The princess who welcomed Ryan was no stranger to ambition. Her name was Princess Chi, daughter of the Futang King, thirty-six years old with one son, one daughter, and a reputation for both beauty and brutality.
She stepped forward in a flowing silk dress, chin high, gaze cold.
"On behalf of His Majesty," she said, "welcome to the palace, Lord Ryan."
Her tone was formal. Her eyes? Pure evaluation.
Ryan barely nodded in return.
He wasn't here to dance around courtiers. He was here for one thing: to see the so-called 'Long-Life Specimens.'
Princess Chi led him to the palace limousine. She climbed in beside him without asking.
The door shut.
The ride was silent.
Well, until she accidentally let her skirt ride high—just enough to flash her thigh.
Ryan didn't look.
She shifted again.
Still nothing.
She glanced at him, frustrated. But Ryan's expression didn't change.
Lady, I'm not starving. I don't eat trash just because it's shiny.
By the time they arrived at the palace, Princess Chi's temper was on edge. She'd failed to bait him.
And Ryan?
He was already planning his exit.
—
Inside the royal chamber, the King of Futang greeted him with open arms, smiling like a snake wrapped in silk.
"My dear guest," he said. "We are honored to host the legendary Ryan Li."
Around them, ministers, concubines, distant cousins, and far too many daughters filled the room.
So this is the trap, Ryan thought. Drown me in perfume and giggles until I offer my DNA in exchange for peace.
The king clapped his hands.
"We have prepared our finest feast, flown in our top chef, and laid out Futang's richest dishes just for you."
Ryan picked at the food, tasted a few bites. Not bad. But not the reason he came.
"Your Majesty," he said flatly, "I'm only interested in one thing—seeing the Long-Life Specimens."
The king's smile stiffened.
"But of course! But surely, you must stay a few nights. Rest. Be entertained. Choose any of our finest attendants."
Ryan didn't flinch.
"I didn't come for women."
The room froze.
Dozens of hopeful daughters, nieces, and spies disguised as massage therapists, all went stiff.
The King chuckled awkwardly.
"Of course. You're a man of purpose. We respect that."
But Ryan could see the fury behind his eyes.
—
That night, Ryan retired to a guest suite. A tatami-matted room, traditional Futang decor, and an oversized bath.
He'd barely shut his eyes before twenty women slipped into the chamber.
Massagers, servants, dancers. All of them young. All of them "accidentally" well-trained in seduction.
Ryan sat up, sighed, and dismissed them with a wave.
They left, confused—and for once, untouched.
From the shadows, the King watched through a hidden feed and nearly shattered his wine glass.
What does this man want?! Even monks would've cracked by now!
Then came the final straw.
The King, desperate, ordered a pheromone-based sedative to be mixed into Ryan's dinner the next day. A subtle dose—just enough to cloud the mind and lower resistance.
But Ryan had noticed the smell before the first bite.
He smiled.
Then quietly dumped the food into a napkin and handed it off to a concealed filtration device.
Futang thinks they're dealing with a tourist. They're about to find out what a counterintel veteran really looks like.
That night, after rejecting two more princesses, a duchess, and a singer pretending to be a nurse, Ryan finally stormed into the throne room.
He stood before the King, cold fury in his eyes.
"You wanted to trade your specimens for my DNA. That was the deal."
"And now?" Ryan raised a gun—Beretta 92, clean and aimed straight at the King's forehead.
"I don't want your monsters. I don't want your women. And I sure as hell don't want your dirty deals."
"You have until tomorrow morning to show me the Long-Life Specimens."
"Or I'll show you what American justice looks like."
The King's legs buckled.
Every royal guard stepped back.
No one dared move.
Ryan slowly lowered the gun.
Then walked out.
Not one person tried to stop him.