In a gloomy, overcast sky, a state-of-the-art Dolphin N2 helicopter cut through the clouds and drizzle with its wings and tail rotor, flying straight and unimpeded. It was clear that its target was the tall building in the distance. There were no monotonous traffic lights or traffic police checking its pilot's license along the way.

The residents of Monaco remained calmly at their windows, sipping freshly ground coffee, seemingly oblivious to the helicopter overhead, or perhaps unfazed by it – a composure unique to Monegasques. If this were someone from another country, even China or the United States, they would likely look up in surprise at the sight of a helicopter flying low overhead.

The passenger on the Dolphin N2 helicopter was none other than Duanmu Ci. After learning that the Rare Club was having a small gathering this morning, he decided to come and take a look. This wasn't originally on his itinerary; he had only come to Monaco to discuss the situation with Duanmu Jin and had no intention of setting foot in the air.

However, according to usual practice, at this time of year in previous years, he would usually have just finished attending the Spring/Summer Paris Fashion Week in neighboring France, and then be invited by a few playboys to have a few parties with the most beautiful models of the month for unclear purposes, or go skiing in the northern foothills of the Alps.

In short, this is a relaxing time to savor the latest Italian white truffles, rather than a workday spent flying around in the clouds.

This year is an exception.

...

...

The helicopter spun its long rotor, swirling several square metal plates into an impenetrable circle, before slowly landing on the rooftop helipad of the Rare Club building. The powerful air currents bent the waiters who came to greet them over, their clothes and hair billowing in the wind and rain.

After the helicopter landed smoothly and the rotor gradually leveled out, the waiters opened their umbrellas and quickly stepped forward to greet the guest and shield him from the rain. The cabin door opened, and the waiters saw a young man sitting in the doorway, seemingly resting with his eyes closed, a black umbrella resting on his lap.

As if hearing a noise, the young man slightly opened his eyes, turned his head to look outside the cabin, his gaze seemingly piercing through the wind and rain to focus on the distant lights, and said in a very soft voice, "Have we arrived?"

The waiter outside the cabin door quickly bowed under the umbrella. "Yes, sir, we have arrived."

Duanmu Ci grunted in acknowledgment, slowly sat up straight, gripped the umbrella handle with his right hand, and turned to get off.

The waiter, who had been waiting patiently, quickly held up an umbrella and let the rain fall on him. Duanmu Ci frowned, pushed the waiter away, and gestured that it wasn't necessary. Then, Duanmu Ci sat down, opened the umbrella outside the cabin, and stepped out, his shoes splashing water everywhere.

The waiter was stunned for a moment. He stared blankly at Duanmu Ci's retreating figure with his umbrella in hand, then suddenly realized what was happening and bent down to run after him.

...

...

In reality, the interior of Rare Club wasn't as magical and luxurious as outsiders imagined. It was simply more refined; in fact, it didn't need any extra embellishment. As long as the owners of this place weren't bankrupt, even a leaky thatched hut would appear magnificent to outsiders.

In reality, quite a few celebrities have visited this place. However, in order to elevate their status and stand out from the crowd, they always give ambiguous and nonsensical answers when questioned by outsiders, which adds to the mystique of the Rare Club.

In fact, the layout of the Rare Club's lobby wasn't much different from that of a typical bar. Duanmu Ci pushed open the door, leaned his black umbrella against the door, and walked in as if no one else was there. Actually, there were other people in the lobby, but after glancing around, Duanmu Ci didn't really want to talk to them.

He preferred to chat with the old bartender about this year's Bordeaux wines.

However, just because Duanmu Ci is unwilling to talk to others doesn't mean that others are unwilling to either.

A young man with curly hair and flamboyant clothes walked over, carrying a wine glass. His eyes were extremely smug, and he looked like a playboy. "Duanmu, I heard you've been in trouble lately? Morgan is not someone to be trifled with. His family is preparing to purge the management committee and there's going to be a proposal. What, aren't you worried?"

The dialogue, consisting of only a few dozen words, exudes a strong sense of schadenfreude.

This young man is the heir to the Mikhail family, a Russian oligarchic family. His father owns vast oil fields in Siberia and has virtually monopolized Russia's oil and gas trade. The oil in the Sino-Russian oil pipeline is basically gushing from his family's oil fields. His family is the richest in Russia.

To be honest, his family is definitely more suited to sit on the management board than Aslan's Hilton family, it's just a pity they didn't have the right timing.

Duanmu Ci glanced at him lightly, took a glass of wine from the tray of a passing waiter, smelled it, and then said, "In this kind of weather, a glass of fine brandy to warm up is priceless. However, I have no knowledge of fine wines and cannot distinguish between good and bad, nor can I tell the vintage. Mr. Ivan is very knowledgeable and I am sure he can enlighten me."

As soon as he said that, some onlookers nearby chuckled softly.

Ivan's face turned bright red, and his fists were clenched tightly. It seemed that if he hadn't known that Duanmu Ci's fighting ability was off the charts and that he was definitely no match for him, this impulsive young Russian would probably have rushed over to fight him long ago, instead of squeezing the wine glass so loudly.

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