Dragon Clan: I'm too lazy to talk to you, you're not worthy to listen!

"During the argument, I held your hand tightly, refusing to let our relationship break down."

She said I shouldn't stop her from going to higher places.

So I opened my hands and allowed everything to flow away.

A man in a brown leather jacket, a cigar dangling from his lips, spoke to his female friend.

He took down the cigar, gripped the neck of the vodka bottle, and took a big gulp.

Perhaps it was his female brother; their behavior towards each other was perfectly respectful.

This middle-aged man with a full beard and a deep affection for dogs, with brown hair and blue eyes, was sitting at the table opposite Ye Jingchen.

This is a beer hall.

Ye Jingchen took a piece of dry, hard bread, stuffed it into his mouth, and chewed until his cheeks bulged.

The only person sitting next to her was Chen Motong, a girl with dark red hair. This wasn't unusual here; many of the women and girls in the beer hall had brightly colored hair.

Chen Motong ordered a glass of fruit wine, which was said to be made from cherries and had a distinct European oak barrel flavor.

The three Dragon Kings have a strong ability to sense dragon blood. Ye Jingchen told them to go out together and search for all the hybrids in Rome, regardless of whether they live or die.

Meanwhile, he led Chen Motong here to have a few drinks.

Chen Motong only drank half a glass of fruit wine, and her cheeks turned rosy. It was hard to tell if she was faking it.

The two were standing very close together.

"It's hard to imagine that such perfectly paired words about emotions would come from a foreigner."

As Ye Jingchen spoke, he kept his eyes fixed on the black wool felt hat perched on the head of the bearded man.

Chen Motong's patent leather Mary Jane shoes tapped against the oak table legs, the subtly patterned jacquard fabric shimmering in the warm light with the patina of bronze worn smooth by years of use. Her posture caused the folds of her skirt to pile up like a miniature model of the Trojan walls, the tapping of her heels and the popping of hops forming a kind of hidden code.

When the vibration of the heel striking the wooden chair surface was transmitted to Ye Jingchen's knees, the hop foam suspended in the beer glass suddenly stopped, like a silent film that had been paused.

The thick, glossy black stockings reflected the yellow fluorescent lights inside the beer hall, like a bridge spanning the sea.

During the Three Kingdoms period, when Liu Bei was feeling lost and insecure, Xu You encouraged him, saying, "A jade pillar supporting the sky, a bridge spanning the sea."

It is both a ferry crossing (津) and a bridge (梁) built over the sea.

It's long, thin, and well-shaped, with the big toe slightly upturned, giving it a very appealing look.

Her long, dark red eyelashes fluttered incessantly, and her mouth was slightly open in an "O" shape as she whistled a little tune.

He rested his right elbow on the table, propped up his chin, and stared intently at Ye Jingchen's profile, his gaze unwavering.

"what happened?"

Ye Jingchen turned his head, his vision automatically aiming upwards until he met Chen Motong's eyes.

In fact, this approach is a wrong method of acting first and informing later.

The correct approach is to first look into the girl's eyes. If she doesn't notice you, then look further down.

"Thank you for helping me when I was wanted by my family and had no one to turn to."

Chen Motong's silver necklace suddenly dangled, the pendant drawing a Delphic arc across Ye Jingchen's Adam's apple. As she adjusted her posture, the metal clasp of her dress's waistband collided with the sword case, producing a clear, tinkling sound like Byzantine gold coins falling to the ground.

It looked like they wanted to kill Ye Jingchen instantly.

Ye Jingchen raised his head slightly and saw that the top button of Chen Motong's white shirt was undone, revealing her delicate and fair collarbone.

A plate of pale purple grapes was placed on the table.

Ye Jingchen reached out and pinched a tender grape. "Communication, or action?"

Chen Motong's slender, dark red eyebrows furrowed slightly, her cheeks turning even redder. She breathed heavily, and her long, white manicured nails scratched at the back of Ye Jingchen's neck. "You've already taken action, why are you asking me?"

"Oh?"

Ye Jingchen gently bit the tender grape from side to side with his tiger teeth.

As he spoke, he reached under the table and pressed a red button.

Ye Jingchen's fingertips traced the mortise and tenon structure of the tabletop, triggering a hidden mechanism that opened a Byzantine-style folding screen. The twelve gilded panels unfolded one after another, enveloping the two in a projection of the coat of arms of Constantinople, instantly transforming the outside clamor into the distant evening prayers of the Hagia Sophia.

Foreigners are generally more outgoing, so it's not surprising that they would do something like this.

Even without curtains, it doesn't matter. The alleyways near the bar in the early morning are full of warm little lanes.

“My physical strength is greater than yours, so you can find the right balance yourself,” Ye Jingchen said.

Chen Motong pursed her red lips, hugged Ye Jingchen's head tightly, and buried her face in her chest. "Mmm~ I know."

Three hours later...

Ye Jingchen reached out and pressed the red button under the table once more, and the black curtain fell down.

Ye Jingchen supported Chen Motong's waist and slowly stood up.

Chen Motong lost her balance. She grabbed Ye Jingchen's clothes and leaned against his chest. Her legs, clad in black stockings, were pressed together, and there was a small tear in her left leg.

As Chen Motong adjusted her collar, the silver pendant on her collarbone reflected an unusual iridescence, as if it had been instantly tempered by some kind of high temperature. Her technique of pressing her abdomen subtly corresponded to acupuncture points in traditional Chinese medicine, leaving temporary red marks on the Ren meridian acupoint marked on the acupuncture bronze figure model as if she were afraid of being touched by something. Even after resting for more than half an hour, she still hadn't recovered.

Chen Motong glanced sideways at Ye Jingchen, who was all smiles, and felt vaguely that she had been taken advantage of, having been the one putting in the effort.

“There are no mixed-race people in this pub,” Ye Jingchen said, helping Chen Motong out of the beer hall. Seeing that Chen Motong’s forehead was still slightly sweaty, he asked, “Do you want me to get you a hotel room to rest?”

"Not enough yet?" Upon hearing this, Chen Motong's eyes widened instantly, and he waved his hands repeatedly, saying, "No, no..."

Ye Jingchen reached out and pressed his index finger to Chen Motong's lips, interrupting her speech, and said to himself, "You don't think I only have three hours of strength, do you?"

Chen Motong blinked and mumbled, "Huh?"

"You can rest and recuperate. I'll be looking for a half-blood from the Roman Catholic Church nearby," Ye Jingchen said.

Chen Motong asked, "Really?"

"Indeed." Ye Jingchen nodded in reply.

Chen Motong pursed her lips, her eyes darting left and right. "Alright, I'll go rest for a while. I haven't adjusted to the time difference since coming from Dragon Country. I can't compare to you monsters."

Her face looked tired, tense, and hesitant.

Ye Jingchen took Chen Motong to a hotel, booked a room, and left three hours later...

After settling Chen Motong in, Ye Jingchen walked out of the hotel, looked up at the clock tower, which was one of the tallest in the city, and flew up onto the Seven Deadly Sins sword box.

The night breeze atop the bell tower carried the fishy smell of the Tiber River, a river that was once described by Roman poets as winding and beautiful, but has now degenerated into a dark, stinking ditch.

Ye Jingchen's black trench coat fluttered and billowed like a battle flag in the strong wind.

The Seven Deadly Sins sword case floated beside him, the dragon head on the slightly exposed hilt of the Greed sword gleaming with a cold bronze light under the moonlight.

He stared at the drains beneath the Vatican walls, where a black liquid was seeping out, meandering along the stone pavement, nourishing the moss and ferns.

The bells of Rome's streets rang precisely at midnight, startling a flock of swifts from their roosts.

Ye Jingchen's pupils suddenly contracted into pinpoint vertical pupils, and his golden eyes glowed with a lava-like red light in the darkness.

He saw St. Peter's Basilica, thirty meters underground, with more than twenty mixed-race people looking in the direction of his central tower, and at the same time, they opened their golden eyes.

“If you make eye contact with me, I’ll kill you all.”

He murmured, tapping the sword case with his fingers. The Envy Sword sprang out half an inch, its blade reflecting the texture of the stone slabs beneath the Vatican.

After waiting for a long time, the twenty mixed-bloods silently left the spot. Ye Jingchen sheathed his weapon and muttered, "You guys are lucky."

He stood on high ground, looked around, and nodded in satisfaction. "Hmm, the three dragon kings are quite efficient in their work. They haven't caused any damage to this ancient city with its long history."

Then I'll just take a simple stroll, no need to exert myself, and steal a half-day of leisure.

The northern branch road of the city.

Fenrir walked with Jormungandr.

Beside the Trevi Fountain in Plaza de España, Jormungandr was poking Fenrir's newly bought cowboy hat with his granite-like fingertips.

The fountain mist condensed into tiny pearls on her hair, drifting down with the night breeze onto the tiramisu cake in her hand.

“Brother, look,” she suddenly pointed to the shadows on the steps, “the Bible in that priest’s pocket is glowing.”

Fenrir's ice cream scoop stopped in mid-air, vanilla cream dripping onto the front of his polo shirt.

A molten gold gleamed deep within his pupils: "I don't understand it. It doesn't look like a dragon-skin Bible."

“Where would you find so many Bibles made of dragon skin?” Jormungandr complained. “Brother, you can’t even use your brain!”

“You know me, I can’t help it, I can’t think about things like you guys.” Fenrir pulled down the brim of his cowboy hat, turned to look at Jormungandr, and quietly asked, “Sister, will we get into trouble if we slack off like this? As far as I know, Li Wuyue is doing a great job in the south of the city.”

"If Li Wuyue, that simp, wants to be the MVP, let her be. We siblings can just be passive and win without lifting a finger."

"Anyway, all the mixed-race people have been attracted to her side. We only slack off because we really couldn't find any mixed-race people."

Jormungandr was drinking an iced cola, sucking hard on a paper straw. Experts say paper straws are more environmentally friendly than plastic straws.

However, paper straws are generally more expensive than plastic straws. By the way, poor people don't deserve to drink milk tea, that's what the experts say, not an intentional smear against experts.

His dilapidated golf course needs several tons of water to be irrigated every day, and nobody says anything. If you forget to turn off the tap, you'll get a severe scolding.

The fountains in Plaza de España looked like they had been shattered into silver flakes under the moonlight.

Jormungandr suddenly crushed the paper straw, and the cocoa powder on the tiramisu fell in a flurry, forming dragon-shaped warning symbols on the stone steps.

"Seven o'clock." She licked the cream off her fingertip and pointed. "We've spotted a mixed-race person, brother, let's go!"

Fenrir's ice cream scoop was still stuck in the vanilla scoop, and the brim of his cowboy hat was already curled up by the night wind.

When the granite-like hand was placed on the edge of the wishing well, the coins at the bottom of the well suddenly began to boil, and the lira placed there in 1987 melted into molten tin in the high temperature.

This weak hybrid was no match for Fenrir, the Dragon King, and was annihilated in a single blow...

South of the city.

The walnut wood door of the confessional shop has a spiderweb-like crack pattern.

Li Wuyue appeared at the end of the steps, carrying a blood-stained dark gray bone scythe, and slightly raised her head.

Ye Jingchen's black trench coat swept past the bronze statues of the Ponte Sant'Angelo. He wondered why the artists had turned marble gargoyles into bronze.

"You're pretty fast." Ye Jingchen's sword case dragged sparks across the bridge, and the dragon head on the greedy sword hilt emitted a cold glint.

"The cardinal's last words are quite interesting; they hid a dragon skeleton at the bottom of the Tiber River," Li Wuyue said, looking at the words on the letter in her hand.

Ye Jingchen asked, "Aren't Jormungandr and Fenrir with you?"

“The two siblings went to the north of the city,” Li Wuyue said.

Ye Jingchen: "It seems Jormungandr has taken his brother to slack off again."

As Ye Jingchen spoke, he walked over and wiped the blood from Li Wuyue's face with his hand. "How many mixed-bloods have you executed?"

“Three hundred and twenty-one,” Li Wuyue said, putting away her dark gray bone scythe. “There are no more hybrids left in the north of the city.”

Ye Jingchen nodded, somewhat surprised, and said, "They are quite tough; they would rather die than surrender."

"Well, it's not that they won't surrender, it's just that I'm too lazy to ask them," Li Wuyue said.

Upon hearing this, Ye Jingchen glanced at Li Wuyue and said, "It's alright, the effect is the same. Let's go have some fun. We can leave the rest to Fenrir and Jormungandr."

As he spoke, Ye Jingchen placed his hand on Li Wuyue's waist and embraced the slender Li Wuyue.

Li Wuyue twitched her nostrils slightly and sniffed, "You smell like women's perfume."

“You know, the average mixed-race people are too weak, it’s not enough to satisfy them.” Ye Jingchen looked at Li Wuyue, his eyes filled with wildness.

He walked back towards Chen Motong's hotel, his arm around Li Wuyue. The sword case and bone scythe collided unintentionally, their sound echoing through the corridor like the ancient rhythm of gladiators clashing shields in the Roman Colosseum. ...

hotel.

Dark red hair lay scattered like a pool of blood on the pillow.

Chen Motong's black stockings were hanging on the clothes rack on the hotel balcony.

She was curled up in the Egyptian cotton sheets, her calf muscles still twitching nervously.

The remaining cherry wine on the bedside table traced rings of time along the glass, and her golden eyes were faintly reflected in the glass, shimmering through the gap in the curtains.

A series of hurried footsteps came from the doorway!

Chen Motong instantly became alert. As she turned over, the black lace bra strap on her shoulder blade was exposed. She pulled out the PPK pistol from under the pillow, and the sound of the safety being released was as crisp as a silver coin falling to the ground!

She focused intently on the doorway.

The sounds coming from the doorway gradually moved towards the next room.

Chen Motong gently pressed his ear close to the wall and faintly heard Li Wuyue and Ye Jingchen's voices coming from next door.

Chen Motong's earlobes suddenly felt hot; she heard it...

"If only there were a little hole to peek through, I've never seen one before..." she muttered, rubbing the wall, when she suddenly felt a recessed hole. "Huh, could there really be one?"

Chen Motong's gaze moved over and, sure enough, he found a small hole connecting to the next room.

Through the crack in the stone wall, Chen Motong glimpsed Li Wuyue's bone sickle casting strange light and shadow on the wall.

Those distorted shadows resemble the mystical rituals of the Dionysus in the frescoes of Pompeii, and subtly echo the lost sacrificial dances of the Orphic sect.

She stared in disbelief, her eyes wide and her mouth agape...