The Yellow-Haired Villain in Soaring Phoenix's Novels Also Desires Happiness

An avenger, huh...

Though the post of Administrator of the Lower City wasn’t considered a top-tier position in Belrand—like how a provincial governor still had plenty of people above him—still, it was a position of real authority. And...

Now that the Lower City’s gangs had been consolidated by his own hand, and an Administrator who hated those people to the bone had appeared in the open...

Those who stretched their claws into the Lower City to skim black money probably weren’t going to have a good time in the future.

“Since you’ve put it like that, it’d be rude of me to refuse again.”

Muen sighed lightly and sat back down.

He thought for a moment, then before Shaun could say anything, he suddenly waved over a waiter and gave a quiet instruction.

Not long after, the spot where the rose had been placed was set with tableware, red wine poured, bright warm candles lit, and a soft comfortable chair respectfully pulled back a little, as though awaiting the arrival of a lady.

The appetizers were served. Three portions.

“This... this is—” ❀ Nоvеlігht ❀ (Don’t copy, read here) Shaun looked slightly stunned.

“Don’t misunderstand. I’m only inviting an unseen lady of beauty to dine with us. It has nothing to do with you, you rough man.”

Muen lifted his glass and gently clinked it toward the empty seat.

“So don’t feel you owe me anything extra. If you want to talk about repaying me... then if you have the ability, bring her back to life and have her repay me herself.”

“...”

Muen’s words were rather shameless. The dead couldn’t be brought back.

But Shaun’s eyes suddenly went red. He glanced at the empty chair in the wavering candlelight, as if he saw a graceful shadow swaying there, and in his eyes flickered a trace of longing.

He pressed his parched lips together hard, as if making some decision, then turned to Muen and said earnestly:

“Young Master Muen, if ever there comes a time you need me, please...”

“Eh.”

Muen suddenly raised a hand and cut him off:

“You just got appointed and you’re already thinking about forming factions? Not such a good look.”

He forced a joking smile.

“Isn’t your foremost task right now to do your job as Administrator? I imagine His Majesty is already sick of those incompetent predecessors. If you don’t produce results, any words are meaningless.”

“Of course.”

Shaun straightened his back. “From the moment I received my appointment, I swore before my wife’s grave that I would never let such a tragedy happen again. Becoming an excellent Administrator is only my first step!”

“That’s better.”

Seeing Shaun’s firm gaze, Muen couldn’t help letting out a breath of relief.

Even though he carried a blade of hatred in his heart, he hadn’t let that hatred blind him.

No wonder Father had praised his excellence.

“But since you’ve said all this, there’s something I need to confirm with you again.” Muen suddenly grew serious, his tone shifting.

“What is it?”

Seeing Muen’s solemn face, Shaun unconsciously tensed, straightening further. Young Master Muen rarely made a request—he had to treat this with utmost seriousness...

“That violinist you mentioned, the beautiful one...”

Muen laced his fingers beneath his chin. A jewel-like brilliance flashed in his sapphire eyes.

“Is she the real deal?”

“...”

Shaun blinked.

Then, seeing Muen’s face more serious than it had been before, without a hint of joking, the heaviness in Shaun’s eyes crumbled on its own.

For the first time since mentioning his wife, he actually smiled faintly, almost helpless, and sighed:

“Muen, you really are someone completely different from the rumors... and yet, at the same time, just a little bit like them. What a curious man.”

Seeing the dinner atmosphere at last return to the ease and levity a proper meal should have, Muen smiled unconcerned:

“Cut the chatter. I just want to know if the girl’s authentic. If she really deserves to be called a violinist... or if they’re just saying ‘beauty,’ and when she shows up it’ll be some old auntie.”

“The ‘beauty’ part is only the restaurant’s advertisement. I’ve never seen her myself, but...”

Shaun turned his head. His eyes reflected the little stage, and once again his face softened with nostalgic remembrance.

“My wife and I first met right here. She was a music academy student then, playing to earn her living. The moment I heard her first piece, I was utterly captivated. So I think this restaurant may not match the Upper City establishments in extravagance, but at least when it comes to discerning talent, you needn’t worry.”

“Is that so?”

Muen arched a brow and glanced at the center of the restaurant.

“Then I’ll look forward to it.”

...

Ten minutes later.

After Muen had swept through the feast in his elegant yet razor-sharp fashion, devouring it like a storm until he was about seventy percent full—even he had to praise the food’s quality—the so-called beautiful violinist finally made her appearance as the stage lights came up.

The entire restaurant fell silent. Muen set down his fork and turned expectantly.

Then his expression froze.

After staring for a moment, he slowly turned back to the equally dumbstruck Shaun and asked, grief-stricken:

“They said ‘beauty,’ but what about the face?”

That’s right. The violinist wore a black evening gown, showing off her figure with dramatic curves.

Yes—the thighs were long, the waist slender, her skin pale, and her chest astonishingly large.

But the problem was...

The face, the most important part of any beauty, was blurred.

Truly blurred.

As if veiled by a misty haze—no features discernible, not even nose, eyes, or mouth.

“This... I don’t know either.”

Shaun wiped sweat from his brow.

“Perhaps her playing is so exceptional that appearances simply don’t matter.”

Muen’s lips twitched.

Live music wasn’t only for the ears. The player’s expressions and movements always added to the experience.

If you looked like one of those fairy maidens in novels, with a veil or a half-mask, that would at least spark the imagination. But what was the meaning of plastering a magical mosaic over your face?

It was like this—your husband just bought some lingerie, ready to enjoy a wonderful night. But then your wife, blushing, says:

Darling, I’m a little shy... how about you put the lingerie over my face?

That kills the mood entirely!

...

The restaurant, once silent, began to stir with noise, even angry shouts here and there.

It was clear the other guests weren’t pleased either with this “mosaic spirit” stunt.

But strangely, though dissatisfaction had risen this far, the restaurant only kept sending waiters to soothe them. There was no replacement, no demand that the “beauty” reveal her face.

Were they really that confident?

Watching the “beauty” raise her violin, about to begin, Muen still felt a flicker of interest.

And his gaze, fixed on those flawless curves framed by the black gown, swept slowly up and down.

So big. Even bigger than Senior Sister...

So earth-shatteringly big...

I swear I’ve seen this somewhere before.