Guide to Rising to Power as a Wife in Beijing's Elite Circle

Zhu Anqiang has seen a lot of dirty things in his life.

During his years in Southeast Asia, he secretly monitored drug and arms transactions.

Those places are also corrupt, but they are blatantly corrupt, directly corrupt. You know the other side is a bad guy, and the other side knows you know. Everyone is tacitly putting on an act.

But this island is different.

The ship docked at four in the morning.

Zhu Anqiang mingled among a group of members, wearing a custom-made linen shirt and a Patek Philippe watch on his wrist.

There were seven or eight people on the same boat, mostly white, but also two Asian faces, speaking Japanese and Korean.

They didn't talk much to each other, but in the occasional glances they exchanged, there was something unspoken between them.

Their eyes were empty, as if they had seen everything and were tired of everything, leaving only a morbid weariness.

The facilities on the island are more luxurious than you can imagine.

Three yachts were moored at the private marina, villas were nestled among palm trees on the beach, and there was even a small golf course in the distance.

If Zhu Anqiang didn't know where he was, he would have thought he had arrived at some top-tier resort.

But something in the air is wrong.

It's too quiet.

There were no birdsong, no human voices, only the monotonous echo of waves crashing on the shore.

A man in a white uniform approached them with a standard service smile and greeted them in English.

Zhu Anqiang noticed that when his gaze swept over each person, it would linger for a fraction of a second.

"Distinguished guests, please follow me," the uniformed man said. "Today's program is ready."

programme.

Zhu Anqiang pondered the word in his mind as he followed the crowd deeper into the island.

After passing through an overly manicured tropical garden, they came to a low concrete building. The building had no windows, only a heavy metal door.

Two bodyguards in black combat uniforms stood at the door, their waists bulging, clearly carrying real weapons.

The metal door slammed shut behind us, cutting off all outside noise.

The corridor was long and dimly lit, filled with the smell of disinfectant mixed with something else. Zhu Anqiang tried to distinguish it; it was blood.

It also smelled of urine.

His stomach began to churn, but his face remained expressionless.

The corridor opened up into a large circular hall. In the center of the hall was a recessed circular area surrounded by tiered seating, resembling the Colosseum in ancient Rome.

There were already twenty or thirty people in the seats, all of whom were the same faces from the ship, plus some who had arrived earlier.

They sat quietly, their eyes all fixed on the center of the field.

Zhu Anqiang found a seat in the back and subtly pressed the second button on his shirt. It was a camera specially made by Shen Rongchuan's technical department, the size of a pinhole, capable of transmitting high-definition images in real time.

The lights in the center of the venue suddenly turned on, so bright they hurt people's eyes.

Once his vision adjusted, what Zhu Anqiang saw made even the hardened heart he had developed in Southeast Asia twitch violently.

Four children were kneeling in the center of the field.

They were shirtless, their thin backs covered with scars of varying ages. What made Zhu Anqiang's pupils shrink the most was...

They were all boys.

They knelt in a row, heads bowed, shoulders trembling slightly. Beside them stood a burly man in leather pants, holding a black leather whip in his hand, the tip dragging on the ground like a sleeping venomous snake.

A low murmur arose in the audience, not from fear, but from anticipation.

A middle-aged white man next to Zhu Anqiang licked his lips and muttered, "Finally, something new..."

new.

Zhu Anqiang used all his willpower to prevent himself from standing up, rushing forward, or doing anything that would expose his identity.

He simply sat quietly, his fingers continuing to press the buttons, letting the camera record everything.

...[See plq]

A satisfied sigh escaped from someone in the audience.

Zhu Anqiang looked away and stared at the faces of those people.

The expression on their faces was not one of tyranny or anger, but rather... a satisfied, pleasurable feeling.

It's like the satisfaction a gourmet feels after tasting a rare delicacy.

He suddenly remembered something Shen Rongchuan had said a long time ago:

"These people at the top have tried everything. Skydiving? Bungee jumping? Deep-sea diving? Those are games for ordinary rich people. What they play are things outside the law, things outside morality, things outside humanity. The more taboo, the more exciting."

He didn't fully understand at the time.

Now he understands.

Those children are not lives, not futures, not even sex slaves in their eyes; that would be too low.

They are tools, drugs used to stimulate nerves that have long been numb.

After trying all kinds of legal and illegal stimuli, only this kind of pure, naked, and unscrupulous evil can make them feel alive.

……

The white man next to Zhu Anqiang took out a small leather notebook from the inside pocket of his suit and wrote something in it with a fountain pen.

Zhu Anqiang caught a glimpse of the notebook out of the corner of his eye; it contained a series of numbers with asterisks next to them.

He is rating the show.

It's like rating a concert or a bottle of wine.

The performance lasted about twenty minutes.

Zhu Anqiang doesn't know how he got through those twenty minutes. He only knows that when he left the rotunda with the crowd, the back of his shirt was soaked with cold sweat.

But the show wasn't over yet.

The uniformed man led them through another corridor to a door with the words "Medical Center" written on it.

The door opened, revealing a completely different world: bright operating lights, stainless steel operating tables, various sophisticated medical instruments, and medical staff in sterile gowns moving around.

If it weren't for the faint smell of blood in the air, this place would look like a top-tier private hospital.

But Zhu Anqiang spotted the cages in the corner at a glance.

Each stainless steel cage is about one meter square, and inside are huddled small, thin figures.

An IV line was inserted into his wrist, connected to a transparent tube.

The tubes led to collection bags on the wall, some of which were already half-filled with a dark red liquid.

"Distinguished guests," a man in a white coat introduced in fluent English, "this is our latest revitalizing technology. The principle is simple: the stem cells and growth factors in young blood can repair aging and damaged cells. Clinical data shows that after three whole blood exchanges, recipients' skin elasticity, organ function, and even cognitive abilities are on average fifteen to twenty years younger."

He paused, then pointed to the cages in the corner:

"These are all rigorously selected donors. They have no history of genetic diseases or infectious diseases, and are in good health. They are young, in the prime of their hematopoietic function. Each batch of donors can provide three to four rounds of blood collection, and then..."

He didn't finish speaking, but Zhu Anqiang knew what was to come.

After that, they will be disposed of.

The children seemed numb, showing no reaction to the arrival of the crowd, simply huddled together, their eyes vacantly staring into some unseen place.

A girl's lips kept moving, as if she was muttering something, but it was too far away to hear clearly.

The audience began to move among the cages, as if selecting merchandise. Some people squatted down, carefully examining a boy's face, and even pried open his mouth with their fingers to look at his teeth.

The boy didn't resist, or even blink; he just stared blankly with his mouth open.

Zhu Anqiang noticed a label on one of the cages: BLOOD TYPE O, RH-. Below it were the number and date.

He suddenly remembered a popular singer who had been paralyzed in bed a few years ago due to a car accident, and media reports indicated that she had almost retired from the entertainment industry.

But last year she suddenly made a comeback, embarking on a world tour, singing and dancing, and was in even better shape than before the car accident.

The media hailed her as a medical miracle, and fans excitedly attributed it to the power of love.

The power of love.

Zhu Anqiang lowered his head, afraid that someone would see what was in his eyes.

Behind these glamorous people, these idols worshipped by millions, these gods standing under the spotlight receiving flowers and applause, are cages and empty eyes.

The girl's lips were still moving in the cage. Zhu Anqiang finally deciphered what she was saying:

"Mommy...Mommy...Mommy..."

He turned and left with the crowd.

He was afraid that if he looked at it again, he wouldn't be able to resist doing something.

Once it's done, all the tasks Fang Jingxiu assigned will be over. All that evidence will have been taken for nothing.

The Bai family will continue to exist, more children will be sent here, and more shows will be staged.

He could only endure it.

After the visit, Zhu Anqiang returned to his room, locked the door, and went into the bathroom.

He turned on the tap, letting the cold water flow freely, then leaned against the sink and looked at himself in the mirror.

The face in the mirror looked no different than usual. Early forty, dark-skinned, with calm eyes.

Having worked with Shen Rongchuan for so many years, he had witnessed too much darkness and thought he was used to it.

But today, he realized he was wrong.

He can accept murder, money laundering, and deals that operate in the gray area.

Ultimately, all those things are about self-interest. Self-interest is a basic human instinct, nothing to be confused about.

But what he saw today was not profit.

It is pure evil.

Those who pay $100,000 in membership fees are not short of money, are not forced into it, and are not desperate.

They're just so bored.

All normal stimuli can no longer excite them, so they need something more perverse, more terrifying, and more inhumane to make their numb hearts beat again.

What kind of humanity is this?

Zhu Anqiang couldn't figure it out.

All he knew was that if hell truly existed, it must be located on this island.

And all he could do, as the one walking through hell, was record everything.

Record the children's faces, record the guests' laughter, record the whip marks and bloodstains, record the connections of the IV lines.

Record all the evidence that could send the Bai family to hell.

Then, hand over this evidence to the rightful owner.

As for those children...

He closed his eyes and let the cold water continue to wash his face.

Can't help.

Fang Jingxiu has already made it very clear.

Regardless of.

Don't touch it.

Do not expose.

He came to kill the Bai family, not to be a savior.

If he exposes himself while saving someone, he won't be the only one to die.

Shen Rongchuan, Fang Jingxiu, and that girl named Chen Nuo will all be implicated.

He can't let that happen.

Therefore, he could only record, not save.

You can only watch, you can't touch it.

He could only tell himself that once the Bai family fell, these children would no longer have a Bai family.

Although by then, these children may no longer be alive.

but……

At least, they won't have any new children coming in.

At the very least, the island will be exposed, sealed off, and bombed into ruins.

At least one or two of those who paid for thrills will be identified, exposed, and tried.

Although this is just a fantasy.

Those people have too many powerful connections and backgrounds. Even if the Bai family falls, they can simply find another platform and continue playing their games.

But one must always have fantasies.

Otherwise, how can ordinary people survive?