This Road Is Impassable

Small-time players have their own ways. That very day, Taiji Hou got the scoop from a janitor friend working at the Kaihuang Hot Spring Resort Hotel: the second young master of the Kaihuang Group was staying in the Number One Imperial Suite.

After receiving the text from his uncle, Boss Li left the Huating Grand Hotel following the long jump and high jump events, and took the subway to the neighboring district’s Kaihuang Hot Spring Resort Hotel.

Booking the Imperial Suite required a reservation—one made a long, long time in advance. The Presidential Suite, on the other hand, was much simpler to secure.

The price was reasonable—a night cost eleven thousand. Boss Li checked in directly, obtained the elevator key, and went upstairs.

The thirty-second floor housed the Presidential Suites. Above that were the Imperial Suites.

After entering the room, Li Jie surveyed the suite’s layout. From the side of the floor-to-ceiling window, he could glimpse the Imperial Suites obliquely above, though from his vantage point, he could only see Suite Number Two.

The entire Kaihuang Hot Spring Resort Hotel had four Presidential Suites and two Imperial Suites. The buildings developed in East China followed this floor plan almost identically—the overall layout the same, with only minor differences in interior style.

He unfurled a sheet of paper on the table and started sketching, calculating the distances. Then, searching online, he found the original blueprints for the hotel and tracked down the Kaihuang Group’s material suppliers.

He had assumed there would be a bulletproof glass production line, but upon investigation, all he found was reinforced glass—just with a few extra layers.

Without delay, he hurried to the nearest construction material wholesale market, identified the supplier’s brand, and spent a hefty sum to buy a piece of their glass at a scrap yard.

He then took a handheld breaker and smashed it with all his strength. The shattering was satisfying; the glass broke, but the adhesive layer was thick. This manufacturer really didn’t skimp on the sealant.

Still, it was no big deal—it could be cut through.

That afternoon was the javelin finals. With a single throw, he sent it flying eighty-six meters…

Everyone rose to their feet!

After enduring a barrage of interviews, Li spent the night at the Kaihuang Hot Spring Resort Hotel, gold medal in his pocket.

The night was dark and the wind high. After carefully scoping out all the surveillance cameras, he began his countdown.

Thirty seconds to enter the stairwell, five seconds to wait, turn around, two seconds up the stairs, open the door, another five seconds to wait, continue up…

It was impossible to enter directly onto the Imperial Suite floor from the stairwell—the cameras had no blind spots.

Standing atop the Kaihuang Hot Spring Resort Hotel, Li Jie slowly pulled on his mask. “The only flaw in this bodysuit is the crotch—it rides up.”

He scratched his groin; even with a padded lining, it still chafed.

He took a deep breath—no fear of heights. He descended sixteen meters on a safety line, pulled out his handheld infrared detector—equipment that cost over ten thousand, finally coming to use.

And then he made an unexpected discovery.

“Son of a bitch…”

Previously, having confirmed the Imperial Suite glass was just reinforced with extra adhesive, Boss Li had been quite satisfied.

Now, seeing it firsthand, he realized—behind the tempered glass was another layer of wall?

No need to guess—bulletproof glass for sure.

Damn it, playing dirty with me, are you?

Boss Li had no choice but to return to the rooftop and reconsider how to catch Yang Ying off guard and break his leg.

Back in the Presidential Suite, he thought all night and still couldn’t come up with a plan.

“Damn, assassinating someone from one of these aristocratic families really is hard. Killing a president would be easier.”

At least presidents had to face the public regularly.

Unlike a young master from a powerful family—tracking down his license plate was a Herculean task.

The next day was the discus finals. Li was a little distracted. His counselor, Guo Rong, immediately noticed and was alarmed: “Old Li, what’s wrong? Bad stomach? Not feeling well? Is it serious? Should we call a doctor?”

“It’s nothing, Brother Rong. I’m just thinking about how to shoot my next film.”

“That’s good, that’s good. Think about your movie later. For now, let’s focus on the competition—another championship, another gold medal. Greater success awaits!”

“Consider it done.”

Li patted the number “91” on his chest—a now well-known competition number.

Yesterday’s eighty-six-meter javelin throw hadn’t just pierced the turf of Huating Workers’ Stadium; it had struck a chord in the heart of national track-and-field javelin coach Lin Chong.

Soon enough, Lin Chong came running to invite Li to another trial—this time, not just a provincial camp, but the national team’s internal trials.

“Li, did you sleep well last night? Quality sleep is important during competition…”

“Not going.”

Li Jie cut Lin Chong off. “Coach Lin, I’m not interested in competitions. I’m here for the gold medals—only for fame, so I can advertise. I’m not here to hawk goods. Who’d bother competing otherwise?”

“…”

Lin Chong’s expression twitched. He hurriedly argued, “If you win the national championship, the Asian championship, the world championship, you’ll get endorsement deals too.”

“Pfft, and how much is that? For these niche championships, endorsement fees are maybe seven hundred thousand—and you people take half. I get three hundred fifty thousand, then lose a few tens of thousands in taxes—what’s left? I can make that in a few minutes, and you’re talking peanuts? No way, I’m not going.”

“…”

Gritting his teeth, Coach Lin switched to patriotic persuasion. “Li, your talent is obvious. The country needs you—the people need you!”

“Can the country buy a hundred million’s worth of my products?”

“…”

“No? Then what are you talking about?”

Switching into “Boss Li” mode, Li couldn’t be bothered with Lin Chong’s nonsense. “Alright, enough, don’t get in the way of my money-making. The people want my performance now—later, they’ll buy out all my merchandise.”

With that, Li took out the “Power of Red” mask—the gourd motif on the forehead embossed in gold, gleaming brilliantly in the sun.

After Li walked away, Lin Chong turned to Guo Rong. “What’s he so cocky about? The national team is recruiting him, and he’s not interested?”

“Coach Lin, you can’t say that. We’re the School of Arts. Li Jie pursues art—sports are just his hobby.”

“Don’t give me that. Arts and sports go hand in hand. Such talent wasted on art.”

“…”

You outrank me; I won’t argue. Guo Rong couldn’t be bothered to put in a good word. He and Li Jie already had their own plans. Two years from now, Guo Rong would succeed Su Yongzhi and become the district’s arts and culture representative.

Whether Li won the national championship or not didn’t matter—as long as “Gourd Hero” stayed popular, that was enough.

“Jiankang Academy of Arts, Number Ninety-One, Li Jie!”

The announcement rang out over the speakers.

Not far away, Li Jie waved to the crowd. Normally, no one would watch these events—just some bored college couples wandering by.

But with “Gourd Hero” appearing and sweeping multiple golds, the buzz grew. That day, at least five or six thousand people were there to see Li.

Picking up the discus, Li began to spin, all the while thinking: Damn it, how am I going to break Yang Ying’s leg?