SES Chapter 2

Lijiang Old Town, Yunnan — Behind the “Come and Go” Bar.

The music from the front drifted faintly through the air. Yiwansan stood by the back door, nervously scanning the alley for passersby while snapping impatiently at the two guys crouched in front of him.
“Hurry up! Come on, move it!”

The two looked like textbook shady dealers — one of them unpacking a crate with an earring the size of a bracelet hanging from his ear, the other sporting a patch of bleached white hair, butt in the air as he rummaged through the box. He suddenly popped up, holding a bottle of foreign liquor in each hand. The labels weren’t even in English — something trying to scream “high-end.”
“One-twenty for two bottles,” he said.

“What the hell?” Yiwansan protested. “You raised the price? Wasn’t it a hundred last time?”

White Hair gave him a contemptuous glance. “So what if it’s one-twenty? Once these bottles hit the bar, they’re priced at over a grand. Those guys buying drinks to impress girls wouldn’t know real liquor from paint thinner. These bottles look expensive — that alone costs money. Plus, you’re buying retail, not wholesale.”

To be fair, the bottles did look high-end, with upgraded packaging and all. Yiwansan frowned.
“You didn’t mess with the ingredients, right? Don’t give me some industrial-grade crap that’ll kill people.”

White Hair looked offended. “Do I look like someone who’d pull that kind of shady shit? Even if it’s fake, it’s quality fake!”

It was around 9 p.m., prime time for bar traffic. Yiwansan had sweet-talked Uncle Zhang into covering the bar for a bit — he couldn’t afford to waste more time. He stuffed the bottles inside his jacket, tucked one under his armpit, and waved the two guys off.
“Go, go, get out of here.”

The guy with the giant earring picked up the crate and grumbled, “Use us and toss us, huh?”

White Hair chimed in, “Yeah, the moment he pulls his pants up, he forgets who helped him.”

Normally, Yiwansan would’ve kicked both of them in the ass, but there was no time for that now. He jogged through the dim corridor behind the bar and shouted, loud enough for Uncle Zhang to hear,
“I’m back!”

A few steps later, the space opened up. Overhead lights shimmered and danced, reflecting off the rows of upside-down wine glasses hanging above the bar, casting a glittering, multicolored glow.

Come and Go was a lively bar until 11 p.m., then it switched to a quieter lounge vibe. It wasn’t huge, but here, it wasn’t just drinks they were selling — it was atmosphere.

Uncle Zhang stood stiffly behind the bar, like a traditional opera singer who’d wandered into a modern ballet. Completely out of place. As soon as he saw Yiwansan, he barked,
“Where the hell have you been? Took you so long — were you pissing off the side of Yulong Snow Mountain?”

Yiwansan gave him a sheepish grin. “Stomachache, Uncle, you know how it is… Anyway, I’m back now.”

He ducked under the bar and slipped in behind the counter. Uncle Zhang cursed him out a few more times before finally walking off.

Yiwansan let out a breath, turned his back, and pretended to reorganize the liquor shelf. Smoothly, he swapped the two fake bottles from under his arm with the genuine ones on display. Everything was going perfectly.

Around ten o’clock, he managed to charm a tourist, a college girl. With slick talk and shameless flattery, he had her giggling like a hen ready to nest. Then he pulled his trump card — grabbed a “¥60-a-glass” imported liquor from the shelf and, like a true baller, poured her a half-glass.

The girl gasped. “That’s so expensive!”

Yiwansan just smiled. He already looked decent under the warm lighting, and now, holding a fancy wine glass filled with “expensive” booze, he was practically glowing.

He handed her the glass. “A beautiful drink for a beautiful lady.”

After 11 p.m., as the place quieted down and shifted to lounge mode, the girl, now slightly tipsy from the fake booze, was snuggled up to him, giggling and leaning closer. Half-dazed, she let him lead her up the back stairs, where he pulled her into an embrace. Before she could think twice, he was already kissing her, one hand slipping inside her shirt.

Just then, footsteps echoed up from below — probably a customer heading to the restroom. The girl froze for a moment, but then relaxed. Public displays of affection were no big deal these days. Anyone passing by should have the decency to look away.

But the person coming up didn’t.

“Honey!”

The voice wasn’t loud, but it made Yiwansan flinch. The girl turned to him, disbelief on her face, then looked down the stairs.

A woman stood there, maybe twenty-three or twenty-four. Tall and slim, very pretty, with long hair. She wore a loose silver-gray shirt over a white tank top, exposing just a bit of her waistline. A pendant of feathers, leather, and silver rings hung at her chest. Tight black jeans, brown leather boots. She leaned lazily on the stair railing, an amused smile playing at her lips.

The girl stared at Yiwansan, her voice trembling. “Honey?”

The woman smiled. “What’s going on here? Didn’t finish kneeling on that washboard last time? At least you’ve improved — last time you paid for it, this one looks free.”

The poor tourist girl turned beet red, then ghost white. She wasn’t some seasoned player — just a naïve romantic hoping for a chance encounter. Realizing she’d been conned, she smacked Yiwansan across the face and ran down the stairs, sobbing.

The woman didn’t chase her. She just started climbing the stairs. Yiwansan turned pale, backing up with a forced smile.
“Boss Lady… Let’s talk this out. You calling me that — I don’t deserve it.”

The bar owner was a woman in her forties named Huo Zihong. She had adopted the woman on the stairs, whose name was Mu Dai. Since the two weren’t far apart in age, they didn’t use “mother and daughter.” Mu Dai called her “Aunt Hong.”

Yiwansan and Uncle Zhang were just barhands. They called Huo Zihong “Boss Lady” and Mu Dai “Miss Mu,” sometimes “Little Boss Lady.”

Yiwansan was terrified of Mu Dai.

The first time he met her was on his third day at the bar. She had just returned from a trip, and Aunt Hong introduced them. Yiwansan was thrilled, immediately fantasizing about wooing the beautiful heir and securing a life of wealth and ease.

He started cozying up to her, offering sweet talk and warm smiles. She seemed polite and even smiled back occasionally, which encouraged him. One lazy, breezy afternoon, he decided to make a move.

He could draw—not badly — so he quickly sketched her portrait, hoping to impress. Most girls liked artsy guys, right? Mu Dai showed interest, so he sat beside her and started explaining techniques like perspective and shading. As he talked, he scooted closer. She didn’t pull away.

Feeling bolder, he reached for her hand.

It was a classic move — if she liked it, he’d hold her hand. If not, he’d play it cool.

But things didn’t go as planned.

The next second, he was howling like a slaughtered pig.

Mu Dai had grabbed his middle finger and bent it backward. For someone his size — a solid 150-pound dude — to be reduced to a blubbering mess by a finger lock? He finally realized she was no ordinary woman. She didn’t let go. She twisted harder, all while wearing that same creepy, half-smiling expression that would haunt him forever.

In his panic, he started swearing and tried to slap her. She grabbed his wrist and twisted. He cried out in pain, tried to kick her — she responded with two sharp kicks to the knees, and he collapsed with a thud.

Aunt Hong finally came over and made her stop. The next day, he was still limping, hands shaking so badly he couldn’t even hold a bowl.

Uncle Zhang had no sympathy. He was smug. “Serves you right! Our little boss lady ain’t someone you mess with.”

Yiwansan had tried to do some digging. She had the surname Mu — could she be related to the old Mu clan of Lijiang? He even brought it up to Uncle Zhang, who spat in his face.

“Get outta here. She wasn’t even born with that name. When she was four or five, her mom took her to a fortune-teller who said she lacked wood in her five elements. Too lazy to think of a name, her mom just named her Mu.”

Then how did she know martial arts?

Uncle Zhang didn’t answer — he just held up two fingers in an “eight” gesture.

“Wait… she’s a descendant of the Eight Arhats?”

“Bullshit! She’s been training for eight years.”

Eight years of martial arts. In modern times, what kind of woman—beautiful enough to live off her looks—would secretly study martial arts for that long? Just to fend off creeps like him?

Yiwansan laughed nervously. “Boss Lady, you’ve got it all wrong. Me and that girl — it was mutual! Fate brought us together! We got a little carried away, but I swear I didn’t do anything bad…”

Mu Dai smiled again, but her eyes drifted down his chest, stopping just below the waist. Her expression darkened, and she suddenly kicked at his groin.

That venomous witch! She aimed for that?!

Yiwansan yelped, clutching himself and stumbling back, tripping on the stairs and landing flat on his back.

But Mu Dai hadn’t kicked him. Her leg had only lifted slightly, more like a stretch. She even put on an innocent act.
“Why so jumpy? Did you fall?”

Footsteps sounded from above, along with a soft cough.
Yiwansan’s eyes welled with tears.
His savior was here.