Chapter 146: I Play the Young Master at Home

Today, Feng Chenchen had personally done Little Ma's makeup. Having trained under her for some time now, he had acquired some skill, and his styling and aura were put together quite well.

A waiter in a bow tie walked past and hinted to Little Ma, "Would you like a glass of champagne?" Little Ma was not Wang Xiaoai; he would have to be out of his mind to drink that stuff.

So, Little Ma went back to aggressively raiding the buffet.

There were fewer people around the dining table. A charming, mature woman was standing by the table, conversing in low tones with a man.

Little Ma faintly caught mentions of things like "international account application forms and agreements." When people brought those up, six times out of ten it meant laundering and transferring black money. Damn it, although Little Ma was a good-for-nothing graduate from a second-tier university, he used to work in finance, so he actually knew a bit about these things.

It was none of Little Ma's business, but overhearing other people's gossip felt quite interesting.

Little Ma's presence obviously also attracted their attention. The charming woman cast a deliberate or casual glance in Little Ma's direction.

After eating a few large prawns, Little Ma strolled off elsewhere.

The aristocratic woman who had mentioned the "international account" looked back at Little Ma one more time, muttered an apology to the big-bellied man, and walked away.

Huh?

Little Ma noticed the aristocratic woman walking in his direction. Surely she wasn't coming over to hit on him?

In truth, the mindset of a shut-in otaku was terribly weak; the people here were all very direct and possessed none of that coy, flirtatious hesitation.

The aristocratic woman walked over, stopped beside Little Ma, took a sip of champagne, and appraised him from head to toe for the third time. Only upon close inspection could one appreciate the exquisite and meticulous details of this little pretty boy. Even though he was wearing casual clothes in a highly inappropriate setting for such a cocktail party, he was still dressed more carefully and tastily than anyone else here tonight.

"Are you a businessman?" The mature woman with her hair swept up into a bun smiled.

Little Ma hesitated and said, "I... I write scripts."

The woman was slightly stunned, glanced at Knightley over there, and asked with an air of interest, "Which scripts have you written?"

Her gaze was very aggressive, like a hunter looking at prey.

Little Ma rambled nonsense for a bit and countered, "And you, what do you do?"

She smiled casually and said, "I do research in medicine and teach at Oxford."

Little Ma felt like she was full of nonsense. Just a moment ago she was discussing international account agreements with someone, and now she had turned into a scholar? Or perhaps her family members were involved in those dealings, and she was drumming up business for them.

While they were chatting idly, a slight commotion stirred over on the other side. Many people's gazes converged there as a dashing middle-aged man walked in.

Quite a few people who recognized him stepped forward to greet him with expressions of respect.

The middle-aged man absentmindedly brushed everyone off, glanced briefly in the direction of Brother Ma and the aristocratic woman, but immediately strode over to the small circle where Lee Hyori and the others were gathered.

"He's my husband, Deputy Commissioner Oliver, the second-in-command of the police force." The aristocratic woman smiled again.

What?

Little Ma was afraid of getting riddled with bullets and had half a mind to run.

The beautiful woman took another sip of champagne and laughed, "Did his title scare you? Don't worry, unless you have a personal feud with him, he wouldn't mind if you kissed me right now. We each play our own games."

Little Ma's expression turned bizarre.

"Judging by your accent, you seem to be a local. Are you studying here?" she asked again.

"I play the young master at home," Little Ma replied.

The beautiful woman burst out laughing.

If he lingered any longer, Little Ma suspected she might drag him into the washroom.

"I'm going over there for a walk," Little Ma decisively slipped away.

Yet it was all in vain.

This dignified and stunning female scholar boldly followed right behind him.

Helplessly, Little Ma found himself stuck with her.

Lee Hyori, who was chatting with a large group of men on the side, glanced over at Little Ma again, frowning to express her disgust.

The aristocratic woman noticed and gave a captivating, alluring smile, "Lee Hyori keeps glaring over here. It certainly can't be because she has a conflict with me. Could it be that you have a conflict with her?"

Little Ma replied noncommittally, "Who are those young people around her? It looks like they're trying desperately to show off in front of her."

"A bunch of British spoiled scions, mostly the ones who got tangled up with her back in Hong Kong. That guy with the hemorrhoid on his lip is the grandson of the last governor of Hong Kong, and he had the most shady dealings with her Lee family back in the day. That balding young man with the Mediterranean hairline is currently a judge on the Hong Kong Court of Appeal."

She paused, then smiled and added, "However, they don't really have much presence; they're just a bunch of punks. The trouble is, I hear they are a very jealous crowd. As far as I know, they've caused quite a bit of trouble over that."

Damn it. Was this her way of volunteering herself to protect the "hero"?

This situation left Little Ma utterly speechless. She was essentially a female upgraded version of Ye Gongming—both lustful and fond of putting on airs.

Before he could finish his glass of champagne, true to her words, trouble started brewing over there.

That group of "punk scions" she had mentioned kept turning their heads to glare in their direction, a few of them even radiating anger. The others wore expressions of looking at hicks; for instance, her husband Deputy Commissioner Oliver, although devoid of the look of a cuckolded husband catching an adulterous pair, still regarded him with that quintessential look of superiority reserved for country bumpkins.

She smiled again, "Don't mind it. My husband is different from that bunch of punks; he's not out of his mind. He's not looking at you the way you think."

"Uh, that's good," Little Ma said awkwardly.

"We've been chatting for so long, and you have zero gentlemanly manners? Don't you want to formally introduce yourself and ask who I am?" the beautiful woman added.

Actually, she wasn't all that annoying, so since she brought it up, Little Ma formally introduced himself. At the same time, he was granted permission to call her Isabelle.

Things immediately felt a lot more familiar.

On the other side, Deputy Commissioner Oliver stopped talking to Lee Hyori and instead struck up a conversation with Knightley with a deeply interested expression, punctuated by bursts of rather loud laughter.

It seemed Knightley's persuasive and public relations skills were somewhat formidable; perhaps that was why Lee Hyori had brought her along.

By now, it seemed Lee Hyori and Deputy Commissioner Oliver had reached a consensus. Consequently, Deputy Commissioner Oliver didn't wish to stay too long in such high-profile settings and intended to leave.

Lee Hyori offered a gentle, alluring expression to persuade him to stay: "Deputy Commissioner, please wait a moment. I've booked the entire Queen's Theatre. Wouldn't you like to stay and watch an opera together?"

"My wife has that hobby, but I don't. Work affairs have worn me out, so I'll pass. You all have fun." Having politely declined, Oliver cast one last strange, lingering look at Little Ma and Isabelle before leaving.

Some thoughts in his mind remained unfulfilled, it seemed.

Having indulged his inner fantasies, he left anyway, rushing off to inspect that prized horse gifted by Lee Hyori. As everyone knew, Oliver's passion for horses surpassed his passion for riding women—though that was true for his middle-aged years; back when his kidneys were in their prime, he definitely preferred women.

Lee Hyori watched the dashing Oliver depart in high spirits, cast a disdainful glance at the country bumpkin Brother Ma over there, and decided not to bicker with him anymore.

Initially, she really wanted to find someone to screw this kid over, but now that she had reached a consensus with Oliver—who had accepted the horse registered under Knightley's name and agreed to attend the Royal Ascot together—her hostility had subsided.

"Let's go, to the Queen's Theatre for the opera," Lee Hyori announced.

The group of scions, who only wanted to mate rather than watch any opera, gave thumbs-up all around and began chattering praises, spouting nonsense about taste and art.

Lee Hyori turned to Knightley and asked, "Coming to watch the opera?"

Knightley had no desire to tag along with this group of scions, so she shook her head in polite refusal: "You guys go ahead. I've made other plans and am waiting for someone here."

Lee Hyori thought to herself, *Damn woman, running multiple appointments in a single day, are you?* Yet as she left, she leaned close to her assistant and whispered, "Transfer three million pounds to her."

From Lee Hyori's perspective, everyone had a price, and Knightley was no exception. Three million pounds was her appearance fee for this gig.

Consequently, Knightley stayed behind while Lee Hyori and her entourage made a high-profile exit. One of the scions even summoned police cars to clear the way for their Rolls-Royce motorcade, rumbling off grandly toward the Queen's Theatre.

Zeng Xiaoxian had indeed bumped into someone he knew casually and was chatting with them in a corner.

Feng Chenchen, having nothing to do, looked anxious, craning her neck to look around in all directions.

When Knightley's eyes accidentally met Feng Chenchen's, she gave a polite, slight nod, but having no desire to strike up a conversation, quickly looked away.

Knightley truly didn't want to stay here anymore, but alas, her assistant had just informed her that Mike Travis was on his way.

Just then, two more cars pulled up outside the banquet hall. A fat man weighing around two hundred pounds stepped out, sticking out a massive belly and imposingly chomping on a smoking, thick cigar.

Mike Travis strode in with his hair slicked back and a cigar clamped between his teeth. As he entered, a security guard awkwardly reminded him, "Excuse me, sir, this is a smoke-free venue..."

"Fuck off!"

Before the security guard could finish, he was cursed away by Mike Travis, who continued striding inside, cigar still in his mouth.

He walked with aggressive haste and accidentally bumped into a waitresses carrying a tray of champagne, getting champagne all over himself.

The young waitress was mortified, repeatedly apologizing as she pulled out tissues to frantically wipe him down.

"You idiot! Get lost! Vanish from my sight right now!" Mike Travis spewed abuse viciously.

The terrified waitress fled in a panic.

If this fat bastard filed a complaint, it could cost her today's wages. So she had no choice but to run. Her pay for working a two-hour shift at this cocktail party was a pathetic forty pounds—pocket change to these spoiled scions, but vitally important to her as a working student.

Mike Travis's display left the aristocratic ladies and noblemen in the banquet hall gasping in shock, their mouths half-open. They all felt that Americans were hopeless. While families had traditions and corporations had cultures, the national culture of Americans was apparently nothing more than that of thugs and robbers—though they rarely saw anyone take it to such an extreme.

Knightley also had a headache, but she had to face it. This was just how he was: an unadulterated old scumbag and ruffian. To interact with him, one had to be prepared for the fact that he was a very resourceful, major-league thug. The number of A-list actresses he had "harmonized" was countless, and the lawsuits filed against him were too many to tally. Yet this didn't stop the old scumbag from continuing to reign as an entertainment godfather, because standing behind him were even more formidable forces.

"You're here."

Knightley hurried over to greet the fat bastard.

As the old ruffian Knightley paid his respects, he still kept the thick cigar clamped in his mouth, billowing out clouds of smoke.