Quick Transmigration: God of Slaughter? But He Calls Me Baby! - Chapter 17

The debauchery on stage continued. Miles, with his bloated body, craned his neck forward—
trying to get a clearer look at certain parts.

He bent his legs, blocking the view of the people behind him, which earned him a chorus of curses.

Miles knocked over a wine glass on the table, his belly fat piling over the edge of the table.

“Tsk tsk, what beautiful crying…”

Switching back into his babbling hometown dialect, he wiped the drool from the corner of his mouth, praising tonight’s “Venus” for crying so prettily.

When the round ended, he sat back down and clinked glasses with Gu Sheng.

“President Gu, you don’t seem very entertained.”

Gu Sheng had been watching everything unfold on stage without much reaction.
His expression remained faint, as calm as if he were eating or drinking water.

He had no interest in this kind of beast-like copulation in front of countless eyes.

In his view, only pigs, horses, dogs, and sheep would indulge in such lowly amusements.
And the men in the hall were no different from beasts—
all losers, bowing to their own lust.

Gu Sheng’s fingers were long and slender. He looked down at the glass in his hand, refilled who knows how many times already.

For some reason, it didn’t taste good anymore.

He recalled how Qianzhou had sat obediently beside him earlier, sipping apple juice.
Only then did a faint warmth flicker in his eyes.

Apple juice—sweet and tart.
Surely better than this liquor tainted with strange fragrances.

He set the glass down, pulled out his phone from his pocket, and his long fingers slid across the screen.

He opened the software linked to the tracker.

The screen displayed Venus’s winding hallways, a red dot not far from him.
It had stopped in an empty lounge.

On stage, the second round of the show had already begun. Their “Venus” was given little chance to rest.

This time, Miles stepped right out of his booth and leaned against the edge of the stage.

He looked up, meeting the vacant eyes of “Venus,” then directly pulled out a gold card from his pocket and tossed it onto the stage.

A lavish gesture.

He shouted, “I’ll buy him!”

The crowd roared in approval, knowing this usually marked the start of a new level of entertainment.

No one would ruin the mood at a time like this.

One of the masked black-clad men at the stage whispered politely, “Understood, sir. Do you wish to stop the show, or… increase the stakes?”

Miles’s fat face twisted into a grin. “What nonsense! I’m paying—I want it more exciting!”

The black-clad man took his card. His expression was hidden beneath the mask.

The entire Venus club erupted in dazzling red lights, neon bursting outward to illuminate the night sky.

Even those outside marveled.

The display was grand—it meant only one thing to everyone within miles of the district:

Someone had just spent ten million at Venus.

The crimson light washed over Gu Sheng’s face, which remained expressionless as he watched a python being added into the cage on stage.

Miles clapped wildly from below, shouting, “Not enough! More! Add more!”

He even climbed onto the stage, grabbing the prisoner’s ankle. “Don’t you dare hide! Turn that body around for me!”

Scenes like this played out in Venus every month.
Excess and debauchery at their peak—pleasures unimaginable to ordinary folk.

They had too much.
So they needed more stimulation, more bl00d, to excite their nerves and reach the peak of pleasure.

Gu Sheng’s eyes lifted slightly, his gaze brushing past Miles’s right hand.

It was this hand that touched him.

Before Qianzhou left, that hand had touched his waist.

Gu Sheng tilted his head, a glint of murderous intent flickering in his eyes.

One of the masked men caught sight of his expression and immediately stepped down from the stage, bowing respectfully behind Gu Sheng.

Gu Sheng pulled out a card and handed it over. “Add a performance.”

The man produced a gold-trimmed program list, placing it before him.

“Which one would you like to add, sir?”

Gu Sheng didn’t even glance at it.

His gaze fell on the jiggling, dancing fat figure on stage.

“Cut off his hand.”

The man froze for a moment, leaning closer. “Sir, that’s against the rules…”

Gu Sheng shot him a cold look. The man caught sight of his face and stiffened instantly.

When he spoke again, his voice carried a faint tremor of fear.

“…Which hand?”

Gu Sheng stood, his long strides carrying him toward the exit.

The man stared at his retreating back, and understood—both.

Back at the stage, he gave a discreet hand signal.

One of the staff left for backstage. The show went on as usual.

The doors were locked, and all surveillance feeds except one pointed at the audience were shut down.

In the hallway, Gu Sheng lit a cigarette and stared at an oil painting on the wall.

He exhaled a slow ring of smoke.

The painting was of a vast field of sunflowers, their faces turned to the blazing sun, swaying as though in the wind.

At the center of the field lay a boy, his face covered by a straw hat.

Long legs casually crossed, his bare waist carrying no trace of lust.

The boy in the painting was pure, sacred.

Gu Sheng’s fingers lifted, pressing lightly against the canvas.

As though yearning to hold onto such a beautiful existence.

Like… the one in his memories.

Like Qianzhou.

Gu Sheng stood there for a long time, staring at the painting.

Even as Venus glowed red for a full hour, even as bloodcurdling screams echoed from the adjacent chamber—
nothing tore his attention away.

Only when the cigarette burned down to a butt between his fingers did he withdraw his gaze.

He pulled out his phone again. The red dot hadn’t moved.

Then realization struck.

His expression darkened as he entered the empty lounge, only to find no one there.

The tracker sat abandoned on the booth seat, while the bracelet containing the chip lay discarded in the trash.

Qianzhou had already been taken.

“Cheng Xiao…” Gu Sheng let out a low, cold laugh.

This was a blatant provocation. Cheng Xiao was the second man today who had shown such audacity.

Miles had both hands chopped off.

Cheng Xiao would suffer far worse.

Gu Sheng smashed the tracker against the floor, grinding it to dust under his heel.

At that moment, his phone chimed with a new message.

The notification preview showed a video thumbnail that made his grip tighten violently.

Qianzhou was bound to a chair, head drooping, barely conscious.

The surroundings were dim, some kind of cluttered warehouse.

His shirt was streaked with dirt, blotched with stains, his hair matted with soil.

Bl00d ran from his nose, dripping down his chin to the ground.

Eyes shut tight, his pale face looked as though he had already suffered abuse before the video was recorded.

For the first time that night, Gu Sheng’s detached calm cracked—splintering wider with every passing second.

The unknown number sent him a message: Gu Sheng, this is only a warning.

Immediately after came an audio recording, the voice unmasked, unmistakably Cheng Xiao.

“You don’t want anything happening to him, do you? Then keep your legal department in check.

And I won’t lay a finger on him.”