013 | Chapter Thirteen - His Perseverance

— Diaz's bloodline must be passed down, and Lao Tzu's world must be inherited.

The eastern shore was not peaceful at dusk; it was not only the evil lurking in the shadows that began to spread, but also the time when all those who could not stretch their legs in the "light" began to move.

Compared to thirty years ago, the East Coast is now more prosperous and more orderly.

It's all because of that one name—Dias Vincent.

However, in a secluded alley, a clinic that only serves "gangsters" is dimly lit on the cement walls of the alley, looking very lonely.

A series of low growls echoed from inside the clinic, accompanied by violent banging. A man, clearly agitated, exclaimed, "My... my son was just born!"

"You're telling me I only have three months left? How am I supposed to teach him to fire the first shot? How am I supposed to watch him take that first step?"

"I haven't even heard a single 'Dad' and I'm going to die? What the hell is this?!" The man's voice grew increasingly agitated, his tone as taut as a balloon about to burst.

The cold, white walls of the clinic spoke of an almost hopeless situation, leaving one feeling utterly helpless and at a loss, especially in their most vulnerable moments.

Sain frowned as he looked at the report on the table, trying to find a glimmer of hope in the limited text and images, but the more he read, the more desperate he became: "According to the report, your dizziness is suspected to be due to the spread of cancer cells in your stomach..."

"I know you've been trying to avoid things from coming to this point, which is why you've been so focused on finding the woman—" Before he could finish speaking, the man in front of him grabbed his throat tightly, as if saying one more word would mean his head would be severed from his body.

That man was none other than Diaz Vinson, the ruler of this city.

—About three years ago.

Diaz sat in the upscale club, surrounded by beautiful women, who served him from all sides. At that time, he was at the peak of his life.

Not only is he successful in his career, but he also has countless riches. Women only need to beckon him, and they will worship him like a god, kneeling between their legs to serve him.

He doesn't need to cater to anyone, nor does he need to think about starting a family or building a career.

Because, damn it, he already has everything.

However, during a routine check-up, the report revealed that he had "cancer genes"—if he doesn't pay attention to his lifestyle, he is very likely to suffer from illness in the future.

"What the hell is this?" He looked at the report in his hand, his brows furrowed tightly. The last person who betrayed him didn't even have such a serious expression.

The next second, he tore the report into pieces, laughed loudly, and walked towards the beautiful women, unbuckling his belt, as if the black and white words on the paper could not affect him in the slightest.

But after that day, Diaz Vinson became a different person.

He became even more obsessed with women, and rumors began to circulate that whoever could serve him well would have countless riches and become the "godfather's woman" that all women would flock to.

Brothels late at night, young girls in upscale clubs, even prostitutes openly seeking money...

"As long as you can get pregnant with my child, I will marry you!" He uttered these words as if it were a ritual during every intimate moment, every collision, and every physical contact.

—But has no one ever truly succeeded? No.

"Boss, this is Amy from the club last time. We've confirmed it, and her genes match yours by a whopping 90%." Diaz's confidant bowed slightly, respectfully standing beside him, holding a tablet as he spoke.

Diaz puffed on his cigar, sitting in his leather office chair with his feet propped up on the ebony table. He glanced briefly at the woman on the tablet, then said with a look of annoyance, "Give her five million and get rid of her."

"This kind of woman doesn't deserve to have my child." He looked out the window at the view, where neon lights and night intertwined the entire East Coast. What should have been a stunning night view only made Diaz feel annoyed.

The empire he built with his own hands... should not have fallen like this.

The order he built with blood and fists, brick by brick, sword by sword, is now in jeopardy because of that ridiculous "report".

"...Ridiculous." He waved for his men to leave, stood up and stood in front of the French windows, his brown eyes narrowed into slits. No matter how beautiful the night was, it couldn't bring him any enjoyment.

Despite having many trusted confidants around him, no one saw his fear of death and oblivion.

Year after year passed, and his reports came to the ambiguous conclusion of "suspected," which gradually overwhelmed his reason like a flood, leaving him almost without rules or bottom lines, and he began to look for targets for "sowing seeds."

...Whoever it is, get pregnant with Lao Tzu's child and continue Lao Tzu's empire!

Even if it's an old woman or a prostitute, it doesn't matter as long as she can give birth to a child!

At that time, Diaz was like a stallion in heat, constantly searching for potential partners. Outsiders thought he was simply indulging in women, but no one truly understood the reasons behind it.

Until he started frequenting various nightclubs every week, every day, and every night, using large sums of money as bait, just to find a woman to get pregnant with his child.

Ironically, he was contradictory; while searching for a potential surrogate, he would simply give her a sum of money and send her away after she became pregnant.

That night, Diaz lay on the hotel bed, next to the woman who had just finished their lovemaking and had fainted from exhaustion. Before he could even warm the sheets, he snapped his fingers and called his men in from outside.

"Take this piece of trash away. She'll pass out in no time. No fun." He lit a cigar, took a deep breath, and sat naked on the edge of the bed, giving the order in a low voice.

The subordinate nimbly hoisted the woman up and carried her out of the room, his movements so practiced it seemed he had done it countless times before.

Diaz pressed one hand to his forehead, a cigarette dangling from his mouth, his expression one of unprecedented anxiety and panic… partly from his uncertainty about the end of his life, and partly from his own inner conflict.

Why does he feel such particular fear when a woman becomes pregnant, even though she is just someone he needs to give birth to his child and then discard? He feels no pity whatsoever for the child in her womb.

Shouldn't that be the "child" he's been eagerly anticipating? The rightful heir to continue his gangster empire?

If he were to die one day, and if no one could inherit all of this, then all the people he killed in his youth, the people he betrayed, all the dirty deeds he committed, and the criminal empire he painstakingly built...

If it weren't for his children, who could continue to follow his will and make it grow stronger?

From then on, Diaz did not give up, and his inner conflict did not diminish, but he gradually became numb to the matter of buying sex, and even became more and more vicious.

"You can't even give oral sex? Are you fucking useless?"

Inside the brothel, Diaz grabbed a prostitute by the hair, yelling fiercely and sternly. He then pulled her aside and shouted towards the door, "Madam! Get me a better whore, this one's fucking rotten!"

"Damn! Her moans are awful! You brothel madam!"

"Get the hell out of here, you bastard!"

"Another good-for-nothing! Madam—!"

Diaz gradually transformed his inner turmoil, which he could not release smoothly, into a kind of twisted sadism. Any disobedience, or even an unbearable pleas for mercy, would become his way of conquering and tyranny, making him increasingly unpredictable.

It seems that inflicting one's unexpressed frustrations on defenseless women has become a kind of morbid satisfaction, and those feelings of helplessness and contradiction have begun to find a "bullseye".

He never hits women, never.

But he enjoys watching women break down beneath him because of those toys, drugs, and various other means—it's no longer just about "farming," but simply about "venting."

Until that day.

He arrived at a brothel that had been taken from that old bastard Roger. Although the man was all smiles like a fox, Diaz knew that this guy would find a way to get back at him someday.

But he's the godfather of the East Coast, what's there to be afraid of?

Although the brothel looked upscale, it was unbearably old-fashioned, a style that didn't suit Diaz's vanity. He led his men in, watching the madam walk ahead with a fawning expression, followed by the alluring prostitutes. But then he saw—

A pair of deep blue eyes, a petite figure clumsily stepping in high heels, and an indomitable flame burning in the depths of those blue eyes.

As they lined up, each displaying their "strengths," Diaz's gaze remained fixed on the woman in the royal blue dress.

The intense restlessness within me surged like magma in my chest, burning so intensely that it severed my reason, and an impulse nearly made my heart explode.

Especially the inferiority and defiance in his blue eyes, like an arrow piercing his corrupt and dark heart.

...He hadn't wanted something this much in a long time.

"--she."

Diaz pulled a wad of cash from his pocket, threw it on the table at the madam, and raised his hand, pointing at the petite, slightly naive woman in a royal blue dress.

"...all night."

"The rest of you, get the hell out of here."

That night changed the fate of two people.

Even if he refused to admit it, deep down, Xiaoyue's importance to him far exceeded his imagination.

late at night.

Diaz returned to the building, gently tucked the medicine bag into his suit pocket, and hung his coat on the coat rack beside him. Looking at the sleeping figure on the bed and the newly placed cedar diffuser on the table, he chuckled softly.

"...Looks like I got caught smoking."

Instead of rushing back to bed to be intimate with her, he went to the bathroom to wash away all the dust of his journey before slowly climbing into bed, pulling her into his arms, and taking a deep breath of the comforting scent.

"...My woman is so good." Diaz gently stroked the hair on her head, his voice low and husky as if it had been sanded, but his actions revealed a tenderness and affection he had never shown before.

Just then, a message came through the vibration from the bedside table.

"I heard your territory has expanded quite a bit recently, you must need some 'new' weaponry, right?"

"Come find me in Mexico, Diaz."

"—Love you, Mary."

As the messages popped up one after another, Diaz's face darkened as if it could drip water. His knuckles, gripping the phone, gradually turned white, and even his bones cracked from the tension.

The surging anger was like a flood, but it was forcibly suppressed by the steady breathing of the person in his arms.

"...Trying to play tricks on me? Fine." He tossed his phone aside as if it were trash, then hugged the person in his arms even tighter.

"It's time to end our ill-fated relationship, Mary."