Blackstone Code-Chapter 470: Cultured People, Appreciated by All

At the same time, less than a kilometer from the young man, Lynch was hosting an investment group in a hotel.

The lavish, golden décor made many guests momentarily forget that they were in the Kingdom of Nagaryll—a backward, poor, and ignorant nation in the Eastern Ocean.

Crystal chandeliers refracted bright light across the room, adding a splash of dazzling color.

A local band and singer performed soft songs quietly.

The singer, a dark-skinned Nagaryll native with plain looks, surprisingly had a voice like a well-aged vintage wine—rich and intoxicating.

A few women stood around him, eyes gently closed, captivated by his soul-stirring voice.

His singing wasn’t loud; it was barely audible from a short distance. Elsewhere, groups of people gathered with drinks, chatting happily about their experiences since arriving in Nagaryll and the discoveries they’d made.

Waiters in vests and bow ties moved swiftly through the crowd, delivering fine wine and clearing empty glasses. At this moment, everyone seemed to be in their most familiar environment, not in Nagaryll.

This was a testament to the power of wealth—only with ample money could such a magnificent place be built on this backward, poor land.

On the dance floor, Lynch danced with Penny. Though not the host—today’s main guest was Lime—Lynch played the role of an escort and could afford to relax.

When Penny invited him to dance, he didn’t refuse.

They swayed to the slow, gentle music, a dance without fixed steps or form, more like an intimate moment for lovers to draw near.

With each breath, Lynch smelled a subtle fragrance from Penny, a natural scent of another person. One hand held hers; the other rested on her back.

Penny wore a striking red backless gown, blending elegance with youthful vibrancy that was breathtaking.

Lynch’s hand pressed gently on her back.

He valued his hands more than his face.

Men don’t rely on looks to influence others; his hands mattered more.

A pair of skilled hands could discern authenticity by the raised ink on a document or perform delicate tasks that looks never could.

At this moment, his hands felt the smoothness of Penny’s skin—untreated, pure softness.

Strictly speaking, her skin wasn’t like a freshly peeled boiled egg; though firm, eggshell-like, boiled egg whites are somewhat rough.

Her skin was silky; his fingertips felt almost no friction, as if physics itself had vanished.

This tactile sensation absorbed Lynch—not in lust but as an appreciation of artistry.

Lynch was a cultured man. Even if he had to pretend, he would embody elegance and refinement.

Here, culture wasn’t about diplomas or academic knowledge but another kind of sophistication.

Once, before entering such a place, Lynch shared a car ride with several influential people discussing investments. They suddenly mentioned a woman’s cultured name.

One leading negotiator recited a line of poetry; another followed with the next verse. All eyes turned to Lynch.

Without hesitation, Lynch completed the poem; the last line contained two characters matching the woman’s name.

The atmosphere warmed immediately, a cultural connection between people of refinement, sealing the deal effortlessly after the ride.

Inside, Lynch met many cultured people, including one who spent five years orchestrating a scheme that ruined many fortunes—trusted because he was cultured.

Lynch appreciated everything; to him, even women were works of art.

His fingertips slid lightly over Penny’s skin. Her cheeks flushed crimson. She was uncomfortable with the atmosphere but couldn’t escape it.

The rumors about Lynch had taught her a lesson: in the film and entertainment industry’s complicated world, survival was difficult without connections and respect.

Sloan was just one troublemaker, not a big player.

Stars like her were small fish compared to powerful production companies. What if those producers mistreated her in the future?

Rumors circulated about who entered whose room at night. You could refuse actors or directors, but how do you refuse producers?

In this world, such issues couldn’t be avoided unless you had a background that commanded respect—otherwise, you had to go with the flow.

Penny dreamed of being a star, a major figure, and that was her goal and life plan.

She worked hard for these dreams, not to become a mere sex symbol.

If she had to make a choice, it had to be a good one—something to secure her future forever.

She looked up at Lynch. Each breath he exhaled passed between them; some brushed her face, quickening her heartbeat.

Lynch’s touch had a kind of magic, making her body warm.

They were very close; every step they moved, their bodies brushed, leaving her excited but uneasy, as if afraid of something.

In a daze, the music stopped.

A live band wasn’t a record—they got tired. In such settings, many guests had high musical standards; one mistake could damage a musician’s career.

So, the musicians were highly focused—and the singer too, needing to preserve his best voice for the enchanted audience. They all needed rest.

The dancers paused, Lynch and Penny included. Lynch clapped and beckoned to a waiter.

A waiter approached quickly. Lynch pulled out his custom pen and left a phone number on the cup holder’s paper ring, then gave an order.

After the waiter left, Penny, now more alert, shyly looked at him. Lynch understood and casually explained, “That singer has a unique voice and smile. People like him.”

He added, “He’s from the Federation.”

Not long ago, someone in Federation society had published an article titled We Are Reshaping Pride, which caused a huge stir.

In Lynch’s words, it was an obviously politically charged inspirational article, praising the Federation and its people’s inevitable return to glory, but emphasizing the need for collective effort.

It was very mainstream and optimistic, and people liked it. Federation citizens were thinking this way and working hard. Capitalists should actually thank the recent financial crisis and economic tsunami, as these hardships made workers—who used to constantly complain—realize the value and importance of work, instead of always reporting exploitation to unions without cause.

If groups like this singer and his band performed in the Federation now, it would further prove the Federation’s rapid recovery and that it would be better than before.

Changing the subject, Lynch asked, “Have you acted as a socialite before?”

Before the girl could react, Lynch linked his arm with hers. In such settings, many things seemed casual but were actually carefully controlled.

She naturally hooked her arm through his, and following his lead, they approached a group of men chatting nearby. 𝕗𝐫𝚎𝗲𝘄𝐞𝕓𝐧𝕠𝘃𝕖𝐥.𝐜𝚘𝚖

Lynch’s arrival paused their conversation. Lime stepped aside politely. Lynch glanced at Penny; she instinctively released his arm, greeted the men, then excused herself and moved to another circle of women.

She felt a little dizzy but handled it well. People often said bringing a female companion was pointless, since women had no real place or status in formal socializing. Yet their presence was still essential.

They didn’t admit to being mere ornaments, but that was exactly what they were.

“Where were we?” Lynch took control of the conversation immediately, his invisible aura granting him authority among them, like a ruler.

Lime quickly replied, “We were just talking about the chaotic traffic here…” and felt relieved afterward.

Everyone here wanted to enter this space, greeting each other familiarly and chatting casually.

He used to look longingly through the glass window from outside, but now he didn’t feel that way.

This wasn’t enjoyment—it was torment.

These people wouldn’t mock your mistakes with harsh words, but their looks would make you feel utterly ashamed.

They made you feel you didn’t belong—that you were a mistake just by being here.