Starting from South America, speeding through the world

Chapter 47 A Woman with Skills
An old television sat in the corner, its volume turned down to the lowest setting, the picture flickering.

Warm yellow light poured down from the chandelier, falling on the woman's delicate skin as if flowing through silk.

The leather sofa sagged.

The wine glass left a ring of water stains on the table.

The ice melted in the amber liquid, reflecting the dancer's graceful silhouette.

She leaned against the metal bar, her slender waist swaying rhythmically.

Her curly hair cascaded over her shoulders, and her fingertips traced a gentle downward path along her collarbone.

Mario looked like he was about to faint, his gaze fixed on the rise and fall of her chest, unconsciously swallowing.

Zhou Yi slumped lazily in the sofa, remaining silent.

The dancers clearly noticed the difference between them.

She smiled as she stepped off the stage, straddled Mario's lap, gently lifted his chin, and stroked his stubble.

“Mariito, you’ve been staring at me like this,” she whispered, tossing her hair to reveal a patch of snow-white skin. “...Do you like it?”

Mario instinctively hugged the dancer: "Baby, I think I've fallen in love with you."

The woman chuckled and leaned down, "And your partner? He seems a little uncomfortable."

Her tone was light and cheerful as her left hand kneaded along the inside of his thigh. "Should I have my friend come and keep him company?"

It took Mario a while to come to his senses before he turned his head with difficulty to look at Zhou Yi. "How are you, bro?"

Zhou Yi took a sip of wine and waved to him.

The dancer wasn't disappointed; instead, she moved even closer, her soft curves brushing against Mario's cheek. "Your friend might just be shy. Give him some time to adjust, or..."

She lowered her head slightly, teasingly sliding her fingers down his neck, her voice tender: "You'll decide for him?"

Suddenly provoked like this, Mario tensed up, his eyes glazed over, and his breathing became erratic.

"Want more, Mi macho?" The dancer's warm breath brushed against his earlobe.

Alcohol and desire intertwined in an invisible net. Mario struggled for a while, then completely gave up resisting, gritting his teeth and saying, "Damn it, it's on me. I'll get the money from Diaz later."

"What a generous man."

The dancer offered a compliment and waved for her companions outside to join in.

Before Zhou Yi could react, the second woman had already lifted the curtain and walked in.

"Mario's new friend," she drawled softly, "shouldn't you relax a bit more?"

She was far inferior to those three Eastern European women.

Damn it, system! My 70,000 dollars!

The woman walked up to Zhou Yi, bent down with her knees against the edge of the sofa, placed her hands on either side, and half-trapped him in her shadow.

The perfume, mixed with a faint scent of alcohol, enveloped us.

“You don’t seem nervous at all,” she said softly. “Most people wouldn’t be like that around me.”

The woman tilted her head slightly, took the man's hand, and stroked her nearly naked body.

"So, where are you from, papacito?"

“I’m a local,” Zhou Yi lied casually.

"Oh? A local?"

Zhou Yi remained leaning back lazily, but casually withdrew his hand and placed it on his leg: "What, doesn't it look like it?"

The woman's waist swayed gently to the rhythm, her hair brushed against her shoulders, and her fingertips hooked around Zhou Yi's collar as she teased, "If you're a local, then I'm from Brazil."

Upon hearing this, Zhou Yi chuckled softly, "Brazil? It hasn't been very peaceful lately."

"what?"

The woman tilted her head in confusion, not understanding the implication in his words.

"nothing."

Zhou Yi gave a perfunctory answer, his gaze shifting from her face to a small mole near her collarbone.

"Is this how you always treat girls?"

The woman stopped what she was doing and winked at him with a hint of coquettishness.

Zhou Yi, however, was unwilling to continue this meaningless conversation.

"The night is beautiful tonight—"

As he spoke, he pulled out several dark green banknotes and stuffed them all into her chest.

"—Keep dancing for me, Linda."

As the morning sun shines through the blinds in El Salvador, light and shadow play across the messy floor.

"Dong dong dong dong dong!"

Suddenly, there was a series of urgent knocks on the apartment door.

Alves groggily turned over, the lingering taste of last night's rum making his stomach churn.

The knocking continued, even quickening in frequency, as if it wouldn't stop until it got a response. Knowing he couldn't keep playing dead, he reluctantly endured his increasingly severe migraine, grabbed a shirt and threw it on, grumbling as he walked towards the door.

"Fuck him, I'm sue—"

He was halfway through his sentence when the figure outside the door instantly brought him back to his senses.

That was an old acquaintance—Carlos Mercado, the editor-in-chief of the Vanguard newspaper.

The man was dressed in a sharp suit, with a serious expression, and was carrying a heavy briefcase.

"It's not even eight o'clock yet, bro." Alves rubbed his temples hard. "Why are you in such a hurry?"

"Emergency situations."

Carlos barged in without any ceremony, slamming the briefcase onto the coffee table in the living room. "Turn this into a publishable article within three hours."

Alves was stunned for a moment, then looked at Carlos in disbelief.

"Are you crazy?!"

"What? Three hours? What do you want me to write? Who gave you this?"

"Stop talking nonsense, the electronic version is already in your email." Carlos pulled out a chair and sat down, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Read it now."

Alves was speechless for a moment, rolled his eyes, and resignedly opened his laptop.

"Investigation into Abuse of Power and Corruption: Insider Revelation"

He opened the attachment and glanced at it twice before freezing in place.

The document contains almost a complete report, detailing corruption scandals involving the president and several high-ranking members of his ruling party.

The case involves illicit transactions worth tens of billions of dollars, involving government grants, corporate contracts, overseas accounts, and complex bribery networks and money laundering mechanisms.

"Fuck you, where the hell did you get all this?!"

"Published in my name?! That's impossible! That's fucking impossible!"

Alves seemed to be greatly frightened and almost jumped up on the spot.

Carlos chuckled and leaned back in his chair. "Stop pretending. It's not like this is the first time you've done something like this."

"But this is the president's scandal, and it's a scandal involving the entire ruling party!"

The reporter's voice trembled: "They just barely escaped the Mensalo incident, and now they're pulling this stunt?"

"You know that if this were posted, it would cause a nationwide uproar, right?"

“Of course,” Carlos shrugged. “That’s why we need to act as soon as possible.”

"But if it's fake, or if there's any error, I mean any error. No way! I'm an independent journalist, I can't do anything that goes against my professional ethics."

"Don't give me that. Don't pretend you're some kind of virtuous gentleman."

Carlos's lips curled into a cold smile. "Besides, do you think you can get away with this after you've seen the information?"

Alves' breath hitched, and he abruptly raised his head, staring intently at Carlos.

Who gave you this information?

"You're asking too many questions."

"The only thing I can tell you is that you are not the first, and you will not be the last."

"What do you mean?" Alves frowned even more.

This time, Carlos's attitude softened slightly.

"These things will be released simultaneously through multiple channels, and we are just one part of it."

"Whether you write it or not, it will be exposed, and you are just one of the mouthpieces."

Alves took several deep breaths but didn't continue to argue.

Seeing this, Carlos knew things were almost done, so he gave him one last bit of help:
"Listen, aren't you always complaining about not having enough money because your picky girlfriend keeps nagging about wanting a three-carat diamond ring?"

"After you finish writing this, don't even mention three carats, five carats is fine too, damn it, just go and buy her a Harry Winston one."

"This is a rare opportunity; the boss is being very generous this time."

"."

"."

"."

Alves' eyes closed and then opened again.

Finally, all the hesitation turned into a curse.

"Fuck it, I'll write it."

Outside the window, the sky had darkened without me noticing.

In the distance, the sea surface churned with tiny white waves.

Dark clouds are gathering; a storm is brewing.

(End of this chapter)