I Turned Filthy Rich Just By Sleeping With Women?!-Chapter 45: Losing Hope

However, Zhao Yiming forced himself to calm down as he began to pick up on their conversation—nothing but nonsense.

"Hey, I just realized... the door wasn’t even locked?" one of them said. The voice belonged to a man, probably in his mid-twenties.

"Tch! That damn Haolong always forgets shit. I swear, that man’s got the IQ of a chimpanzee," another man scoffed. "You know how many times I’ve had to help him open his car because he left the keys inside?"

"A lot!"

Both of them burst out laughing.

Zhao Yiming narrowed his eyes. Two, there were only two of them. He could handle that.

A spark of confidence lit inside him. An idea started to form.

He quickly opened his system’s shop and searched. A black ski mask. It was cheap and discreet. He bought it and pulled it over his face.

As much as he wanted to buy a weapon—a bat, a pipe, something—he stopped himself. He wasn’t alone. If he pulled a bat out of nowhere in front of the girls, it would raise too many questions.

’I’ll use my hands. Knock them out clean. They’ll know someone took the ledger, but they won’t know who.’

’Besides, the CCTV system in this building had been dead for years. Damn lucky,’ he thought.

But then their conversation took a sharp, ugly turn.

He heard the faint hiss of a soda can opening—someone had raided the fridge.

"Anyway, Langlang, how the hell did you even get that old guy to sell his shop? Especially with that nosy freak watching over that street?"

"Ah, easy, bro," the other guy replied casually. "Just hurt his wife."

Zhao Yiming froze. ’His wife? Madam He?!’

"The hell? You know we can’t kill anyone, right?" the first guy said, sounding alarmed.

"We rough up people, sure. Punch a few old geezers, cops look away. But murder? That’s a different beast, man."

Langlang laughed. "Relax. I didn’t kill her. Just... gave her a little push. Tripped her while she was on a crosswalk stairs. She’s old. She fell hard."

"She’s not dead, just hospitalized. The old guy panicked, needed cash for her treatment. I waved some money and boom—he signs the shop away."

"Damn!" the first guy laughed. "You’re a genius, bro! We gotta do that with the others too."

They cackled—laughing like they hadn’t just hospitalized an innocent woman. Like they hadn’t blackmailed a desperate old man.

Zhao Yiming saw red.

He was about to move—ready to tear the door open and beat them senseless—when Luo Yanyu caught him.

She grabbed him from behind and held on tightly, her arms wrapped around him to stop him from rushing forward.

"Don’t," she whispered. "Don’t ruin everything now."

Zhao Yiming clenched his jaw, his breathing heavy with fury. "I know. I’m angry too. But still... we can’t waste what we’ve done."

His fists tightened so hard his knuckles split. He was bleeding. But she was right. Both Su Meilin and Luo Yanyu were here. He couldn’t act recklessly.

He needed another plan—a smart one. Something that wouldn’t get his hands dirty.

Then, one of the men spoke again, laughing.

"Ha! That must be the golf club Haolong stashed for himself," he said, and they both headed toward the door, laughing as they grabbed it.

Moments later, they left, locking the door behind them. Their footsteps faded down the hall.

Zhao Yiming exhaled quietly, rage simmering just under the surface.

’One day,’ he thought. ’One day soon, I’ll bury all of you.’

Once the men were gone, the three of them finally exhaled in relief, though their hearts were still burning with hatred.

As they regrouped, Zhao Yiming yanked off his ski mask and tore it apart in rage, throwing the shredded pieces to the ground.

He had made a promise—to protect the people on that street. To shield the old couple.

And yet...

He failed.

He wasn’t cunning enough. Not ruthless enough. He had underestimated just how twisted human beings could be.

"I can’t believe they did that to an old lady," Luo Yanyu muttered. Her voice was quiet, but the anger was unmistakable.

Su Meilin shook her head in disgust. "They’re absolute scum."

"We can’t let this go," Zhao Yiming said firmly. "We have to do something. We can’t just stand here doing nothing while people like that walk free."

He took a deep breath, making up his mind. "Let’s go to the hospital first. I’ll pay Madam He’s medical bills so Mister Wu won’t have to sell his shop."

Both women nodded in agreement. The decision was made.

They left the room—hearts heavy, burdened with guilt and regret. They hadn’t managed to retrieve the leasing documents for Su Meilin’s noodle shop; taking them now would only raise suspicion.

The only thing they had in their possession was the black ledger—one small hope that maybe, just maybe, it could disrupt Golden Earth’s operations.

***

They began by asking around Lianwu Street, speaking to sellers to find out which hospital Madam He had been admitted to. The community was close-knit—good neighbors—and they responded immediately.

But Zhao Yiming quickly noticed something strange: the street was eerily quiet. None of the shops were open.

Then one of the shop owners sighed and said, "We’ve decided to sell."

Zhao Yiming frowned. "Why?"

"You saw what happened to Madam He," the man said quietly. "We don’t want our families to go through that."

Another merchant chimed in, "Honestly, I didn’t want to sell. I stayed because Mister Wu’s determination inspired me."

"But now even he’s given up. If he’s leaving, then... what reason do I have to stay?"

Zhao Yiming, Luo Yanyu, and Su Meilin exchanged silent glances, their throats tight with helplessness.

All their efforts—everything they had fought for—felt like it was unraveling before their eyes. But that wasn’t the part that hurt the most.

What broke them was seeing these people—merchants, elders, neighbors—giving up their homes. Giving up the places where they had built their lives. All because they had nothing left to hold on to.

Then, without warning, the two shopkeepers bowed deeply.

"Thank you for trying to protect us," one said, his voice shaking.

"We were moved... truly. Knowing that someone still cared, that we weren’t alone—it meant the world to us. Thank you."

That last sentence struck them like a blade. They had tried their best—but it wasn’t enough.

Zhao Yiming opened his mouth, wanting to say something. Anything.

Don’t sell your shop.

Don’t give up.

We’ll protect you.

But no words came.

He didn’t have a solution. Not yet. Throwing money at the problem wouldn’t work—they’d reject it out of pride. And he respected that.

Just then, Luo Yanyu reached over and grabbed his hand. Her grip was firm, her eyes shining with fierce determination.

"Let’s go see Madam He," she said. "We’ll figure this out. We’re in this together."