Cultivator God, Thanks to Beautiful CEO

Chapter 9

While the Astral Sight active, in an instant, the world in front of Melvin shifted into clear, energy-based outlines. He could see the structural density of the alley walls, the exact muscle contractions of the four men, and the precise trajectory of their breath.

More importantly, Melvin  could see their inner intent—trained street enforcers carrying heavy iron truncheons and tactical knives, moving in a coordinated ambush formation.

‘Four thugs... zero qi cultivation, but decently trained in dirty street brawling.’ Melvin calculated silently, feeling the smooth, steady flow of celestial qi circulating through his newly opened second meridian.

"Who sent you?" Melvin asked calmly, his voice echoing smoothly in the damp alley. "Victor Vance?"

The lead thug's eyes twitched slightly—a subtle physical confirmation that Melvin’s Astral Sight picked up instantly.

"You talk too much, brat! Break his legs!" the leader barked.

Two thugs on the left charged simultaneously. The first swung a heavy iron pipe straight at Melvin's temple with lethal momentum, while the second lunged low with a serrated blade aimed for his ribs.

In the eyes of an ordinary man, the dual attack was lightning fast. But under the divine perception of the Sovereign Astral Meridian, their movements appeared agonizingly slow, like flies drifting through thick syrup.

Melvin didn't even use a offensive qi strike. He simply pivoted his heel three inches to the left.

SWOOSH!

The heavy iron pipe sliced through empty air, missing his ear by half an inch. In the exact same breath, Melvin swayed his torso back slightly, letting the knife blade glide harmlessly past his coat buttons.

Before the first thug could recover his balance, Melvin stepped into his pivot space, tapping two fingers lightly against the man’s upper arm—right at the Jianneiling pressure point.

Pfft!

A microscopic needle of celestial qi injected into the nerve cluster. The thug's arm went completely numb; his grip failed, and the iron pipe clattered loudly onto the asphalt.

"What the—?!" The second thug gasped, trying to pull his knife back for a horizontal slash.

Melvin didn't give him the chance. He executed a swift, fluid palm strike directly to the thug's sternum. The blow carried no violent force, but the precise vibration of qi sent a shockwave through the man's respiratory diaphragm.

GUH!

The second thug dropped his knife, collapsing onto his knees as he gasped helplessly for air, his eyes rolling back.

In less than three seconds, two armed attackers were completely neutralized without Melvin sustaining a single scratch.

The remaining two thugs, including the scarred leader, took an involuntary step back, their faces filled with sheer terror. "What kind of freak are you?!"

"I asked a question," Melvin said, taking a slow, measured step forward. "Who paid you?"

The scarred leader gritted his teeth, pulling a heavy brass knuckle set from his coat pocket. "Die!" He lunged forward in a desperate, wild swing aimed straight for Melvin’s throat.

Melvin didn't bother dodging this time. He raised his right hand, catching the leader's brass-knuckled fist mid-air.

BOOM!

The impact sounded like steel striking stone. The leader felt as if he had punched a solid mountain of iron. Pain shot up his arm, shattering his finger bones instantly.

"AAAAAHHH!" the leader screamed, falling to his knees as Melvin held his crushed fist in an iron grip.

While holding the screaming thug, Melvin’s Astral Sight focused directly on the leader's inner jacket pocket. Through the leather fabric, Melvin’s divine vision pierced the physical lining, reading the screen of a encrypted burner phone hidden inside.

No bank alert. No transaction log. A professional would carry neither.

What the burner did carry was a message thread, opened forty minutes ago and never closed:

[UNKNOWN] — west gate alley. blue coat. rideshare plates on the sedan. 

[UNKNOWN] — hospital, not the street. make it look like a robbery. 

[UNKNOWN] — 25 sent. balance clears when it's confirmed. 

[UNKNOWN] — do not touch the phone or the car. only him.

Melvin held the thread in his vision and traced the routing beneath it — a relay chain folding back through three anonymised nodes before terminating at a registered account under V. V. Holdings, Grand Cayman.

Melvin drew the phone out of the man's jacket with two fingers, photographed the thread against the brick wall, and mirrored the device's storage to his own cloud before the screen dimmed.

"Three hops," he said quietly. "A forensic accountant will need about an afternoon."

He then tapped the lead thug's shoulder acupoint, instantly paralyzing his lower body and leaving him slumping helplessly against the brick wall alongside his unconscious crew.

"Tell Victor," Melvin said, looking down at the paralyzed leader with absolute coldness, "that if he wants to play games in the dark, he better be prepared to face the sun."

The Next Morning.

The morning sun crested over the glass towers of Sargana City, casting long shadows across the grand entrance plaza of Apex Medical Center.

Melvin climbed the broad granite steps toward the main glass doors, dressed in a clean suit, carrying his leather bag.

Twenty metres out, his Astral Sight swept the lobby and came back with a count.

Twenty men. Tactical formation, split left and right behind the reception columns, waiting outside the doors' line of sight. Elevated heart rates across the board. Charged stun batons drawing current in nineteen of them, and one pair of steel handcuffs already unclasped.

Melvin's pace stayed exactly the same.

Good. Do it in the lobby, Victor. In front of the morning shift, the visiting specialists, and every camera on this floor. I would have had to spend a week arranging that myself.

The moment he crossed the threshold, the heavy glass doors behind him slammed shut with a sharp

STEP!

From the left and right corridors, twenty heavily armed hospital security guards marched out in tactical formation, wielding electric stun batons and security shields, completely encircling Melvin in a tight perimeter.

At the front of the security line stood Chief Fresco—the towering, muscular Head of Hospital Security—his arms crossed over his chest, a cruel sneer on his face.

Up on the second-floor balcony overlooking the lobby, Vice Director Victor Vance stood leaning over the gilded railing. Beside him was Dr. Samuel Reed. Victor looked down at Melvin like a judge looking at a condemned criminal, a victorious, gloating grin spread across his face.

"Melvin!" Chief Fresco’s booming voice echoed across the vaulted plaza, drawing the attention of dozens of arriving staff and patients outside the glass walls. "You are under immediate arrest for grand theft of hospital medical supplies, assault on senior medical staff, and criminal trespassing!"

Chief Fresco unclasped a pair of heavy steel handcuffs, stepping forward with a cold glare.

"Resist," Fresco growled, raising his electric baton, "and my men are authorized to put you down permanently!"

On the balcony above, Victor Vance sneered, resting his chin on his hands. ‘You thought you were clever, intern? No matter how good your medicine is, inside Apex Medical Center, I am the law! Today, you leave in chains!’