.”

The car turned onto a coastal road, the ocean glittering through palm trees on the left. Li Qing exhaled, stretching his legs as best he could in the cramped space. “Look, brother, I get it. You’re fighting for your family’s legacy. But right now, the Qinglong and Xuanwu are the big dogs on this island. The Zhuchi Group might be pests, but they aren't going to overthrow your whole operation overnight.”

Yi Mei'er touched Li Qing’s wrist. “He’s not wrong to be concerned. The Zhuchi Group doesn’t make moves without a plan.” She turned back to Park Daegun. “We’ll discuss the alliance properly. But first, let us see the island. Meet our local people. Understand the ground. We’ve only ever heard reports from our subordinates. It’s worth seeing for ourselves.”

Park Daegun’s shoulders sagged, but he nodded. “Of course. Of course. I can take you to your respective branch offices this evening. Brief introductions, nothing formal. Then you can enjoy the hotel tonight.”

“That sounds good,” Li Qing said, settling back into the seat. “I could use a vacation anyway. First time off the mainland in two years.”

The sedan pulled into a district flanked by low-rise buildings. Park Daegun directed the driver to stop at a modest four-story structure with a brass sign reading “Qinglong Shipping—Yedong Branch.” Yi Mei'er stepped out, spent ten minutes inside with the local manager, and returned with a folder of reports. Next, they stopped at a building marked “Xuanwu Security—Zone 4,” where Li Qing shook hands with a man twice his size, exchanged a few words, and took a similar folder.

By the time they reached Hotel Bluefin, the sun had begun to dip below the horizon, painting the sky in bruised purples and oranges. The building was a low, modern structure built into the cliffside, with floor-to-ceiling windows facing the sea. Park Daegun escorted them to the lobby, a spacious room decorated in muted blues and beige.

“I wanted to book you at the Grand Star,” Park Daegun said, scratching the back of his head. “Five-star, new pool, the works. But they’re renovating. Closed for another month. Once they open, I’ll make sure you stay there, on me. A proper welcome.”

Yi Mei'er offered a gentle smile. “This is more than fine. Thank you for the hospitality, Daegun-ssi.”

“Rest well. I’ll call in the morning, see if you want to talk more.” Park Daegun gave a short bow and retreated to his car, the engine rumbling away into the gathering dusk.

The room keycard clicked open the door to a suite on the third floor. Inside, the space was simple but comfortable: a king bed facing the ocean view, a small table with two chairs, a minibar, and a bathroom with a glass-walled shower. The sliding door to the balcony stood ajar, letting in the murmur of waves.

Li Qing collapsed onto the bed, the mattress bouncing under his slight weight. “Finally. My back is killing me from that boat.”

Yi Mei'er set the folder on the table and walked past him into the bathroom. “I’m going to shower. Don’t fall asleep yet.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

The sound of water running filled the suite. Li Qing flipped through the television channels—Korean dramas, Chinese news, Japanese game shows—before settling on a nature documentary about migrating birds. He propped himself against the headboard, loosening his tie.

Twenty minutes later, the bathroom door opened. Steam curled into the room, carrying the scent of floral soap. Yi Mei'er stood in the doorway, her hair towel-dried and tousled, wearing a set of black lace lingerie that hugged every curve. The bra barely contained her full breasts, and the panties sat high on her hips, emphasizing her long legs and the soft swell of her backside. She moved toward the bed with the same unhurried grace she had shown on the dock.

She lay down beside him, then rolled onto her side, pressing her body against his. Her hand found his chest, tracing a lazy path down his stomach. “Tired?” she murmured.

“Less tired now.” Li Qing turned to face her, his hand sliding over her hip. The lace felt cool against his palm.

She leaned in and kissed him, slow and deliberate, her tongue brushing his lower lip before retreating. He responded, deepening the kiss, his hand moving to the clasp of her bra. She let him unhook it, and the garment fell away, revealing her breasts in the dim light. He palmed one, feeling its weight, and she let out a soft hum of approval.

Her hand slid lower, cupping the front of his trousers. She could feel him through the fabric, small and already hardening. She worked his belt free, unzipped his fly, and reached inside. His penis was erect now, no more than eight centimeters, barely filling her palm. She didn’t hesitate. She lowered her head, her lips parting to take him in.

Li Qing gasped, his head falling back against the pillow. “God, Mei’er…”

Her mouth worked slowly, her tongue teasing the tip, taking him as deep as she could. She knew his limits, knew that he was sensitive, and she made sure every motion counted. His breath quickened, his hand tangling in her damp hair. He thrust gently into her mouth, and she accepted him, her eyes closed, focused on his pleasure.

After a minute, she lifted her head, kissed the inside of his thigh, and climbed on top of him. She guided him to her entrance, then sank down in one slow, controlled motion. The fit was snug, but he didn’t reach her depths. She didn’t mind. She began to rock her hips, a rhythm that surged the bedsprings.

“You feel good,” she whispered, leaning forward to press her chest against his.

Li Qing gripped her hips, his breath ragged. “So do you. Always.”

She rode him for five minutes, her movements fluid and unhurried. He didn’t last long. A shudder ran through him, and he groaned, his body arching as he came. She felt the small, thin pulse of his release, barely a sensation inside her. She slowed, then stopped, lowering herself to lie on top of him, her face buried in his neck.

“Ahh… ah…” Li Qing’s arms wrapped around her, his body trembling. “I’ll need half a month to recover from that.”

Yi Mei'er smiled against his skin. “You always say that.”

“Because it’s always true.”

She lifted her head and kissed him, a soft press of lips. “Rest now.”

He closed his eyes, his cheek against her hair. She reached down and pulled the sheet over them, her hand resting on his chest. Within moments, his breathing evened out, slow and deep.

Yi Mei'er lay awake a little longer, listening to the waves and the steady beat of his heart. She stroked his shoulder, thinking of the Zhuchi Group, of Park Daegun’s plea, of the decisions she’d have to make in the morning. But for now, she let herself be still.

She pressed one more kiss to his forehead and settled against him, her body curved around his smaller frame. The room grew dark, the ocean a low, constant whisper beyond the glass, and she let sleep take her.

The two vessels limped across the dark water, engines sputtering on fumes. Park Daegeun gripped the wheel of his battered fishing boat, the fuel gauge needle trembling on empty. Beside him, the massive white yacht of Yimeier cut a sleek silhouette against the fading light, but even its powerful engines had been reduced to a low, cautious hum.

Through the crackling radio, Daegeun's voice came rough with exhaustion. "We can't make it far. My tank's almost dry."

Yimeier's reply was steady, but he could hear the strain beneath it. "I have some left. I'll tow you if I have to."

He lifted his binoculars, scanning the horizon. There—a dark smudge against the orange sky. He adjusted the focus. An island, small and jagged, with no signs of life. He recognized the shape from old charts: Haishe Island, Sea Snake Island. A forgotten speck far from Black Gold Island, uninhabited for years.

He keyed the radio again. "There's an island ahead. Looks abandoned. We could anchor there for now."

A pause. Then Yimeier's voice, softer now. "Fuel's too low to argue. Let's take shelter in the natural harbor."

They guided the yacht and the fishing boat into a crescent-shaped bay, the water glassy and still. The contrast was stark: the yacht towered like a floating palace beside Daegeun's humble, rust-streaked trawler. They moored so close that the hulls nearly touched, as if the two vessels leaned on each other for support.

Daegeun cut the engine, and silence settled over the island. He stepped onto the deck, watching Yimeier emerge from her cabin. She had changed into simple clothes—a white button-up shirt and a black skirt—her usual sharp suits abandoned. She looked different. Vulnerable. Human.

She gave him a small nod, then pulled out a satellite phone. "I need to call Li Qing."

While she dialed, Daegeun busied himself checking the anchor line. He listened as her voice carried across the quiet bay.

"Li Qing, we've landed on Haishe Island. When can you get to us?"

A crackle. Then Li Qing's voice, apologetic but firm. "I'm afraid it won't be for a while. The Zukung group sent some thugs to block the fuel depot. I have to wait for the Black Tortoise headquarters to send a large vessel. That'll take maybe three days."

Yimeier's jaw tightened, but she didn't interrupt.

"Still," Li Qing continued, "there's good news. I heard that Damen group sabotaged Zukung's ships. They can't attack you from the sea now. By the way, how are you and Daegeun doing? Are you both alright?"

Yimeier exhaled slowly. "We're fine. Don't worry." She paused, then added, "We'll manage."

She ended the call and turned to Daegeun. "Three days. Maybe more."

He nodded. "Then we make the most of it."

They stepped onto the island. A narrow path wound inland, but it was overgrown with tall, wild grass that brushed against their legs. The air smelled of salt and rot. They followed the trail until it opened onto a clearing with a single structure: a dilapidated wooden house, its roof half-collapsed, windows dark and empty.

Daegeun pushed open the creaking door. Dust motes swirled in the dim light. The floorboards were warped, the walls stained with years of neglect. No furniture, no signs of recent habitation. Just the ghost of a place long abandoned.

"It's just us," Yimeier said quietly.

Night fell quickly. They gathered driftwood and built a fire on the beach, the flames casting dancing shadows on the sand. The waves lapped gently, and the stars emerged one by one above the black ocean.

Yimeier sat across from him, arms wrapped around her knees. The firelight caught her face, softening the hard lines she usually wore. She stared into the flames for a long time before speaking.

"Why did you come for me, Daegeun?" Her voice was low, almost lost in the crackle of the fire. "You could have left with Li Qing. You didn't have to risk your life."

He looked at her, his face serious. "I guessed that Zukung group wanted to kill you, to use that to pressure the Green Dragon. I know what kind of men they are. I had to protect you."

He hesitated, and something shifted in his gaze. "And also... I have feelings for you. Really."

Before he could finish, Yimeier leaned forward. Her lips met his.

The kiss was sudden, fierce. Her hands found his shoulders, pulling him closer. He responded, his arms wrapping around her waist. The kiss deepened, tongues meeting in a hungry, desperate dance. The fire popped and hissed, but they didn't hear it. All that existed was the heat between them, the taste of salt and desire.

They broke apart, gasping. Her eyes were bright, her cheeks flushed.

"All my life," she said, her voice trembling, "I've held myself together for the gang. I've been calm, steady, meticulous. Li Qing has loved me since we were kids. I always protected him, looked after him. He sees me as a woman he wants to marry. And I..." She swallowed. "I thought of him as a younger brother—just a year younger, but still. I told myself I had to marry him, for the alliance between Green Dragon and Black Tortoise. It's been generations of friendship between our families."

She looked down, then back up at him. "But you... you're the only one who ever risked everything for me. Who treated me as someone worth protecting, not just a symbol. I think... I think I like you a little. Maybe more. But I've been pushing it down, ignoring it. I—I—"

He reached out, taking her hand. "Yimeier, do you know what I love about you? Even with all that weight on your shoulders, you're still you. I don't care if you marry Li Qing. I just want to be in your heart. Not just the gang, not just the family, not just him. I want you to love me, to put me somewhere important. I love you, leader of Green Dragon. I love you, Yimeier."

Her eyes glistened. She stood slowly, and with deliberate calm, she unbuttoned her white shirt. It fell open, revealing a generous chest, full and pale in the firelight. She shrugged off the shirt, then let her skirt drop. Naked, she stood before him, the fire turning her skin to gold.

She turned without a word and walked toward the abandoned house. At the doorway, she looked back over her shoulder, a challenge and an invitation in her eyes. "If you truly love me, show me you have the courage of a man. Come."

Daegeun rose, his manhood already straining against his pants. He strode after her, heart pounding.

Inside the crumbling house, there were no beds, only dusty floorboards and the scent of old wood. But they didn't care. He caught her in his arms, and they collapsed together onto the floor. His hands found her breasts, large and soft, and he kneaded them without hesitation. She arched into his touch, moaning.

He entered her from behind, gripping her hips as he thrust deep and hard. She cried out, a raw, animal sound. She turned her head and kissed him, lips crashing against his. Her hand reached back, clutching his neck, while the other pressed against her own buttock, spreading herself open for his size.

Thirty minutes later, he spilled his first load inside her—thick, hot, copious. She shuddered as the warmth flooded her, her body trembling uncontrollably. The orgasm seemed to last forever, three full minutes of pulsing release.

When he finally pulled out, she knelt before him, a wicked grin on her lips. She took his still-erect member into her mouth, licking and sucking with fervent passion. He hardened even more.

The second round began. And then a third. By the time the moon was high, they had lost count.

"I want the fourth on the boat," he growled.

He lifted her easily, carrying her out of the house and down to the dock. She kissed his face repeatedly, planting soft, grateful pecks on his cheeks, his forehead, his chin. She looked happy—truly, genuinely happy.

He stepped onto his little fishing boat with her still in his arms, and laid her down on the deck. The boat began to rock as they moved together, her moans mixing with the gentle slap of waves. She laughed between gasps, joy and pleasure mingling.

All night they loved, until the sky turned pale. He came again and again, a dozen times or more, until exhaustion claimed them.

Morning light streamed into the cabin of Daegeun's fishing boat. He woke slowly, limbs heavy, body sore. The sun was already high. Ten o'clock, he guessed.

A shadow fell over him. He blinked, and Yimeier stood there, holding a plate of food she had brought from her yacht. She was dressed again—white shirt and black skirt—but her hair was loose, and her smile was soft.

She leaned down and kissed his forehead. "The sun is burning your butt, sleepyhead."

The radio crackled to life as Li Qing's voice came through. “Yimeier, listen to me. My boat needs some paperwork before it can set sail. Can you wait another five days?”

Yimeier had Park Dagen’s cock in her mouth as she pressed the transmit button on her two-way radio. “Mm~ mm~ buh no guh,” she managed, the words muffled around him.

Li Qing’s voice turned curious. “Huh? What are you eating?”

Yimeier’s eyes went wide as she suddenly remembered what she was doing. She pulled her mouth away quickly, a string of saliva still connecting her lips to his tip. She scrambled for a lie. “Ah, it’s nothing. I’m eating a popsicle on my yacht. I can’t stop—it’ll melt. I’ll just eat and talk.”

Li Qing seemed to believe her. “Oh, I see.”

“Is your supplies enough?” he asked.

Yimeier brought the radio back to her lips, but Park Dagen hadn’t stopped. He slid his cock back into her mouth, and she had to work around it as she answered. “Mm~ ngh~ shlurp~ mm, so big... ah, right, the supplies are big. I mean, the supplies are plenty, enough for us.”

Their conversation stretched on for several minutes. Yimeier answered every question with a lie wrapped around a wet mouthful, her head bobbing up and down while she pressed the button and released it. Park Dagen held her hair, guiding her rhythm, his other hand resting casually on his bare thigh.

Finally, Li Qing seemed satisfied that everything was fine on her end. “Alright. I’ll see you in five days.”

“Okay, bye,” Yimeier managed, then tossed the radio aside.

She didn't bother to say more. She dropped back down, taking him fully into her throat. Park Dagen groaned, leaning back on the cabin floor of the yacht. The afternoon sun streamed through the porthole, glinting off the water outside. They had run ashore on this deserted island three days ago, and in that time, something had shifted between them.

What had started as a crude encounter on a beach had become something neither of them wanted to admit out loud. They had confirmed their feelings for each other, though they both knew the truth of it would have to remain a secret. Forever. The Li family could never know. The Park family could never know. Their world of gang alliances and arranged engagements would shatter if anyone found out that the fiancée of the Li family heir was in love with the heir of the Park family.

But on this island, there were no rules.

Later that afternoon, Park Dagen sat on the warm sand, a halved coconut in one hand. He drank the milk in a long gulp, then set the husk aside. Yimeier was curled against his side, her head resting on his shoulder. Without a second thought, he leaned down and took her nipple into his mouth through the thin fabric of her bikini.

Yimeier let out a soft gasp, her fingers threading through his hair. “You never stop, do you?”

He didn’t answer. His hand slid down, cupping her mound through the damp fabric. She moaned quietly, tilting her head back, letting him do as he pleased. She loved him. That was the only reason she let him have his way with her wherever and whenever he wanted.

Her hand drifted to his crotch, finding his shaft already hardening. She played with it lazily, stroking him while he suckled at her chest. The sun burned overhead, the waves lapped at the shore, and they made love right there on the sand, their bodies tangled, neither caring who saw.

Later, they moved to the bow of her massive yacht. The polished wood was warm beneath their backs as he took her again, the wide expanse of the ocean stretching out before them. Yimeier’s cries echoed off the water as she clung to him, her legs wrapped around his waist. They kissed, deep and hungry, tasting salt and each other.

When night fell, they bathed together in the yacht’s spacious shower. Steam filled the small cabin, and they pressed against the tiled wall, still unable to keep their hands off each other.

“You’re insatiable,” she whispered, her voice a mix of exhaustion and desire.

“You love it,” he replied, kissing her neck.

She giggled, a sound so unlike her usual commanding tone. “You’re terrible, you know that? I can’t stop with you.”

Later, she emerged from the master cabin wearing a white one-piece bikini. The cut was daring, the fabric hugging every curve. She did a slow turn, her long hair still damp from the shower. “What do you think? Do you like it?”

Park Dagen didn’t answer with words. He crossed the room in three steps, scooped her up in a princess carry, and headed for the bed. Yimeier let out a loud, delighted scream, her arms wrapping around his neck as he tossed her onto the mattress.

Days passed the way hours do when two people are desperate for each other. They barely left each other’s sight. They ate together, swam together, fucked on every surface of the yacht and the beach. Every moment was stolen, and they treasured it.

On the fifth day, Li Qing arrived with a fuel tender. The sound of the approaching engine broke the island’s silence.

Yimeier and Park Dagen exchanged a glance. They dressed quickly. Yimeier straightened her clothes, ran a hand through her hair, and plastered a neutral expression on her face. Park Dagen did the same. When they stepped onto the dock, they looked exactly as they always had—the respected heir of one gang and the formidable daughter of another.

Yimeier walked straight to Li Qing, leaned in, and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Thank goodness you’re here.”

Park Dagen walked up behind her, rubbing the back of his neck with a sheepish grin. “Brother Li, I thought I was going to go native out here. Thank you for coming. Now I can finally go home.”

Li Qing laughed, clapping him on the shoulder. “What are friends for?”

The three of them fell into easy conversation, loading supplies and preparing to leave. Nothing in Yimeier’s voice or posture betrayed her. Nothing in Park Dagen’s eyes gave him away. They were good at acting. Their lives depended on it.

One month later, a grand wedding took place in the most opulent hall the city had to offer. Yimeier wore a breathtaking white gown, the train trailing behind her like a river of silk. The ceremony was a declaration to the underworld: the union of the Qinglong Gang and the Xuanwu Gang. A bond of friendship that would last generations.

Park Dagen walked up to her after the vows were exchanged, a champagne flute in his hand. “Congratulations, Yimeier. And... you look beautiful.”

She smiled, a practiced, gracious smile. “Thank you, Park Dagen.”

Neither of them mentioned the island. Neither of them mentioned the nights.

The reception ended late. As the new husband, Li Qing should have driven his bride home. But a call came from the Xuanwu Gang’s branch office—urgent business.

“Yimeier, I’m sorry,” Li Qing said, his face apologetic. “I have to go. But I trust Park Dagen. He’ll take you home.”

Yimeier nodded, her expression serene. “Of course. Go take care of things.”

Park Dagen opened the passenger door of his black sedan. She slid into the back seat, the white of her wedding dress pooling around her. He got in the driver’s seat and pulled out of the venue, driving along the main roads.

When they reached a stretch of wilderness far from any prying eyes, Park Dagen checked the rearview mirror. No cars behind him. No lights ahead.

He turned the wheel sharply, pulling the car off the road and into a field of tall reeds. The car bumped over uneven ground, then stopped, hidden from view.

He killed the engine.

For a moment, there was only silence. Then Yimeier’s hand reached over the front seat, grabbing the collar of his shirt and pulling him into the back with her.

They came together in a tangle of wedding silk and growing urgency. Park Dagen pushed the dress up, running his hands over her stockings. Yimeier moaned as he kissed her, her fingers fumbling with his belt.

“You look incredible in this dress,” he breathed against her lips.

“Do you like it?” she whispered, her voice already trembling.

“I love it.”

The car began to rock, a steady rhythm that disturbed the reeds around them. An hour passed before they were both spent, the windows fogged with heat. They fixed their clothes as best they could, and Park Dagen drove the rest of the way to the Li family estate.

No one knew. No one would ever know.

A few days later, Yimeier and Li Qing were seen at a cozy café in the city center, laughing over coffee. They looked the picture of young love. Li Qing held her hand across the table, and she smiled at him with all the warmth of a devoted wife.

But that night, she dressed in a red gown with a slit so high it revealed the curve of her hip. The plunging neckline exposed the undersides of her breasts, and sheer black stockings with suspenders traced the length of her long legs. She wore her hair loose, cascading over her shoulders.

Li Qing looked up from his book, eyebrows raised. “Going somewhere dressed so glamorously?”

Yimeier applied her lipstick in the hallway mirror, adjusting the clasp of her diamond necklace. “Oh, didn’t I mention? The Damen Gang is celebrating their 40th anniversary today. I was invited. I have to go.”

“Ah, I see,” Li Qing said, returning to his book with a trusting nod. “Be careful, then.”

“I will, honey.”

She left.

At the secret hall beneath the Wagras Five-Star Hotel, Park Dagen waited. When she walked in, her red dress shimmering under the dim lights, he didn’t say a word. He simply crossed the room, took her face in his hands, and kissed her.

They spent the next five hours in bed. The sheets were tangled, the pillows thrown to the floor. They went at each other without pauses, without restraint.

“Stay with me a little longer,” she murmured, her nails raking down his back.

“Tonight, I’m going to fuck you until you can’t walk,” he growled against her throat.

“Good,” she gasped. “That’s more like it.”

A phone rang.

Yimeier reached for it, and in that instant, her entire demeanor shifted. Her voice hardened. Her posture straightened. She became the leader of the Xuanwu Gang once more.

“Hello? Ah, it’s you, Second Sister. What’s wrong? No one picked you up at the dock?”

Park Dagen whispered beside her, still hard and waiting. “I can have my younger brother, Park Jeongseok, pick her up. What’s her name?”

“Yi Ker,” Yimeier whispered back.

He made a quick call, arranging everything. Then he tossed the phone aside and pulled Yimeier back into his arms.

They continued.

Neither Park Jeongseok nor Yi Ker knew a thing. To them, their elder siblings were pillars of their respective gangs—distant, professional, cold. They never suspected that behind closed doors, the two gang leaders were burning for each other.

And so the story of Yimeier and Park Dagen paused here, buried under the surface of their public lives.

But fate was already weaving the next thread, winding around three new names: Yi Ker, Li Tian, and Park Jeongseok.

What their story held, only the next chapter would tell.

The salty sea air of Yedong City’s dock clung to Park Jeong-seok’s skin as he parked his black sedan near the loading cranes. He glanced at his watch—still early, the ferry from the mainland wouldn’t arrive for another half hour. His brother, Park Dae-geun, had been clear: Yi Ke-er, the second-in-command of the Green Dragon Gang, was not to be trifled with. She was the sister of Yi Mei-er, the boss herself. Jeong-seok adjusted his jacket, his muscular 158-centimeter frame tense with duty.

Just as he reached for the door handle, his phone buzzed. A subordinate’s voice crackled through. “Hyung-nim, I found you a pretty whore. Top-shelf. Want a look?”

Jeong-seok grunted, impatient. “No time today. I’m on a pickup at the dock.”

“Funny thing—she’s at the dock!” the subordinate chirped. “Come see, test the goods.”

Jeong-seok paused, a grin creeping across his ordinary, slightly ugly face. The ferry wasn’t in sight yet. *Why not? A quick peek. If she’s hot, I’ll have her wait in my villa until I finish work.* He chuckled, cracked his neck, and stepped out. “Alright, show me.”

He strode toward the pier, eyes scanning the crowd. Then he saw her.

A woman stood alone by the railing, her height an imposing 176 centimeters. Her hair was jet-black, long and straight, falling like silk past her shoulders. Her eyes were sharp, focused, yet hypnotic—the kind of gaze that could steal a man’s soul. Her body curved in all the right places: full breasts straining against a black cheongsam with a high slit that revealed long legs sheathed in black stockings. The top of the dress plunged low, exposing the deep crevice of her cleavage, so tight it seemed ready to burst. She was breathtaking.

Jeong-seok’s blood heated. *That must be her. My subordinate’s gift.* He walked up to her, his steps bold.

The woman opened her mouth, her voice low and commanding. “You’re here. I—”

Jeong-seok pressed a finger to her lips, silencing her. “I know you’re waiting for me. And I’m waiting for you. But I’ve got a job tonight first.” He fished a key from his pocket and slid it into her handbag. “Here’s the address to my second base—a private villa, just me. Make yourself at home. I recommend you shower and wait for me, baby.”

Before she could react, he wrapped an arm around her shoulder. When she didn’t flinch, his hand slid down, cupping her full breast through the silk.

Her eyes turned cold. A chilling aura radiated from her, her gaze sharp as a blade. She grabbed his wrist, twisted it hard. Bone cracked. Jeong-seok cried out, crumpling to the concrete. “Ahh! That hurts! Even if you won’t serve me, you don’t treat a customer like this!”

She stood over him, unmoved. “I’m Yi Ke-er of the Green Dragon Gang. I’ve never been so insulted in my life. You’ll learn from this injury.”

Jeong-seok froze, pain searing his arm. “Yi Ke-er?! You’re the second boss? I thought you were a— Look, let me go. I’m Park Jeong-seok, acting boss of the Big Gate Gang. My brother sent me to pick you up. It was a mistake—I confused you with someone else.”

Yi Ke-er released him. “So you’re the contact my sister mentioned.”

Jeong-seok scrambled to his feet, straightening his jacket, forcing a dignified expression. “Welcome, Miss Yi. It was a misunderstanding. I’m actually a proper gentleman. Please don’t misunderstand.”

At that moment, his subordinate appeared, dragging a garishly painted prostitute with caked-on makeup. “Hyung-nim! Sorry, this chick got lost. I brought her myself. Isn’t she top-notch? Want me to take her to your villa?”

Jeong-seok covered his face, mortified. He couldn’t look at Yi Ke-er.

Yi Ke-er’s lips curled into a knowing smile. “So you’re that kind of ‘proper gentleman’?” She stepped past him, climbed into his sedan, and called out, “Drive me to the private beach villa the Green Dragon Gang prepared for me. Now.”

Jeong-seok ducked his head, muttered an agreement, then shot a vicious glare at his subordinate. The man flinched, ashamed.

In the car, the silence stretched. Jeong-seok cleared his throat. “Miss Yi, about earlier… it was a grave error. I hope it doesn’t harm the reputation of the Green Dragon Gang—or my own gang’s honor.”

She stared out the window, her face unreadable, but a faint smirk lingered. The engine rumbled as the sedan pulled away from the dock, the sea wind swallowing his apologies.

Three days later, Park Jing-sok arrived on the island where the Black Dragon Sect's second branch was located. He went to greet Li Tian, the second son of Li Qing's younger brother, and one of the many sons of the previous generation's leader of the Black Dragon Sect. "Li Tian, you've only been on the island a week," Park said, "are you getting used to it? Looks like you and I are both stuck guarding our respective branches alone."

Li Tian was a 27-year-old Chinese man, 170 centimeters tall, with an average build leaning toward thin. When erect, his penis measured only nine centimeters, and his semen was thin, sparse, with low sperm count and motility. "Ah, you're wrong," Li Tian replied. "It's two of us now. Didn't you know? My fiancée arrived too."

Park raised an eyebrow in surprise. "Oh, impressive. What woman could capture the heart of Black Dragon Sect's second-in-command, Li Tian?"

Just then, footsteps came from upstairs. A beautiful woman in a professional office dress descended, her face lit with a cute smile. "Honey, look what I found—a cat! Isn't it adorable?" she said to Li Tian.

The newcomer was Yi Ke'er. The moment she spotted Park Jing-sok, her expression instantly shifted from sweet to the cold, arrogant demeanor of a strong career woman. "Well, if it isn't Park Jing-sok, the second-in-command of the Big Gate Gang," she said, her tone dripping with false pleasantness.

"Ah, this..." Li Tian stammered, caught off guard.

Li Qing stepped forward. "So you two know each other. I was just about to take you to the Big Gate Gang's second branch. I'll lead the way."

Yi Ke'er gave a sly smile. "I don't think that's necessary. For certain reasons, I already know the location. Isn't that right, Mr. Park Jing-sok?"

Park pretended to admire the surroundings, looking around at the landscape to mask his panic and embarrassment. "What's going on?" Li Tian asked curiously.

Yi Ke'er waved a hand dismissively. "Nothing. Just a trivial matter. It's not important." Since she said it was nothing, Li Tian decided not to press further. If Yi Ke'er was fine with it, then it was fine.

Park turned to leave, but halfway he glanced back, stuck out his tongue in a childish taunt, and said, "Stinky woman!" followed by a mocking "Nyah nyah nyah" sound.

Yi Ke'er's face flushed with irritation. She let out a helpless sigh, then a frustrated "Hmph!" before turning away. Li Tian watched the exchange and shook his head with a wry smile, sensing the obvious friction between them.

Once Park had gone, Yi Ke'er and Li Tian returned to their room. She transformed into a clingy, obedient cat, pressing her lips to his repeatedly, trying to spark his desire. She pulled down his pants and began to give him oral sex. When his penis reached its full erection—only about nine centimeters—she didn't seem to mind. Instead, she pressed her breasts against it, starting a breast job. Her huge chest completely buried his small shaft, making it invisible. They began making love, Yi Ke'er rocking her body wildly. Within less than six minutes, Li Tian ejaculated. The force and height of his release were so weak that it couldn't even reach deep inside her; if he wanted to get her pregnant, he would have to do it many times. The chance of Yi Ke'er conceiving from Li Tian was extremely low. After that single shot, Li Tian collapsed, exhausted, needing a long rest to recover. Yi Ke'er gently comforted him, saying softly, "You did your best. Next time, try harder." She kissed his cheek with genuine affection.

Two days later, Yi Ke'er arrived at Park Jing-sok's second branch villa of the Big Gate Gang. When Park opened the door and saw her, his face immediately soured. "Wow, what wind blew you here? It can't be a good wind," he said through gritted teeth.

Yi Ke'er maintained a confident, composed posture. "I just wanted to see what kind of savage den Park Jing-sok lives in."

"And you're here alone? Where's your fiancé, Li Tian?" Park asked.

"He's busy. Couldn't make it. I'm just taking a quick look and then I'll leave," she replied airily.

Park muttered, "Excuse me, I need to use the bathroom." Once inside, he called his older brother, Park Dae-geun. "Big brother, what were you thinking? I've got a troublesome woman on my hands, you know that?"

On the other end, Park Dae-geun was letting Yi Mei'er give him oral sex while he spoke. "Ohhh... that feels good. Brother, don't take it so hard. Think of it as a test. As your older brother, I order you to control your temper. Ooh ooh~"

Park Jing-sok noticed his brother's strange sounds. "What's with all those weird noises you keep making?"

Park Dae-geun lied smoothly, "Uh, that's just my regular muscle-training grunts. Ooh ooh... I'm busy now. I'll hang up." He ended the call quickly.

Park Jing-sok believed his brother's excuse. "That guy has some weird habits," he muttered to himself.

Meanwhile, Yi Ke'er was on the phone with her older sister, Yi Mei'er. "Hey, big sister, how are you and Brother Li Qing? Just wanted to congratulate you on getting married. I ran into Park Jing-sok a few days ago. That guy really pisses me off. He did some bad things to me. I hate him. He's disgusting."

Yi Mei'er, at that very moment, was performing oral sex on Park Dae-geun's massive penis. "Mmm... mmm... *pop*... My dear sister, you're an adult now. You shouldn't judge someone so one-sidedly... hnn... so big!"

Yi Ke'er was puzzled. "What's so big?"

Yi Mei'er quickly covered. "Nothing, I'm just eating a popsicle. It's a little... mmm... *pop*... big! This popsicle is really big!"

Yi Ke'er accepted the explanation and hung up, thinking her sister was just having a snack.

Yiko'er continued her tour of Park Jeong-seok's villa, her footsteps echoing softly across the polished marble floors. The place was enormous, lavishly decorated with expensive furniture and artwork that screamed money but lacked any personal touch. She wandered through hallways lined with abstract paintings she didn't bother to examine, past rooms she glanced into with mild curiosity. When she pushed open the door to what she assumed was the master bedroom, she stopped dead in her tracks.

The room was a disaster.

Clothes lay draped over every available surface—a jacket slung over the desk chair, a crumpled shirt on the floor near the bed, socks balled up in a corner. Empty snack wrappers littered the nightstand alongside a half-empty glass of water that had developed a suspicious film on its surface. The bedsheets were twisted into a knot at the foot of the mattress, and the pillow lay abandoned on the carpet. A stack of papers had slid off the edge of the desk and now lay scattered like fallen leaves.

Yiko'er stood in the doorway, her perfectly shaped eyebrows rising as she took in the spectacle. A slow, knowing smile spread across her lips. She turned her head toward the hallway where Park Jeong-seok was approaching, and she didn't bother hiding the amusement in her eyes.

"Mr. Park," she said, her voice dripping with theatrical pity, "I see you live exactly as I expected."

Park Jeong-seok stopped beside her and followed her gaze into his own bedroom. His face flushed a shade of embarrassed pink. "Ah... I've been busy. I haven't had time to clean."

"Busy," Yiko'er repeated, savoring the word. "Busy throwing your clothes around like a toddler having a tantrum? Busy discovering how many ways a grown man can neglect basic hygiene?" She clicked her tongue and stepped past him into the room. "Forget it. Stand back."

Before he could protest, she had already bent down and picked up the discarded pillow, fluffing it once before placing it neatly at the head of the bed. She moved with practiced efficiency, her long black hair swaying behind her as she gathered the scattered clothes and folded them into tidy piles on the dresser. She stripped the tangled bedsheets with a single tug and replaced them with fresh ones she found in the closet, smoothing out every wrinkle with sharp, decisive movements.

"I'm doing this once," she announced as she worked, not looking at him. "Just this once. Don't get used to it. If you need your room cleaned again, maybe you should ask your girlfriend or wife to handle it—assuming you have one, which I seriously doubt. Honestly, the way you live, I'm surprised any woman would get within ten feet of you." She paused to pick up a discarded tie from the floor and held it up between two fingers as though it were contaminated. "This is probably why you had to call your underlings to arrange prostitutes for you. Desperate times, desperate measures."

Park Jeong-seok winced and rubbed the back of his neck. "Please," he said, his voice carrying an unusual note of humility. "I'm begging you. I was wrong that night, alright? I mistook you for someone else. It was a misunderstanding."

Yiko'er tossed the tie onto the dresser and turned to face him, hands on her hips. "Why would I hold it against you? You're just a pitiful, lonely man who has to pay women to satisfy his needs. A sad, single, stinky man with no one to warm his bed except whoever your subordinates can dig up from a hostess bar."

Park Jeong-seok's face cycled through several shades of embarrassment before settling on a deep, miserable red. He shifted his weight from foot to foot, looking anywhere but at her. "About that... I didn't actually... nothing happened. That thing with the escort was my first time trying, and it failed anyway. I'm still technically..."

Yiko'er stopped folding a shirt. "Still technically what?"

He let out an exasperated groan, throwing his hands up in defeat. "I'm still a virgin, alright?! If I hadn't mistaken you for someone else that night, I might have finally gotten rid of it. Go ahead, laugh. I know it's hilarious. A grown man, a gang leader, still a virgin. Laugh it up."

But Yiko'er didn't laugh. Her hands stilled, and she looked at him with an expression that shifted from mockery to something softer, more serious. "No," she said quietly. "I won't laugh at that. To be honest, Mr. Park, I don't think there's anything wrong with a man keeping himself until he finds true love. I wouldn't mock someone for that."

Park Jeong-seok blinked, caught off guard by her sincerity. For a moment, he saw her in a new light—the calm authority, the measured judgment, the unexpected compassion. She carried herself like a true leader. No wonder she was the second-in-command of the Blue Dragon Gang. There was depth beneath that teasing exterior.

Then her lips curled into a playful smile. "But I still don't think you're going to escape your single status anytime in this lifetime. And I know better than to mock a poor, pathetic creature who can't help himself."

Park Jeong-seok's brief admiration evaporated. He huffed and flopped down onto the now-tidy sofa in the corner of the room, crossing his arms like a sulking child. "You really know how to insult a man."

"I try," Yiko'er said cheerfully, returning to her cleaning.

She worked in comfortable silence after that, methodically wiping down surfaces and organizing the scattered items on his desk. As she moved, Park Jeong-seok found himself watching her. He didn't mean to. His eyes just kept drifting back to her.

She was bent over the bedside table, carefully stacking a pile of old receipts and business cards, and in that moment, something about her caught his attention. It wasn't just the way her long black hair cascaded down her back like a waterfall of ink. It wasn't just the delicate curve of her neck or the confident set of her shoulders. It was the focus. The way her brow furrowed slightly as she sorted through the clutter, the way her lips pressed together in concentration. She was completely absorbed in the task, and that dedication—that attention to detail even in something as trivial as cleaning—was strangely magnetic.

His gaze wandered lower. Her blouse, with its modest V-neck, gaped slightly as she leaned forward, offering a glimpse of pale, flawless skin. The deep valley between her breasts was barely visible, hidden by fabric but unmistakably there—lush, inviting, framed by the gentle swell of her figure. She was tall, a full 176 centimeters, with legs that seemed to go on forever and a figure that could stop traffic. But right now, it was the way she moved, the quiet grace in every gesture, that held him captive.

"Beautiful," he murmured under his breath, the word escaping before he could stop it.

Yiko'er straightened and turned, her eyebrows raised. "What did you say?"

Park Jeong-seok's eyes snapped wide. He looked away, waving a dismissive hand. "Nothing. I ramble sometimes. Don't mind me."

She studied him for a moment, her expression unreadable, then shrugged and returned to her work. Park Jeong-seok let out a silent breath of relief and kept his mouth shut for the remainder of the half-hour it took her to transform his disaster zone into something resembling a livable space.

When she finally finished, she stepped back and surveyed her work with a satisfied nod. The bed was made, the floor was clear, the surfaces gleamed, and the clothes were folded and put away. It looked like a different room entirely.

"I'm leaving now," she announced, brushing an invisible speck of dust from her sleeve.

Park Jeong-seok rose and followed her through the house to the front door. He stepped outside onto the porch as she descended the steps, and he called out before she could walk away. "Miss Yiko'er, I sincerely hope our previous misunderstanding won't create friction between the Grand Gate Gang and the Blue Dragon Gang. My older brother made it clear before I took over—he wanted me to maintain friendly relations with you. For the future of both our organizations, I hope we can—"

Yiko'er stopped walking. She turned slowly, a graceful pivot that made her hair swirl around her shoulders. Her eyes met his, sharp and searching. "What about you?" she asked. "Forget the organizations. Forget the business. I want to know what you think. Do you personally believe the Grand Gate Gang and Blue Dragon Gang can cooperate? You've talked about the gangs and the future. Now I want to hear about you." She took a step closer, her gaze unwavering. "Can you, Park Jeong-seok, maintain a friendly relationship with me? And more importantly—do you even want to?"

Park Jeong-seok fell silent. The question hung in the air between them, heavier than he'd expected. He looked at her standing there—tall, beautiful, confident, with moonlight catching the highlights in her black hair—and something stirred deep in his chest. He took a breath.

"Honestly?" he said slowly. "I think you're stunning. And I think I might have a little bit of a crush on you. Would you consider being my—"

"Wait, wait, wait." Yiko'er held up both hands like she was stopping traffic. "Stop right there. I think you've misunderstood something. I came to your house today as a courtesy, to show the Blue Dragon Gang's goodwill. I don't have those kinds of feelings for you."

Park Jeong-seok pressed on, undeterred. "That's fine. I can wait. Give me time, and maybe—"

"Absolutely not." Her voice was firm now, brooking no argument. "Don't wait. Don't think about it. Do you know why?" She placed a hand on her chest. "I, Yiko'er, am already taken. I have a fiancé. I thought you knew. My fiancé is Lee Cheon. You know him—he used to run around with you all the time, you're good buddies. Oh my god, he never told you about me, did he?"

The color drained from Park Jeong-seok's face. His mouth opened, then closed, then opened again. "Lee Cheon," he repeated. "You're Lee Cheon's woman."

"I am Lee Cheon's fiancée, yes."

Park Jeong-seok's brain seemed to short-circuit. His mouth moved independently of his better judgment. "So I just confessed to my buddy's girl. I was about to ask her to come inside with me and... you know... make love and have ten or twelve kids..."

Yiko'er heard every word. Her expression went blank.

Silence stretched between them like a rubber band about to snap.

Then her hand moved.

The slap echoed across the villa's front yard, sharp and decisive. Park Jeong-seok's head snapped to the side, and a red handprint bloomed across his cheek like a brand. He stood there, stunned, the sting radiating through his jaw.

Yiko'er lowered her hand, her eyes cold. She turned on her heel and walked away, her heels clicking against the pavement with violent precision.

"I'm sorry!" Park Jeong-seok shouted after her, his voice raw. "At least I was honest! And I deserved that slap!"

Yiko'er stopped. She didn't turn around fully, just angled her head so her profile caught the light. "Yes," she said. "You did deserve it. Having those expectations of me—you absolutely deserved it." A pause. "But you're honest, I'll give you that. Simple and honest. Do you have anything else to say?"

Park Jeong-seok straightened his posture. He bowed deeply, a formal, respectful gesture that came from a place of genuine sincerity. "Since Miss Yiko'er and I have no romantic destiny between us, I would like to develop our relationship based on the friendship between our gangs and my personal respect for you as a person."

Yiko'er turned fully, and a smile—warm, genuine, and full of light—spread across her beautiful face. "Then you'd better admire me a lot," she said. "And I expect to see results."

Before he could respond, she turned again and walked away, humming a cheerful tune that floated back to him on the night breeze.

Park Jeong-seok stood on his porch, watching her go, the red handprint still burning on his cheek. He touched it gingerly and let out a long, slow breath.

"Well," he muttered t

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The afternoon sun beat down on the private beach, its rays bouncing off the white sand and glittering across the calm ocean waves. The beach was deserted except for three people, the entire stretch having been secured by the Dàmén Gang for the day. Near a small beachside store, the unmistakable sounds of fighting games echoed from a pair of old arcade cabinets set up under a faded awning.

“Hey, man, that combo was pretty solid!” Piao Dagen exclaimed, his fingers flying across the buttons as his on-screen character executed a flawless series of kicks. His opponent’s health bar drained to nothing, and the screen flashed with victory.

Li Qing leaned back, controller in hand, a grin spreading across his face. “Not bad yourself. You’ve got some moves for a big guy.”

“You’re no slouch either,” Piao Dagen laughed, cracking his knuckles. “I haven’t had this much fun in ages. You know, for a rival gang boss, you’re alright.”

“Same to you. We should do this more often, forget the territory lines for a while.”

The two grown men, both hardened criminals in their respective organizations, bickered and laughed like schoolboys discovering a new friend. The game reset, and they started another round, shoulders bumping, trash talk flowing freely.

A soft voice interrupted their concentration. “You two are such big children,” Yimeir said, stepping out from behind a changing screen near the store. She wore a stunning white bikini that hugged her curves perfectly, her skin glowing in the afternoon light. She walked over, sandals dangling from her fingers, and stood in front of the arcade machines. “Already playing together like old buddies.”

Piao Dagen and Li Qing both glanced at each other, then back at her, and for a moment, neither spoke. The thought crossed both their minds independently: this guy could be a sworn brother. We have the same rotten taste in hobbies.

“Excuse me, gentlemen,” Yimeir said, her voice warm with amusement.

Piao Dagen finally looked at her properly. His breath caught. The woman before him was stunning, her white swimsuit contrasting against her sun-kissed skin, her long hair loose and flowing. He felt his cheeks flush and his tongue tie itself into a knot.

Yimeir noticed his stunned expression and smiled mischievously. She struck a playful pose, one hand on her hip. “What’s the matter? Don’t you like how I look?”

Before Piao Dagen could stammer a response, Li Qing chimed in, playing along perfectly. “Yeah, boss, what do you think? Pretty good, right?”

Piao Dagen rubbed the back of his neck, his eyes darting away. “The First Lady of the Qīnglóng Gang... impressive. Very... very pretty.”

Li Qing’s eyes widened in mock outrage. “Oh! You dare to look at her with such eyes!”

Piao Dagen’s face went red. He waved his hands frantically. “No, that’s not what I meant! I didn’t mean anything by it!”

Li Qing burst out laughing, slapping his knee. “Just messing with you! Your reaction is priceless!”

Yimeir joined in, her laughter light and musical. The sound of genuine mirth filled the air, and soon all three were chuckling together. Piao Dagen felt the tension melt away, realizing he had been set up for a good-natured joke.

“Alright, alright,” Li Qing said, wiping a tear from his eye. “Enough games. Let’s hit the volleyball net.”

They moved to the center of the beach where a net had been set up. The ball came into play, and the game began. Piao Dagen served first, a solid hit that sent the ball soaring over the net. Li Qing returned it with a strong spike. Yimeir moved gracefully, her body twisting as she dove for the ball, and as she rose, her chest bounced heavily under the thin fabric of her bikini.

Piao Dagen’s eyes locked on the movement. The sheer size and softness of her breasts were hypnotic. He forgot about the ball, forgot about the game, forgot everything except the rhythm of that bounce. The volleyball slammed into his face with a loud smack.

“Oof!” He stumbled backward, collapsing onto the sand.

Li Qing doubled over, laughing. “Man, you took that one like a champ! You alright?”

Piao Dagen sat up, rubbing his nose, his face red for an entirely different reason now. “Yeah, fine, fine.”

The game continued, but the incident left a lingering heat in Piao Dagen’s chest. Later, as they took a break under the awning, Li Qing stretched and asked, “Hey, Piao, why didn’t you bring a female companion today?”

Piao Dagen shrugged, taking a sip of his soda. “I’m still single. The gang keeps me busy. My old man keeps nagging me, telling me to find a wife already. He says a man in our family isn’t a real man unless he shoots ten or more times a day. Something about the Piao family tradition.”

Li Qing nearly choked on his drink. He set the bottle down and stared at Piao Dagen with disbelief. “Brother, if you’re going to lie, at least make it believable. A normal man cannot produce that much volume in a single day.”

Piao Dagen laughed and nodded quickly. “Yeah, yeah, you’re right.” Inwardly, he thought, No way in hell I’m telling him I jerk off three or four times a day watching adult videos. That stays my secret.

The sound of footsteps on sand approached, and then everything changed.

Two figures emerged from behind a scrubby dune, each holding a revolver. The glint of metal caught the sunlight, and without a word, they opened fire.

The crack of gunshots split the peaceful afternoon. Piao Dagen dove behind a stack of plastic chairs, scrambling for cover. Li Qing moved with practiced speed, rolling behind a concrete pillar near the store. His hand went to his waist, and he pulled out a pistol, returning fire in controlled bursts.

Yimeir reacted instantly. Her hand moved, and a throwing knife flashed through the air, embedding itself in one shooter’s throat. He gurgled and fell. She threw another, and it struck the second man’s chest. Both assassins crumpled to the ground.

But the attack wasn’t over.

Three more figures burst from the thick bushes lining the beach, their weapons aimed directly at Yimeir. She had no time to draw another knife. She was exposed.

Piao Dagen saw the danger. He exploded from behind his cover, closing the distance in a heartbeat. His fist connected with the first assassin’s jaw, and the man’s head snapped back with a sickening crunch. Bone shattered. He was down before he hit the ground.

The other two turned, but Piao Dagen had already grabbed a metal pole from a nearby umbrella stand. He swung it with brutal efficiency, catching one man across the temple, and then reversed the strike, cracking the other’s ribs and sending him sprawling. In seconds, all three lay motionless on the sand.

Yimeir watched, breathing hard, her eyes wide with admiration. “Impressive moves,” she said, holstering a knife she had drawn from her thigh. “You’re no slouch in a fight.”

Piao Dagen shrugged, a grin spreading across his face. “I’m from the Dàmén Gang. Every one of us was born in a brawl. It’s just how we are.”

“Look out!” Yimeir’s voice snapped with urgency. She lunged forward, tackling Piao Dagen to the ground.

A shot whizzed past where he had been standing. They hit the sand, Yimeir on top of him, her body pressed full against his. Her massive breasts, soft and heavy, squished against his face, and for a brief, disorienting moment, Piao Dagen could only smell the sweet scent of her skin and feel the incredible warmth of her body against his.

Li Qing was occupied, scanning for more threats, and didn’t see the intimate position. He fired another shot, taking out a fourth attacker who had been sneaking up from the side.

On the ground, Piao Dagen’s body reacted before his mind could catch up. His penis, normally a modest five centimeters, swelled rapidly, painfully fast. In seconds, it had grown to a full twenty-nine centimeters, thick and rigid, pressing urgently against his shorts. It pushed against Yimeir’s stomach, a hard, distinct pressure.

Yimeir, still focused on the fight, ignored the sensation. She assumed it was some kind of weapon Piao Dagen had strapped to his waist, perhaps a baton or the metal pole he had used earlier. She fired twice more, and the last assassin fell.

Silence returned.

The three of them regrouped. Li Qing checked his phone. “I have to report this to the division headquarters. There’ll be retaliation to plan. Excuse me for a moment.”

He walked away, phone pressed to his ear, leaving Yimeir and Piao Dagen alone on the beach.

They sat at a small table near the store, two bottles of cola sweating in the afternoon heat. Yimeir leaned forward, her expression sincere. “Thank you for earlier. If you hadn’t acted, I’d be dead.”

Piao Dagen nodded, trying to keep his eyes level, trying not to think about the sensation of her body against his. “Just doing what anyone would do.”

She smiled warmly. Then she leaned forward again, bowing slightly in a gesture of gratitude. The movement pushed her chest against the edge of the table. Her large breasts pressed against the surface, the fabric of her bikini straining as they squeezed together, the curve of her cleavage deepening.

The sight was too much. Piao Dagen’s body reacted instantly. In a fraction of a second, his penis snapped to full erection, punching upward with such force that it struck the underside of the table. The table lurched, rattling the bottles.

Yimeir jumped, startled. “What was that?”

Piao Dagen’s face flushed crimson. He coughed, covering his mouth. “Sorry! My weapon. The pole. It slipped. Hit the table.”

Yimeir blinked, then nodded, accepting the explanation. “Oh. Be careful with that.”

“Yeah, I just... I have to go to the bathroom.” Piao Dagen stood abruptly, his body hunched awkwardly to hide the massive bulge in his shorts.

“There’s no bathroom on this beach,” Yimeir said, looking around.

“I’ll find a spot,” he muttered, already walking toward the far end of the beach. He knew there was no toilet anywhere nearby, but he couldn’t let her see what had happened.

He found a temporary outdoor shower stall near the water, set up for changing and rinsing off. It was empty, clean. He stepped inside, locked the flimsy door, and leaned his head against the wall.

“Fuck,” he whispered to himself.

He looked around and spotted a large, empty bottle of body wash, the massive container kind used in bulk refills. It was clean, no residue. Desperate, he grabbed it, dropped his shorts, and wrapped his hand around his throbbing cock. He stroked himself frantically, imagining her body, the bounce of her breasts, the warmth of her skin. Within moments, he came with a groan, thick ropes of white semen spurting into the bottle’s opening, filling it with a heavy, cloudy load.

His erection subsided, his cock shrinking back to its normal size. He sighed in relief, set the bottle aside, and adjusted his shorts.

But his relief was short-lived. The urge to urinate hit him suddenly, urgently. He ran out of the stall, found a secluded patch of dry grass behind a dune, and relieved himself, watching his piss soak into the dirt.

When he returned to the beach, walking back toward the store, he noticed the temporary shower stall’s door was open. Steam drifted out. He slowed his pace, peering inside.

Yimeir was there, showering. Water ran down her skin, plastering her wet hair to her back, her naked body glistening. She hadn’t seen him yet.

Piao Dagen froze, his eyes wide, before he forced himself to turn away and walk back to the table, his heart pounding.

Inside the shower, Yimeir tilted her head back, letting the water rinse the salt and sand from her hair. She sniffed the air. A strange, thick odor lingered in the stall. It smelled heavy, musky, unfamiliar. Something stirred deep inside her, a primal, female instinct she didn’t recognize. Her skin felt warm, her body flushed. A faint heat gathered low in her belly.

She frowned, shaking her head. Probably just the heat. Summer afternoons on the beach played tricks on the body.

She finished rinsing and stepp

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The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the beach, painting the sand in hues of amber and gold. A few meters from the waterline, a makeshift shower stood—three wooden boards hammered into a U-shape, the open side closed off by two frosted glass panels that were fixed in place. The glass was just wide enough to hide the most intimate parts of a woman's body, but only barely. The top edges lined up with a woman's collarbone, and the bottom stopped just above the curve of her hips.

Eumil stood under the trickle of the showerhead, letting the warm water run over her skin. She tilted her head back, wetting her long black hair, and reached for the bottle of "shower gel" that sat on a small ledge. Her movements were casual, unhurried. She had the confidence of someone who commanded a room, but out here, in the open air, she was just a woman washing off the salt and sweat.

Behind a gnarled tree trunk ten meters away, Park Daegeun sat with his back pressed against the bark. He kept his eyes fixed on the ground, tracing patterns in the sand with a stick. He could see the top of her head and her hands when she lifted them, and every time she shifted, the outline of her legs appeared below the glass. His ears burned. He didn't dare move closer.

"Make sure you rinse off well!" he called out, his voice cracking slightly. "That bottle you're using—it's not good quality. Just use plain water!"

Eumil paused, her hand hovering over the bottle cap. She turned her head toward his voice, though she couldn't see him through the boards. "What do you mean, not good quality?"

"Just—just don't use it, okay?" He was already regretting opening his mouth.

She shrugged and twisted off the cap. The water had stopped running, so she shook the bottle. A thick white liquid oozed out, far denser than any shower gel she had ever seen. The scent hit her nostrils before she could even bring it to her skin. It was musky, pungent, and undeniably male. Her body reacted before her mind could catch up. A flush crept up her neck, and a sudden warmth pooled in her lower belly. She blinked, confused. *Is this some new brand of soap?* She had no frame of reference. Li Qing's semen had always been almost odorless and thin. She had no idea what another man's emission smelled like, let alone the sheer volume of what she now held in her hands.

But the animal part of her brain didn't need to know the origin. It just wanted more. Her fingers trembled as she poured a generous amount into her palm and began to spread it across her chest. The sensation was strange—sticky, clingy, and yet somehow soothing. She rubbed it into her breasts, and even through the frosted glass, the shape of her movements was visible. Her hands pressed and massaged, and the glass showed the outline of her fingers sinking into the soft flesh.

She let out a soft sigh of contentment. *This must be some special formula. The smell is just... intense.*

A few minutes later, she realized she had forgotten her towel. She called out, "Daegeun! Bring me a towel!"

Park Daegeun's heart hammered. He shuffled toward the shower, keeping his eyes half-lidded, one hand held up as if to block his view but leaving just enough space between his fingers to see. What he saw made him freeze. Eumil, the supreme boss of the Blue Dragon Gang, the woman who could make a room full of hardened criminals quiet with a single glare, was standing in the open shower with her entire body slicked with his own dried semen from the bottle Li Qing had left behind. The white liquid coated her shoulders, her belly, her breasts—and she was still working more into her skin.

*Oh no. Oh no, no, no.* His hand snapped shut over his eyes, but the image was already burned into his memory. He handed her the towel without looking, his face the color of a ripe tomato. *I can never tell her. If she finds out she just covered herself in—in—I'm dead.*

She took the towel, and he stumbled backward to his post behind the tree.

Eumil finished drying off, but the smell lingered. It clung to her hair, her skin, her clothes. She scrubbed herself raw that night in her hotel room, but the odor wouldn't fade. For three full days, she carried that heavy, musky scent with her wherever she went. She couldn't stop thinking about it. Every time she caught a whiff, her heart beat a little faster. *It's just soap*, she told herself. *It's just a strange new soap.*

A week later, Li Qing and Park Daegeun had become sworn brothers. They sat side by side in a dusty café overlooking the marina, maps and photographs spread across the table. The target for tonight was a castle-like villa on the north side of the island, where the Japanese yakuza group Takegumi was hosting a party. Get close to the boss, plant a listening device, and slip out unnoticed.

"I won't be there tonight," Eumil had said earlier, dismissing them with a wave. "I have other business. Handle it yourselves."

So Li Qing and Park Daegeun set off in a black sedan as the sun dipped below the horizon. Li Qing drove, wearing an earpiece and a headset microphone. Park Daegeun sat in the passenger seat, adjusting a cheap plastic mask over his face. It covered his eyes and nose, leaving his mouth exposed.

They pulled up to the castle gates, and Park Daegeun stepped out. The building was an ostentatious imitation of European architecture, complete with turrets and ivy-draped stone walls. Music and laughter drifted from within.

A bouncer in a black suit blocked the entrance. "Sorry, sir. This party requires a female companion. Are you alone?"

Park Daegeun's heart sank. He touched the tiny earpiece. "Lil, I've got a problem. No women allowed inside unless they're with someone. They're turning me away."

On the other end, Li Qing frowned. "Think fast. Maybe you can sneak around back—"

"That won't be necessary."

The voice came from behind Park Daegeun. He turned to see a woman striding toward him in a show-stopping black gown. The dress was cut low, revealing the generous curve of her chest and the valley of her cleavage down to her navel. Her hair was pulled back in a high ponytail, and her face was bare of any mask—unmistakably Eumil.

"I was going to do this on my own," she said, slipping her arm through his. "But if I don't step in, you'll screw it up for both of us."

She turned to the bouncer and smiled. "We're together."

The bouncer glanced between the short, masked man and the tall, stunning woman. He shrugged and stepped aside. As they passed, he muttered to his colleague, "How does a guy who looks like that land a woman like her?"

Inside, the castle was a sea of suits and silk dresses. Couples danced under crystal chandeliers, and waiters carried trays of champagne. Li Qing's voice crackled in Park Daegeun's ear. "Nice work, bro. Where did you find a date like that? She's a knockout."

Park Daegeun's mouth opened to explain, but before he could get a word out, a group of Takegumi members approached. Eumil tensed. She had no mask. If they recognized her as the Blue Dragon boss, the mission was over before it began.

Acting on instinct, she pulled Park Daegeun's head down and pressed her lips to his. It was not a gentle kiss. It was deep, hungry, and forceful. Her tongue swept into his mouth, and her chest pressed so tightly against his that he could feel every contour. His vision blurred. He could barely breathe through his nose, and his hands fluttered uselessly at his sides.

The yakuza members glanced over, laughed, and covered their eyes. "Lovebirds," one said with a grin. "Let's leave them alone."

They passed on.

Eumil broke the kiss, her lipstick slightly smeared. She pulled back, eyes sharp, ignoring the flush on her cheeks. "Sorry. It was the only thing I could think of. Now let's move. We have a job to do."

Park Daegeun nodded, still speechless, his lips tingling and his chest aching from the pressure. Somewhere in the distance, Li Qing's voice came through again. "Wait, was that Eumil? Did you just kiss Eumil? You madman."

But neither of them answered. They had a bug to plant and a castle full of enemies to navigate.