33: Chapter 33 Citywide Traffic Ban? He Directly Deployed Thirteen G-Wagons!

"Boom—"

The sound wasn't the screech of a missile, but the low roar of some heavy machinery rolling over the ground.

The window glass of the entire building hummed in response.

In Room 114, the water in the half-finished glass on the table rippled with clear, concentric circles.

Cen Ye reacted faster than his brain; he lunged toward the window, his forehead pressing directly against the cold glass.

At the end of the desert road, amidst the distorted heat waves, a black dot was rapidly enlarging.

Two, three... it was a convoy.

Leading the way was a military-green Humvee with a communication antenna mounted on the roof, its menacing bumper guard gleaming coldly in the sunlight. Following closely behind were over a dozen identical white Mercedes G-Wagons, lined up in a straight row. The car bodies reflected the midday white light, so blindingly bright that one couldn't open their eyes.

The license plates were all four-digit numbers with white backgrounds and black text.

In Dubai, the number of digits on a license plate represented status; a four-digit plate was at the royal level.

Cen Ye's throat went dry.

"They're here."

Shen Jue also rushed over, his forehead hitting the glass with a "bang."

The convoy completely detached from the heat waves, becoming clearer and clearer. The Humvee's wide tires crushed the cracks in the road, and the sand kicked up was dragged into a long, yellowish-white tail by the convoy behind it.

The sarcastic remark Yin Ruoying had just opened her mouth to make froze on her face.

She turned and squeezed over to the window.

The convoy stopped in the open space in front of the evacuation center. The Humvee slowed down first, the friction between its tires and the ground emitting a muffled sound. The G-Wagons behind stopped in sequence, the distance between each car looking as if it had been measured with a ruler, as orderly as a military parade.

Yin Ruoying's eyes widened.

Three minutes ago, she had just heard the notice: "City-wide lockdown, violators will be dealt with by military force."

And now, a luxury convoy with royal license plates was parked outside the window.

The Humvee's driver-side door pushed open, and an Arab man in uniform jumped out, holding a tablet computer. He looked up, scanned the entrance of the evacuation center, and walked over.

His military boots stepped on the gravel ground—clomp, clomp—each step sounding like it was trampling on everyone's heartbeat.

Yin Ruoying, Fang Ruowei, Gu Zeyan, Han Xubai... the gazes of everyone in the room converged, simultaneously, on Shen Jue in the hallway.

Wen Zhuotang also lifted her head from her knees.

Shen Jue leaned against the window frame, hands in his pockets, standing straight.

A commotion came from the lobby downstairs, mixed with the startled Arabic of the rescue workers and the noise of walkie-talkies. The sound of military boots grew closer, pressing up the stairs, floor by floor.

The door to Room 114 was knocked on three times.

The door was pushed open.

The one-meter-eighty-five man in uniform stood at the door, epaulets shining, the golden emblem on his chest belonging to the Al Maktoum family.

His gaze quickly swept over the celebrities in the room with their varied expressions, not lingering for a second, and finally landed on Shen Jue at the window in the hallway.

"Mr. Shen?"

Shen Jue was stunned for a moment.

"...Huh?"

The man looked down at his tablet.

"Mr. Li asked me to pick up his friends."

He stepped aside, and looking out from the window behind him, over a dozen white G-Wagons shimmered with blinding light in the sun.

"Which ones are his friends?"

Shen Jue's Adam's apple bobbed.

He turned his head to look at the complex faces behind him—Yin Ruoying's shock, Fang Ruowei's fawning, Gu Zeyan's stiffness, Han Xubai's probing, and Director Pei Zhao's wrist, where the red-string bracelet had stopped spinning.

Everyone was looking at him.

Three minutes ago, his remark, "He isn't that kind of person," had been treated as a joke.

Two minutes ago, they had asserted, "This isn't something an ordinary person can accomplish."

One minute ago, this place had been enveloped in the despair of "resumption time uncertain."

And now, the royal guard stood at the door, asking who Li Li's friends were.

Shen Jue took a breath.

He pulled his right hand out of his pocket, raised it steadily, and pointed at everyone in the room.

"They all are."

The man in uniform nodded and turned to leave. The sound of military boots receded, floor by floor, down the stairs.

The hallway was silent for a full four seconds.

Cen Ye spat the empty packaging he had been chewing on for an hour into the trash can—a beautiful parabolic arc.

He turned and slapped Shen Jue on the shoulder.

"Let's go."

After walking two steps, Cen Ye stopped and looked back at the group of people still stunned in Room 114.

His Sichuan accent was lazy, yet every word landed heavily on the ground.

"What are you blanking out for? The cars are here."

Yin Ruoying's lips moved, but in the end, she said nothing. She looked down at her bare feet; her expensive high heels had been discarded in some corner.

Fang Ruowei had already nimbly fished those shoes out from under the cot and handed them over.

Yin Ruoying took them but didn't put them on; she just carried them in her hand and ran toward the door barefoot.

When she passed by Shen Jue, her steps faltered, as if she wanted to say something, but in the end, she walked away quickly in silence.

Shen Jue understood.

It wasn't an apology.

But that pause was enough.

Downstairs, the midday sun split the gravel ground.

The doors of the thirteen white G-Wagons opened simultaneously, and a stream of cold air-conditioned air gushed out, mixing with the heat waves outside into a white mist.

Each car's passenger seat was prepared with ice water, cold towels, and a bag of nuts.

The man in uniform stood by the Humvee, flipping the tablet to a new page.

"Mr. Li has arranged rooms at Burj Al Arab for all of you. The suites are ready."

Burj Al Arab, suites.

Han Xubai let out a soft huff; behind his lenses, the value of that fan growth curve was being re-evaluated.

6.87 million? No, this number was far from his limit.

Old Zhou's camera flashed as he swapped in the last spare battery, his lens fixed firmly on that row of white G-Wagons and the distorted skyline in the distance.

Director Pei Zhao stood at the lobby entrance, the red-string bracelet on his wrist starting to spin rapidly again.

The smile on his face had returned—not the professional smile for guests, but the smile of a hunter seeing viral material.

He took out his phone; the battery was at only three percent.

Only enough to send one message.

He clicked on the pinned chat box and typed eight characters to his station leader.

"Don't cut the budget, this season will go viral."

Sent.

The screen went completely black.

Shen Jue climbed into the back seat of the third G-Wagon, the cold air conditioning making him shiver. Cen Ye got in from the other side, the muffled sound of the door closing making his chest vibrate.

He took out his phone, wanting to send a message to Li Li.

He typed a few characters, deleted them, typed again, and deleted again.

Finally, he only sent four characters.

"Brother Li, you're awesome."

Three seconds later, a reply popped up.

Two characters.

"Basic operation."

Shen Jue looked at the screen and grinned.

As he laughed, he fished the gummy candy he had been clenching for an hour—almost melted by the heat of his palm—out of his pocket, tore open the packaging, and popped it into his mouth.

It was sweet.

The convoy started, the Humvee clearing the way, and the thirteen white G-Wagons merged onto the straight desert road. In the rearview mirror, the gray-white evacuation center grew smaller and smaller.

Outside the windshield, at the end of the desert road, the sail-shaped silhouette of the Burj Al Arab was emerging from the heat waves, becoming clearer and clearer.

In the back seat of the fifth G-Wagon, Yin Ruoying put her high heels back on. She took out her phone, saw two bars of signal, and opened her Weibo drafts.

The post "Thanks to the official rescue" was still lying there.

Her thumb hovered over the send button for three seconds.

Select all, delete.

She re-typed a line: "Someone drove thirteen G-Wagons through a war zone to pick us up."

She paused again.

Deleted it once more.

Finally, she simply locked the screen and leaned back in her seat.

She wouldn't post it.

Some things become common bragging when posted, losing their value.

By not posting, it would become a legend, making everyone curious.

Yin Ruoying narrowed her eyes. She hated owing favors more than anything in her life, but this one, she noted down.

Burj Al Arab, 20th-floor corridor.

Li Li leaned against the fire hydrant box, a bag of cold takeout steak placed beside him.

His phone lit up; it was a three-second voice message from Fahd.

He clicked it, and the prince's lazy, British-accented Arabic came through.

"Li, treat me to Chinese food next time. I heard there's something called—Hotpot?"

The corners of Li Li's mouth curled up.

[Mission: Rescue your teammates — Complete]

[Reward: Hebrew proficiency]

[System evaluation: Rescuing teammates without any effort, remote-controlled from thousands of meters away]

He glanced at the system evaluation; just then, the elevator "dinged," and the doors opened.

Jiang Rumu walked out.

She had changed her clothes, wearing an oversized white shirt paired with high-waisted jeans, her hair tied back into a high ponytail, carrying a canvas bag in her hand.

"Has the convoy arrived?"

"On the way."

She walked up to Li Li and shoved the canvas bag into his hands.

"For you."

Li Li opened it and saw a brand-new white T-shirt, the tag still attached.

"You've been wearing that one for two days."

Li Li lowered his head and sniffed his own collar; there was indeed a scent of sea salt.

"How much?"

"2,300 Dirhams."

4,500 RMB. For a T-shirt.

Li Li placed the bag next to the steak: "I'll pay you back."

"No need."

"I don't owe people anything in this life." Li Li looked at her.

Jiang Rumu also looked at him, and after three seconds, she suddenly laughed.

"Fine, then treat me to ice cream."

"How much is a serving of ice cream here?"

"More expensive than the T-shirt."

"..."

Jiang Rumu turned and walked away, her high ponytail swaying behind her.

After three steps, she stopped but didn't turn back.

"After the convoy arrives, don't do anything. Just stand at the lobby entrance and wait."

"Why?"

"Let them see with their own eyes who called the cars, and who this monumental favor should be credited to."

As her voice fell, she turned into the elevator lobby, her figure disappearing.

Li Li stood in place, still clutching the 4,500-yuan white T-shirt.

Outside the window, the sun of the Persian Gulf split against the glass curtain wall.

In the distance, where the desert road met the skyline, a pale yellow line of dust kicked up by the convoy was heading toward the Burj Al Arab, getting closer and closer.