The Queen of the Night Bar.
Lately, it had been opening earlier and earlier. Especially for those free-spending VIP customers, it was practically open around the clock.
What disappointed the patrons somewhat was that the works of art woven from devil silk seemed to have vanished from the bar lately, replaced entirely by nylon imitations.
In a sense, that made things more convenient, but people still felt that something was missing.
After all, people were not animals. Besides that sort of thing, they still had spiritual pursuits. And artworks woven from untearable devil silk happened to make otherwise vulgar dancing seem a little less vulgar.
What could stir a person's desire to conquer more than rejection?
People complained that the stuff was too durable, yet they were even more willing to spend money on it.
However, regarding the ban on "devil silk artworks," Rob, the owner of the Queen of the Night Bar, had been exceptionally firm.
Even though he had been the first to profit from it.
The Survivor Daily's supplement could mock his girls all it wanted. Neither he nor they cared about dignity anyway; they only cared about chips. But that bastard had even dared to mock the noble lords of the inner city in passing. He clearly had a death wish!
Rob did not want blood splattering on him...
At that moment, inside the private room that best displayed one's status.
Several powdered young masters lounged on soft sofas, surrounded by a group of disheveled beauties.
The belts casually tossed aside told anyone all they needed to know about their wealth—they were made from deathclaw hide.
And from older deathclaws, at that.
Immersed in the tender embraces all around him, Jishu comfortably narrowed his eyes. After a rather uninteresting shudder, he smacked his lips and said