This bastard kept muttering as he walked, and with the clothes he was wearing, he was no different from those homeless lunatics. | People on the street all kept their distance from him, afraid he might suddenly lose control and do something crazy.
'Ahh... you pervert, how dare you touch me!' A woman's scream rang out.
When Yang Luo heard the word 'pervert,' his eyes lit up, and he ran over immediately, asking, 'Pervert！ Where's the pervert？'
The girl who was molested was in her twenties. Without even glancing at Yang Luo, she pointed at a young man across from her who was about her age and said, "It's him."
The young man said nonchalantly, "Hey！ You*** better be responsible for what you say. Who saw me molest you?" The girl's face was bright red as she pointed at the young man, unable to speak.
Yang Luo walked over, sized up the young man, and said, "You don't really look like a pervert."
Hearing this, the young man said happily, "See！ See！ Even this brother says I don't look like a pervert."
The girl said angrily, "Does a pervert have it written on his face？"
Yang Luo's eyes lit up. He reached out, grabbed the young man by the shoulder, and said, "Come with me."
The young man immediately felt a heavy weight on his shoulder, as if a boulder had been pressed down on it. He moved to struggle free, but his shoulder ached, and those five fingers were clamped onto him like a pair of steel pliers.
Yang Luo let out a sly chuckle and pulled the young man along by the shoulder. The young man followed involuntarily. Every time he tried to stop, an unbearable, sharp pain shot through his shoulder.
Yang Luo dragged the young man to a secluded spot before letting him go. "Tell me, how does a qualified pervert behave?"
"Uh！"
The young man was stunned for a moment. It took him a while to come to his senses. "You even need to be taught that？"
Yang Luo nodded seriously. "I've been studying it for over ten years, but I still don't know how to be a qualified pervert."
A lewd grin spread across the young man's face. "Being a pervert is simple. When you see a pretty woman, just touch her **, her ass. You have no idea how good a woman's body feels to the touch."
"Bam！"
"Ah..."
With a miserable scream, the young man was kicked flying by Yang Luo. He landed on the ground clutching his stomach, kneeling. His face twisted in pain, and large beads of sweat rolled down his contorted face.
Yang Luo sat over, grabbed his hair, and said coldly, "You call this ****ing hooliganism？ You're insulting the word 'hooligan.'"
With that, he raised his knee, pressed the young man's head, and slammed it hard. "Bang!" The young man's head jerked back, blood spraying through the air.
Looking at the young man lying unconscious on the ground, Yang Luo said, "I'm a cultured man, I've ****ing hung around in college too. Even if I'm gonna be a hooligan, I'll be one with culture and class." With that, he turned and left.
In a heavily guarded compound in Beijing, a nearly thousand-square-meter courtyard was filled with all kinds of plants. A quiet path paved with bluestone led straight to an antique two-story villa more than thirty meters away. Weeping willows lined both sides of the path, their leaves rustling in a gentle breeze.
Several people sat in the living room of the villa on the first floor. Except for an elderly woman close to sixty and a very beautiful middle-aged woman in her forties, everyone else wore military uniforms. Regardless of gender, their ranks were at least senior colonel.
A man in his forties carrying a major general's rank on his shoulder sat down next to the middle-aged woman, put his arm around her, and said, "Yaxin！ Yang Luo will be fine. We've known where he is all these years, haven't we?" Yaxin was Yang Luo's mother, Yang Yaxin, and this major general was his father, Chi Jianjun.