Chapter Seventeen: The Four Misfortunes of the Heavenly Fire Man (Second Chapter Delivered—Please Add to Your Collection and Vote Red)

“No way, does this guy always go out with this sort of entourage?” Hu Mo muttered to himself, his face lined with gloom as he glanced at the two squads of guards trailing behind him. He couldn’t help but sigh inwardly, “He’s really got some nerve, bringing so many guards just to visit a brothel! Ah, these guards must be the most miserable bunch in Flame City—a troop escorting a client to a brothel. How pitiful…”

The small vendors along the road watched Hu Mo nervously, as if guarding against a hungry wolf. Some children were so frightened they burst into tears, their parents scooping them up and fleeing to a distant corner, not daring to make a sound.

Hu Mo didn’t care at all. He strolled along, idle and carefree, casting glances left and right, indifferent to the hidden glares flying his way.

“Oh my, that scourge has turned up again? Wasn’t he supposed to be under house arrest by Marshal Hu?”

“That’s right. I heard he got beaten up pretty badly, almost lost his life! You didn’t know? When word got out, people were lighting incense and setting off fireworks in celebration! Too bad, heaven has no eyes, alas…”

“If only that menace would just die. If he dropped dead right now, I’d gladly lose ten years off my life for it! Good men die young, evil persists for a thousand years. You know, that saying really is wisdom incarnate!”

“Keep your voice down, don’t let him hear you, or your wife might become a widow!”

“Nonsense! As if that loser could hear us talking! Didn’t you see? Even the guards can’t stand him. If not, would we be able to chat like this?”

Hu Mo’s eye twitched. In the past, he wouldn’t have heard those whispered complaints at all. But ever since he advanced to a Level Two Warrior, his hearing had multiplied four or five times, and every little whisper was clear as day.

But what did it matter? He was obviously bearing the blame for the mess left by the previous scoundrel. To protest? That would be nothing short of a joke.

Imagine a notorious bully, known for his vices, suddenly jumping out to declare, “I’m a good person, none of those things were done by me!” Isn’t that just calling everyone else an idiot?

Walking down the street, Hu Mo was full of regret. This wasn’t a relaxing stroll but a public parade of shame. Had he known he’d face this, he’d never have come out to disgrace himself.

Surrounded by guards, he walked in the middle—just a few chains and a prison cart short of a proper criminal procession. Along the way, young wives fled at the sight of him as if seeing a ghost, and even little boys were dragged home, doors slammed shut, guarded as if against thieves.

“Damn! Does this guy even prey on little boys?” Hu Mo cursed inwardly a thousand times. Images flashed in his mind: a dozen terrified children huddled in a room, Hu Mo and his gang lunging at them…

“Bah, disgusting! Playing with children—what a beast!” Hu Mo spat fiercely. He now wished he could cut off his lower anatomy and reincarnate anew. Damn, it was just too revolting.

Only now did he understand why his body was so weak. Such unending debauchery, day and night, would wear out even the strongest man. Hu Mo could confidently say, even if he hadn’t been ambushed, the guy wouldn’t have lived past twenty.

The thought of that ambush stirred waves in his heart. He tried to recall the events leading up to the previous Hu Mo’s death. Strangely, that period in the memory was a blank, as if forcibly erased. He couldn’t help but wonder—why? He was already dead, so what secrets could possibly leak?

Hu Mo didn’t know that in this world, there existed a forbidden divine art called “Soul Summoning.” Only those above the rank of Battle King could use it.

If a friend or family member died mysteriously and one longed for vengeance, “Soul Summoning” could be used. By sacrificing ten years of life or cultivation, one could probe the last half hour of the deceased’s memory, and nine times out of ten discover the killer.

However, there was a way to counter this art: after killing, a mighty warrior could forcibly erase that period of memory. Of course, doing so would leave the perpetrator weakened for a long time, and required immense power—at least Battle Emperor level. Because the price was so steep, few ever used it.

Hu Mo walked on, sweat pouring from his brow, still with no clue.

He sighed softly, just as he looked ahead and saw a yellowish figure darting toward him, shouting, “Young Master, I finally found you—I missed you so much!”

On the street, a man dressed in yellow like a nouveau riche suddenly shouted this to another man. The only word to describe it was “disgusting.”

The guards’ faces turned waxen, none tried to block him, wisely stepping aside to let the man rush up to Hu Mo and give him a bear hug.

Caught off guard, unable to reveal his strength, Hu Mo could only let the man embrace him. In that instant, Hu Mo felt as if a hundred rotten eggs shattered around him, or a thousand people released foul gas at once—the stench was unmatched.

His stomach churned, and he quickly pulled up the man’s profile in his mind.

Huang Sheng, third son of the Huang family, ranked second among the “Four Losers of Flame City.”

The “Four Losers of Flame City” were the infamous, universally hated four scoundrels of Fire City. Huang Sheng only ranked second; the undisputed number one was the elegant, infamous Hu Mo himself.

Hu Mo was puzzled. He might have been sickly from overindulgence, but compared to this guy, he was much better off. At least he was handsome, living up to his reputation as a beautiful youth in a dirty world. Why, then, was he the top loser? It made no sense.

Worse yet, Huang Sheng reeked of body odor. To put it bluntly, even corpses smelled sweeter. His presence in a crowd was like a deadly weapon! Yet he was only second—Hu Mo could only cry, “There’s no justice!”

“Damn! Huang Sheng, get away from me!” Unable to stand the stench, Hu Mo kicked him in the shin and quickly stepped back, as if seeing a ghost.

The surrounding pedestrians had long vanished, even the vendors kept their distance. Huang Sheng’s destructive power was unmatched.

Huang Sheng howled, dramatically clutching his leg and wailing. Hu Mo got a clear look at his face and wanted nothing more than to gouge out his own eyes.

A round pancake face, tiny eyes, pimples everywhere, a red nose, protruding ears, rotten yellow teeth, nasal hair sticking out, and two prominent crusts in the corners of his eyes—good heavens! He was the epitome of ugliness! How could such a person be called a scion of a noble family?

“Damn, Young Master, you really went too hard! I didn’t do anything to you! Ouch, this time it’s serious. Young Master, what’s wrong with you today? You used to love my scent, said you couldn’t eat without it, and would sniff me desperately. Why are you suddenly disgusted?” Huang Sheng complained mournfully.

As soon as he spoke, some guards in the distance began to retch. The vomiting spread in waves, louder and stronger than anything seen in the Hu household.

Hu Mo forced himself not to vomit, his disgust reaching new heights. He waved his hand, “Enough, Third Young Master Huang, Lord Huang, I admit defeat! Even if you’re excited to see me, you don’t have to do this—it’s just too revolting!”

“Disgusting? Young Master, you’re wrong! My looks have charmed countless young ladies. Don’t forget our famous Four Handsome Men. I’m the second most handsome, and no maiden can resist my wink!” Huang Sheng glanced toward a small window where a girl peered out.

Excited, Huang Sheng whistled and winked. A crash sounded behind the window as a stool toppled—the girl had fainted.

“Ha, see, Young Master? Another girl swooned for me. No woman can resist a man of my caliber! When you’re this handsome, what can you say? It’s inexplicable! Young Master, you really can’t compete with me this time!” Huang Sheng laughed triumphantly, ignoring the chorus of retching.

Hu Mo was genuinely defeated. Was she really swooning from his charm? No, she’d been scared unconscious! To have a world-class slob brag about his looks right in front of you—what a nightmare!

“Enough, stop right there. Third Young Master Huang, cut the nonsense. What do you want with me? Just say it—I can barely hold it together… ugh…” Hu Mo dry-heaved, grateful he hadn’t eaten breakfast, or he’d have vomited everywhere.

Huang Sheng sighed, shaking his head helplessly, “Young Master, your health is getting worse—I can see it and feel it! That’s why, when we heard you were out, we immediately booked a banquet at Drunken Fragrance. You’ve recovered, so we must celebrate!”

Huang Sheng laughed, his eyes flashing with a strange, uneasy light. Hu Mo grew more suspicious—what was this seedy guy hiding? And from what Huang Sheng said, the other two “Losers” were gathering as well. That was odd.

Their Four Losers group had a notorious reputation, but it was rare for all four to meet.

Why? Obviously, with Huang Sheng around, how could they gather?

In the past, Hu Mo either had a blocked nose or something, and couldn’t smell Huang Sheng’s stench. The other two young masters, however, were disgusted—just being within a hundred meters was unbearable.

“Birds of a feather” didn’t apply to their quartet.

For this reason, Hu Mo found it strange—the other two usually avoided Huang Sheng, so why would they gather now? Was it just to celebrate his recovery? That couldn’t be the whole story.

Hu Mo’s eyes met Huang Sheng’s, and Huang Sheng’s gaze flickered, confirming Hu Mo’s suspicion—he was definitely up to something else.

“Heh, I’d like to see what you’re planning,” Hu Mo smirked inwardly, his lips curling with a hint of wickedness.

“All right, let’s gather. It’s been a while—I look forward to seeing you all again!”