Chapter 147

Fan Xiaopang's new photo shoot, though she claimed it was being filmed across Europe, primarily took place in Spain and Portugal, conveniently riding the wave of the European Championship.

"European Championship?"

In the hotel restaurant, Yan Li's eyes lit up as he ate Spanish seafood fried rice: "Like those football beauties?"

If Fan Xiaopang really shot such photos, he'd have to buy a set—no, he'd have to go to the venue and learn from it firsthand.

"What are you thinking? I'm doing a photo shoot, not making porn."

Fan Xiaopang rolled her eyes at Yan Li; she was a rising star, her photo shoot targeted at fans, and she pursued an artistic style.

At most, she'd take a few shots at the stadium or add some football elements—Yan Li's mental image of sexy, revealing football beauties would lower her status.

"What a pity—I think your male fans would support this style."

Yan Li sincerely regretted it; mainland female stars clearly lacked the boldness of their Hong Kong and Taiwan counterparts.

Photoshoots by actresses like Shu Qi and Xu Ruoxuan were just as daring as those from Japan and Korea, leaving a deep impression on Yan Li the first time he saw them.

Fan Xiaopang ignored him and changed the subject: "Which match are you watching?"

"There aren't many left—I've booked one semifinal and the final."

"Any tickets left? I'd like to go too."

Rare chance to catch the European Championship, and it's not far away—Fan Xiaopang thought it'd be a shame not to see a match.

"Can't get a final ticket, but I can squeeze you into one for the semifinal—I bought mine from a scalper, limited supply, can't spare more."

"No problem, I'll just go for the atmosphere."

Fan Xiaopang didn't care whether it was the final or not, reached into her bag, and pulled out her wallet: "How much is the ticket?"

"Forget it, I'll treat you."

"No no, this ticket's pretty expensive."

Fan Xiaopang insisted on paying, so Yan Li said: "Just give me five thousand RMB."

"..."

Fan Xiaopang paused, then asked: "Would euros work?"

"Fine."

Fan Xiaopang calculated the exchange rate—euros were strong, roughly 11.25 RMB to the euro, so 5,000 RMB was 450 euros.

Seeing her still fumbling, Yan Li pulled three euros from her hand and shoved them into his pocket: "Alright, that's settled."

Official tickets weren't that expensive—good seats were only 150 to 200 euros.

Scalper tickets were the problem, especially since host nation Portugal made it to the semifinal—prices doubled, and the ticket Yan Li bought cost about 6,000 RMB.

Yan Li didn't mind the money, didn't bother arguing with Fan Xiaopang—but the latter muttered under her breath.

"Consumption here in Europe is insane—euros feel harmless when you spend them, but convert them to RMB and it's a heartache."

Though she wasn't short on cash, she wasn't rich enough to treat euros like RMB; luckily, her company reimbursed part of the expenses, or she'd rather shoot the photoshoot back home.

"You feel the pain because you don't earn enough—look at me, do I care about this little amount?"

Yan Li said it smugly; Fan Xiaopang glanced at him and muttered something under her breath—Yan Li's eyes were sharp.

"What did you say? Were you insulting me?"

Fan Xiaopang denied it: "I'm praising your early success, encouraging myself to learn from you."

"Liars gain twenty jin, grow freckles, get thick legs, small chests, and flat asses."

Yan Li didn't believe her a bit—he cursed outright; Fan Xiaopang's lips trembled with rage.

Did I dig up your ancestors' graves? Why so vicious?!

Yan Li slowly tasted the Spanish fruit wine—it was unfamiliar, but acceptable.

Honestly, hanging out with Fan Xiaopang was entertaining—teasing a beautiful girl was better than playing cards and chatting with the guys.

After dinner, Fan Xiaopang and her team rested for tomorrow's work; Yan Li and his brothers went out to explore Madrid's nightlife.

He also visited Real Madrid's home stadium, the Bernabéu, but it was closed at night with no match scheduled.

Yan Li wandered around the area, took a few selfies in front of the Ronaldo and Zidane billboards, then left.

Spain's safety wasn't great—terrorist incidents had occurred just months ago—so Yan Li and his group didn't stay long, returning when time was up.

The next day, Yan Li and the others headed ahead to Portugal.

With the semifinal not yet started, Yan Li waited for the match while following the system's procedure to lay groundwork—after the match ended, he'd simply cash out and leave.

Yan Li didn't understand English, and knew zero Spanish.

If not for the system's text alerts and bookmakers' staff who knew basic Chinese, many things would've been impossible.

Crucially, at night he could use the system to check for gaps, gather intel—if anything seemed off, he'd just flee.

In fact, he'd overimagined things.

The world had no shortage of gamblers, nor of gamblers who threw away fortunes, and there were plenty of lucky ones.

Yan Li personally witnessed an Asian man casually walking out of a betting company, carrying a suitcase.

That night's intel triggered: the man was Japanese, had correctly predicted multiple matches, the suitcase held 1.2 million euros in winnings, and he hadn't been harmed or noticed—planning to place an even bigger bet in the final.

Local gang intel was utterly unreliable!

Yan Li was speechless—he'd been cautious, and these people hadn't spotted him, yet they ignored someone openly walking out with cash?

Fuck, if he weren't in a foreign land, he'd have taken his guys and robbed that Japanese bastard…

…

Two days later, the semifinal—Fan Xiaopang also arrived in Portugal from Spain to watch Portugal versus the Netherlands.

Since it was a neutral zone, she bought a Netherlands team jersey.

"You like the Netherlands?"

"No, the jersey's color is nice."

Reasonable!

Yan Li wasn't wearing a jersey—just a T-shirt—and he and Wu Maowen, who'd sneaked in with him, had planned to buy one, but after asking the price, they gave up.

Damn, a jersey costs nearly a thousand RMB—capitalism is truly ruthless.

Fan Xiaopang was watching a match live for the first time; entering the stadium and feeling the electric atmosphere, he was genuinely excited and shouted loudly at Yan Li.

"It's kind of fun."

Yan Li was also watching a match live for the first time—he never watched Beijing Guoan's games, and when the national team played in Jingcheng, he often had no time to go.

Let's be honest, watching a match live is completely different from watching it on TV.

Maybe the view isn't as clear as on TV, but the live atmosphere is incredible, especially in a top-tier match—the entire stadium is buzzing with excitement, and your emotions are unconsciously swept up, your adrenaline surging.

As the match began, with goals scored or conceded, the atmosphere grew even more intense.

Fan Xiaopang didn't understand soccer much, but she enthusiastically joined in the cheering anyway,

even hoping to be caught on the broadcast camera, so she might get featured in a news story back home.

Yan Li thought she was overthinking it—there were tens of thousands of fans in the stadium; how could they possibly spot her?

He focused on the game, and when the final whistle blew and Portugal won 2-1 against the Netherlands, advancing to the final, Yan Li couldn't help but clench his fist.

His monthly intelligence report had previously indicated that Greece, this tournament's dark horse, would ultimately win the European Cup, but it also mentioned Portugal as the runner-up.

In fact, Yan Li hadn't bet heavily on Greece—he'd focused too much on them—so his real big bet was on Portugal.

Portugal wasn't considered a top-tier team then, but with home advantage, betting on them offered profit without drawing too much attention.

Now that Portugal had reached the final, Yan Li stood to earn at least a million euros from this single match alone.

"Haha, I like Portugal."

Fan Xiaopang, wearing a Netherlands jersey, naturally supported the Netherlands.

Seeing the Netherlands lose, she felt a bit disappointed and comforted the Dutch girl who'd been cheering beside her, in English.

Yan Li, seeing this, also offered awkward English consolation—he'd been so absorbed in the match he hadn't noticed how good-looking the Dutch girl was.

Fan Xiaopang shot him a sideways glance, then yanked Yan Li away; he was reluctant: "What? Don't you see how upset she is?"

"I'm afraid you'll make her even more upset."

Since they had no tickets for the final, Yan Li had already made backup plans—fearing complications in Portugal, he returned to Spain to wait for the final.

He'd originally planned to go back to Madrid, but hearing that Fan Xiaopang was going to Barcelona to shoot photos, he followed along to see this jewel of the Iberian Peninsula, and casually got some photos for himself.

Professional photographers' photos really are beautiful!

Wu Maowen's head-on shooting style doesn't even deserve to carry their shoes.

The photographer had initially been annoyed by the increased workload, but after Yan Li took him to criticize Barcelona's vice industry, he instantly became Yan's personal photographer.

On the evening of July 4, Yan Li was in his hotel room; Fan Xiaopang, returning from work, was curious.

"Aren't you going to that Lan something alley tonight?"

"What alley? That's La Rambla."

Fan Xiaopang scoffed: "Same thing—Spain's Eight Great Alleys. Take it easy—Dong Xuan's a good girl; don't ruin her."

Yan Li sighed: "I've said it a hundred times—I just took them out for drinks and watched Latin dance. I didn't do anything else. If I really wanted to do something, I wouldn't bring you along."

He found domestic venues too dirty; foreign ones were even worse—he was just satisfying his curiosity.

If it weren't for safety concerns, he'd have brought her along too…

"The European Cup final's tonight—will you watch?"

Yan Li didn't want to discuss this topic further with a girl, so he invited Fan to watch the match.

"To your room?"

Fan Xiaopang grew wary—this guy dared not touch Spain's Eight Great Alleys, yet he'd been bottling up frustration; she wouldn't walk into the tiger's mouth.

"Not just you—your whole group comes. More people, more fun watching."

Yan Li hadn't thought of anything like that—he was about to harvest his gains and had no interest in such matters.

When match time came, Fan Xiaopang and the others arrived, surprised to see Yan Li and Wu Maowen all wearing Greece jerseys.

"Aren't you a Portugal fan?"

"I am—but now I'd rather see them lose."

Fan Xiaopang was sharp; noticing how everyone was helping themselves to snacks and drinks in Yan Li's room, she quietly asked:

"You bet on the match?"

Yan Li glanced at her and didn't hide it; Fan Xiaopang asked again: "How much did you bet?"

"Not much—just playing around."

Yan Li brushed her off casually, but Fan Xiaopang didn't believe him—she connected all his recent actions and made a bold judgment.

"Did you come to Portugal specifically to bet on the match?"

Yan Li gave no direct answer, only said: "I certainly didn't come to chase you."

Fan Xiaopang's face flushed: "How did you know?"

They'd coincidentally traveled through Europe together, and Yan Li hadn't brought any female companion.

Fan Xiaopang had genuinely thought Yan Li hadn't given up—tracking her movements, deliberately traveling with her, waiting for an opportunity.

But later she realized Yan Li was far more interested in soccer—he'd dumped her in Spain and gone to Portugal to watch matches, even openly visiting Barcelona's vice industry.

Playing hard-to-get doesn't go this far!

Yan Li, of course, had learned of Fan Xiaopang's thoughts through the system—he could now understand her reasoning.

It really was a coincidence!

If not for the system and knowing Fan Xiaopang had been to Spain at the same time last year, he could've mistaken her for coming to ambush him.

The first round of sales for Huan Tian Xi Di reached 32 million, with other earnings even higher—Yan Li's net worth surged.

The women who fancied him kept increasing; who knew if this woman who constantly talked about building her career might change her mind.

"Relax, I'm already drowning in those women—can't shake them off, no time to chase you."

Yan Li offered a word of comfort, making Fan Xiaopang roll her eyes wildly, as if she'd been dying for him to pursue her.

So you've got a couple of stinking bucks—what's there to brag about?

Yan Li had no time to deal with her—the game had started, and all his attention was fixed on the TV.

After a tense hour-plus, the young Portuguese star, Little Ronaldo, wept helplessly on screen, while Yan Li laughed wildly off-screen.

"Greece is awesome! Rehhagel (Greece's head coach) is awesome!"

Yan Li grabbed Fan Xiaopang beside him and kissed her twice hard; before she could explode, he said:

"Pick one thing from Gratitude Street—I'll pay."

Saying that, Yan Li called over the translator: "Find a hotel. Don't they have '82 Lafite? Open two bottles for the guys to rinse their mouths. Whatever food they've got, send the most expensive stuff. If they don't have it, go buy it."

After sending the translator off, Yan Li pulled two stacks of euros from his bag and handed out cash, bill by bill, to his attendants and Fan Xiaopang's people.

"Crazy?"

Fan Xiaopang stared blankly at the bills Yan Li had shoved into her hand, wondering whether she should call an ambulance.

But Yan Li opened the door—it was the hotel manager, uncertain of the situation, coming to inquire. Yan Li swiped his card right there.

"Do it."

The Spanish manager didn't understand this northeastern dialect, but grasped the meaning, bowed slightly, and quickly brought wine and food.

"These two bottles aren't enough—get a few more. Xiao Zhang, Da Hua, go all out on the lobster and ham—run out, order more."

Yan Li picked up a bottle of '82 Lafite worth over a thousand dollars, drank straight from the bottle, took a few swallows, and looked disappointed.

"Not as amazing as they show in the movies."

"Bull chewing peonies—wasting good stuff."

Fan Xiaopang looked down her nose at Yan Li's nouveau riche demeanor: "Is that how you drink Lafite?"

Without a word, Yan Li opened another bottle and handed it to Fan Xiaopang: "We've got money—we like wasting it. Try it. It's awesome."

Fan Xiaopang couldn't resist the temptation. She cautiously sipped twice from the bottle, then her eyes brightened; she gulped down two big swallows and wiped her mouth.

"Actually, it's kinda nice."

"Exactly. This stuff is just stuff—you've got money, drink it however you want. Not just straight from the bottle—you can even smash it for fun."

Yan Li clinked his Lafite bottle against Fan Xiaopang's, then took two hotel-provided cigars, handed her one, kept one for himself, pulled out several euros, and lit up.

Fan Xiaopang didn't know how to smoke cigars, but she had a blast: "Is this what rich people's lives are like?"

"This is nothing."

Yan Li took a drag of his cigar, swallowed a mouthful of Lafite: "When are you going back to China?"

"Five. Why?"

Yan Li smoked two puffs, then tossed the cigar aside—it was too harsh; he still preferred Yuxi.

"Tomorrow I'll give you a day to wrap up work. I'll take you and show you the decadent, intoxicating world of capitalism."

"Huh?"

"What 'huh'? I'm a nouveau riche—I made money, can't I splurge a little? I'm taking you along."

Yan Li wasn't used to red wine. He swirled the half-bottle of Lafite, looked at Fan Xiaopang, and grinned.

"Wanna try washing your hands with Lafite?"

Fan Xiaopang hesitated, then extended her two pale, delicate hands and washed them—the most expensive handwashing of her life.

…

The next day, Fan Xiaopang went to work; Yan Li went to settle payments. Then the group moved on to France and Britain to experience capitalism's corruption.

Back home, Yan Li was cautious, humble, mindful of business and escape routes—even with money, he dared not spend freely.

This time, it was a windfall, and far from home—he let himself go.

If you can't spend the money you make, what's the point of making it?

Fan Xiaopang was a perfectly qualified companion. If he'd taken Dong Xuan or Qin Lan, every purchase would've been met with advice—maybe "spoiling the fun" was too strong, but they definitely didn't enjoy themselves fully.

Fan Xiaopang, though initially a bit reserved, quickly slipped into role, giving out emotional value like crazy, and made him look good.

The two spent several rough yet intensely satisfying days in France and Britain.

Stay at top-tier hotels!

Eat Michelin three-star custom dinners!

Shop on luxury boulevards!

See something you like? Buy it!

Drive an F1 simulator!

Ride a private jet!

Strictly speaking, it was all just eating, drinking, and entertainment—sounded impressive, but didn't cost much, nowhere near true exposure to capitalism.

But Yan Li, Fan Xiaopang, and the others were all country bumpkins.

China hadn't yet developed similar venues or services; it was their first time seeing any of this. They felt their eyes had been opened wide—and they had a great, satisfying time.

Paris, Four Seasons Hotel George V, Royal Suite—room rate: 15,000 euros per night.

The bathtub had real gold trim, lined with the freshest rose petals, and offered milk and red wine baths.

Splash~

A beauty stepped out of the bath. Fan Xiaopang, wrapped in a towel, stared at Yan Li sitting on the suite's sofa. After a pause, she walked over barefoot.

Yan Li was fiddling with the latest European model phone, the Motorola V3, recording a video in the hotel room.

"Modern phones are incredible—so clear. In a few years, cameras might be obsolete."

Fan Xiaopang had also received one from Yan Li, but hadn't studied it yet; upon hearing this, he leaned over to take a look.

"It's clearly visible."

Yan Li closed the phone's cover, his eyes sharp as he stared at Fan Xiaopang: "Are we leaving?"

Fan Xiaopang shot him an annoyed glance: "Why are you always thinking about this crap?"

"Of course—unless you want to go back to China."

Over several days of lavish spending, Yan Li had poured a lot of money into Fan Xiaopang—just clothes, bags, and jewelry alone totaled over a million RMB.

Yan Li wasn't some innocent boy; with a beautiful woman before him, he couldn't help but steal touches and claim advantages, inching forward bit by bit.

Fan Xiaopang grumbled in protest, but Yan Li's tactics were too skillful; added to the fact that accepting gifts made resistance weak, he couldn't withstand Yan Li's soft coaxing and hard advances, his defenses slowly crumbling.

If it weren't for Fan Xiaopang's special circumstances just then, Yan Li would have succeeded two days ago.

"So when we get back to China, you'll just zip up and pretend you don't know me?"

Yan Li's words stirred Fan Xiaopang; her eyebrows furrowed slightly, and Yan Li stroked her slender waist, speaking softly.

"Sister, didn't we already agree? These few days are just a dream—when we return to China, the dream ends, and afterward we're just friends, partners as needed."

Fan Xiaopang glared at him, her tone inexplicable: "Am I really that unattractive?"

"It's not about attractiveness—I'm lustful, you're strong; you won't let me compete with other women, and I won't let go of them either. Forcing it won't work. We're better off as friends."

"Scumbag."

Fan Xiaopang had learned this term from Yan Li and thought it fit him perfectly.

Yan Li didn't care; he hugged Fan Xiaopang, his hand drifting lightly, then bit her ear.

"The dream's almost over—let's get to the real thing."

Fan Xiaopang rose, straddling Yan Li, yanked open his shirt, and bit down hard on his chest.

"I'm on top."

————

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(End of Chapter)