Chapter 90: A Twist of Fate**
The bartending competition had become a rollercoaster—unpredictable, thrilling, and full of surprises. First, the overwhelming favorite, Ah Shuai, had crashed out in a stunning upset. Then, a young unknown had burst onto the scene, leaving the crowd dazzled.
No one cared which club he represented anymore. They just wanted to see a true master at work—someone who could make them believe in the art of bartending.
The young man was Lin Feng, representing Fallen Angel KTV. Until today, he'd been a nobody, a name lost in the shuffle of Beitian's nightlife. Now, he was the dark horse everyone was talking about.
Qian Baoqing's face twisted with rage. He'd poured hundreds of thousands into this competition, only to watch someone else steal the spotlight. It felt like setting a lavish feast just to feed a stranger. He shot a venomous glare at the owner of Fallen Angel, his eyes promising retribution. Qian Baoqing didn't play by the rules—he *made* them. And no one stole his thunder without paying for it.
Whispers erupted through the crowd:
"That kid's skills are on par with Ah Shuai! Unbelievable!"
"I thought Ah Shuai was a shoo-in, but now? Who knows?"
"Lin Feng's got this. Mark my words—he's the champion."
Every eye was glued to Lin Feng as he worked, his hands moving with the precision of a watchmaker. He didn't just mix drinks—he *performed*, each pour and shake a testament to years of practice.
Wu Yifan watched, impressed, but a flicker of urgency hit him. Ah Shuai was out, sure, but if he stumbled now—if he got eliminated in the first round—he'd be a laughingstock. He grabbed a shaker and a glass, fumbling a little as he started mixing. His movements were clumsy, amateurish, nothing like Lin Feng's polished flair.
" I quit!" One of the remaining contestants suddenly shouted, tossing his tools aside and storming offstage. He'd watched Ah Shuai and Lin Feng, and knew he couldn't compete. Better to bow out gracefully than be humiliated.
The host cleared his throat, looking flustered. "Uh… with that, Oriental Coast and Blood Rose Bar are eliminated. The remaining four contestants move to round two!" He glanced at Wu Yifan, clearly confused how a security guard had made it this far.
Wu Yifan bit back a laugh. He hadn't even finished his drink, and he was still in the game. Luck, maybe—but he'll take it.
The six judges leaned in to taste Lin Feng's cocktail. It was a deep, rich red—almost like blood—swirling in the glass. They sipped, and their faces flushed, the warmth of the drink spreading through their veins.
"Excellent! Truly excellent!" they chorused.
"Young man," one judge said, eyes shining, "what do you call this?"
Lin Feng smiled, calm as ever. "'Bloody Sunset.'"
"Bloody Sunset…" The judges murmured, savoring the name. "Perfect. A fitting name for such a drink." They held up their scorecards: all 10s. A perfect round.
The remaining two contestants—from Lonely Bar and Crazy KTV—exchanged glances. There was no point in going on. They'd be crushed by Lin Feng. One by one, they bowed out.
Now, only two remained: Lin Feng and Wu Yifan.
The host blinked, clearly caught off guard. "Ladies and gentlemen… due to withdrawals, we'll skip to the final round! It's Lin Feng vs. Wu Yifan for the championship! Who will win? Stay tuned!"
The crowd erupted—not with excitement, but with laughter.
A security guard vs. a rising star? It was a joke.
"Quit while you're ahead, security guard!" someone shouted.
"You don't stand a chance! Save us the hassle!"
"Lin Feng's already won! Just admit it!"
Ye Xiwen and Fu Junyao exchanged a bewildered look. How had this happened? Oriental Coast eliminated in round one? Wu Yifan, a security guard, in the finals? It felt like a dream—one that might turn into a nightmare.
" He's just lucky," Fu Junyao muttered, crossing her arms. "No skill involved. He hasn't even *tried*."
"Is it luck?" Ye Xiwen frowned, her eyes narrowing. "Ah Shuai was too good to make a mistake like that. Something's off."
"You think… he threw the match on purpose?" Fu Junyao gasped.
"A great bartender treats their craft like life itself," Ye Xiwen said slowly. "They don't just drop a decanter. Not like that." She glanced at Wu Yifan, a new thought dawning. Had he and Song Mingjie done something? And if so… what did that mean for Lin Feng?
Wu Yifan ignored the jeers, his gaze sweeping the crowd. He smiled, a hint of mischief in his eyes. "You all think I'll lose?"
"Duh!" someone shouted back.
He ran a hand over his shaker, voice soft but steady. "You probably think it's absurd—a security guard in a bartending final. Like we're wasting your time."
Murmurs of agreement rippled through the room.
"But ask yourselves," he said, raising his voice, "do you really think Infinity would send someone who can't compete? A club that's survived in Beitian's cutthroat scene—would we throw in the towel that easily?"
The crowd fell silent. It was a good question. Even if they thought Wu Yifan was a joke, Infinity had a reputation. They didn't do things without reason.
Wu Yifan took a breath, his tone turning grave. "Here's the truth: everyone at Infinity could mix drinks better than most so-called 'professionals.' I'm the *worst* among us. We sent me because this? It's just a game. But if you're gonna make me play… I'll win."
Gasps.
The room exploded into chaos.
狂妄! (Kuángwàng! Arrogant!) Unheard of! A security guard claiming to be better than the pros?
Ye Xiwen and Fu Junyao stared, slack-jawed. *Had he lost his mind?*
But a tiny part of them wondered… What if he was telling the truth? What if he'd been hiding his skills all along, waiting for this moment to shock everyone?
The energy in the room shifted. Suddenly, the crowd leaned forward, curiosity overriding skepticism. This wasn't just a farce anymore. It was a challenge—a dare.
Lin Feng's eyebrows shot up. He'd thought this would be easy, but there was something in Wu Yifan's eyes—something calm, confident—that made him wary. He'd spent years honing his craft. No security guard was gonna outdo him.
Qian Baoqing scoffed, loud enough to be heard. "Bartender? Please. You're a liar. A nobody. Stop wasting our time."
Wu Yifan's smile widened, slow and deliberate. "True masters stay quiet. Fame and money? They rot your focus. They make you stop improving. I didn't want to do this—didn't want to show off—but you're all so *convinced* I'm nothing. Fine. I'll show you what a bartender *really* is."
A hush fell over the room.
He was right, in a way. So many talents burned out, seduced by attention and wealth, their skills stagnating. Competitions like this? They turned art into a spectacle, rewarding flash over substance.
For a moment, no one spoke. There was something about Wu Yifan—something in his posture, his voice—that felt… authoritative. Like he wasn't just boasting. Like he *knew* something they didn't.
The host leaned forward, microphone in hand, his voice shaky with excitement. "W-well then, Mr. Wu. Let's see what you've got. Round three… begins!"
Lin Feng tensed, gripping his shaker. He'd prove this upstart wrong. He'd show everyone who the real master was.
Wu Yifan picked up a bottle, his movements slow, deliberate. No flash, no theatrics—just focus.
The crowd held its breath.
Was this the moment? The twist no one saw coming?
A security guard. A bartending champion.
It sounded impossible.
But in Beitian, on this chaotic night, anything felt possible.
The final showdown had begun.