Hospitality

Three hours earlier, Las Vegas, at the very center of the city, on the top floor of the city's largest and most magnificent casino hotel—the Imperial Star.

When the elevator opened, the grim-faced young man hurried through the corridor and pushed open the door.

Beyond it, at the highest point in the city, all was silent, save for the monotonous beeping of life-support equipment echoing through the air.

Beyond the enormous floor-to-ceiling windows, the bustling city lay in perfect detail, close enough to seem like blood flowing through a pulse. Yet behind the curtains, on the raised hospital bed amid countless cables, there was only a dying old man.

The young man instinctively slowed his steps. After hesitating for a moment and straightening his collar, he walked forward and bowed his head. "Father, I'm back."

The old man stared blankly out the window, then suddenly asked, "William, where is he?"

"Two hours ago, Russell and the others boarded a plane bound directly for Las Vegas." William lowered his head and reported calmly. "As you instructed, the heads of the six families have been summoned and preparations have been made."

The old man nodded and glanced to the side.

The attending doctor nodded, opened the case beside him, and lifted the old man's right hand. As the medicine was injected, a sickly flush appeared on the old man's face.

He panted violently and coughed.

"Father..."

William stepped forward in agitation, only to stop again and lower his head in grief and indignation.

"Why panic? It's only a little medicine."

The old man laughed hoarsely and studied his face. "You're already twenty-five this year, William. Thinking about it, time really has passed quickly. It hasn't been easy, being the family's only son, has it?"

William kept his head lowered and said nothing.