Chapter Seven: Not Every Prince Is a Heartthrob

Days as Wukong's junior apprentice passed without a hitch, and for many days, Liu Yunfei found himself rather enchanted by this new routine. Each day, he spent the daylight hours reading and chatting with Park Minji in the dorm, and in the evenings, he accompanied her to and from classes. Even the older folks in the Korean community had begun to assume they were a couple, and the two of them had grown to understand each other on a deeper level.

As it turned out, Park Minji had a father who, after making his fortune, abandoned both Minji and her mother and married a younger woman. Minji’s mother took her share of the divorce settlement and, heartbroken, moved to America with her daughter, but their life as a mother and child alone was difficult. Soon after, her mother fell gravely ill, and all their money was spent on her treatment. In the end, they even sold their apartment, but the illness was merciless, and Minji’s mother’s life was claimed despite everything.

As Park Minji recounted her story—one that mixed in no small amount of fiction—she did not intend to deceive Liu Yunfei; she simply did not know how else to speak of it. Reflecting on her own origins and the loss of her mother, her eyes swelled with tears. Liu Yunfei, awkward at comforting others, could only rise, sit beside her, and gently pat her back out of sympathy. Having bottled these feelings up for so many years, Minji, touched by Liu Yunfei’s tenderness, broke down even more, turning and burying her face in his chest as she sobbed.

It was a long while before she lifted her head. She noticed a large patch of Liu Yunfei’s shirt was wet with her tears, and she gave an embarrassed smile. “Crying like this, I feel much better. I’m sorry—let me wash this for you. I’m really sorry.”

“All right, all right, you Koreans are too polite, apologizing for everything. No need to wash it, it’s not dirty,” Liu Yunfei replied. He never thought of Minji’s tears as unclean, and besides, he had no spare clothes here. For a man and a woman alone together, stripping off his shirt made him a bit uneasy.

“It’s fine, it’ll dry quickly. But I’d feel guilty if I didn’t wash it,” Minji insisted solemnly.

“That’s enough to make you feel guilty? All right, I’ll go back and change, and you can wash this one,” Liu Yunfei said, taking off his shirt and heading out bare-chested.

After transforming, he summoned the Flying Nimbus and soared into the sky to fetch a fresh shirt. Over the past week or so, Liu Yunfei’s English had improved by leaps and bounds, and his Korean was now good enough for everyday conversation. Park Minji was astonished at his gift for languages—after just a few days, he could already chat with the elders in the Korean community in their native tongue, and every day she saw him reading a book in French. She often pestered him to teach her some Chinese, convinced he was a linguistic genius.

In the past, Liu Yunfei always traveled between New York and Huangjiang by way of the Eastern Hemisphere, crossing the Pacific. Today, he decided to take a new route, traveling via the Western Hemisphere—a journey that would let him pass through Europe, enjoy its beauty, and scout out France, his next destination.

Gliding leisurely through the sky, he paused at the tip of the Eiffel Tower to feel the breeze, relieved himself by the Rhine, then turned south, soaring over Rome, Italy, the Mediterranean, and finally reaching Egypt. He passed the Suez Canal and the Great Pyramid, then hovered above the Red Sea.

The Red Sea is a long, narrow channel separating Egypt and Saudi Arabia, known for its high salinity and striking blue-green waters, flanked by steep, sheer cliffs.

Soon, Liu Yunfei witnessed an astonishing sight: more than three hundred islands, large and small, forming an enormous world map floating on the azure surface. There were miniature versions of China, the United States, even Antarctica.

Farther out, there was a colossal palm-shaped island, dotted with villas and private docks for yachts. Such a grand, artificial archipelago left Liu Yunfei speechless. He thought to himself, Only the richest of the rich could live here. One day, when I’m wealthy, I’ll buy a villa here and bring my parents to live with me.

While the map-shaped island was still under construction, the palm island seemed already inhabited. Curious about the lives of the world’s elite, Liu Yunfei descended toward the outermost part of the palm island. There were few residents; after circling the island, he saw no one, but on a central dock, a massive white yacht was moored, and figures could be seen moving on deck.

The yacht was at least eighty meters long, with three visible decks. The hull gleamed white, the name “Net” painted in black on the sides, set off by the deep blue sea. Atop the yacht bristled antennas of various lengths, a large outdoor pool occupied the center deck, and toward the stern sat a yellow lifeboat shrouded in canvas; on the other side rested a helicopter.

The helicopter’s rotors were already spinning, surrounded by more than ten armed men. On deck, a middle-aged Arab man in a pure white robe was shaking hands in farewell with a white man in sunglasses. The Arab, about forty, bore a noticeable scar on his face and wore a white headscarf—a look familiar from television depictions of sheikhs. Uniquely, a thirty-centimeter tassel hung from the collar of his robe, with the end split like a calyx.

Middle Eastern sheikhs are truly wealthy, Liu Yunfei mused—yachts, helicopters, and a whole platoon of bodyguards, all armed to the teeth.

Once the sheikh was seen off, the bodyguards dispersed. Liu Yunfei decided to explore; he had never seen such luxury before. He remembered gawking at a Rolls Royce on the street for ages—how could he miss a yacht like this?

He followed the sunglasses-wearing head bodyguard into the cabin—what a sight. Liu Yunfei couldn’t help but admire the sheer opulence. The decor was a lavish yellow; it felt like stepping into a seven-star hotel at sea. The entry opened into a grand banquet hall, with plush carpets, classical chandeliers, a piano at the center, and several small lounges with beige leather sofas. There was a gym, a café, small conference rooms—every amenity imaginable.

Trailing the head bodyguard, Liu Yunfei reached the door to a second-floor room guarded by two men. Without waiting for a response, the bodyguard knocked, pushed open the door, and entered, with Liu Yunfei—now a tiny “Flying Insect”—slipping in behind him.

Inside sat another Arab man, perhaps in his fifties, dressed in a pure white robe but with a red checkered headscarf. He was smoking a cigar, two massive emerald rings gleaming on his fingers. Seeing the visitors, he sprang up in agitation, brandishing his cigar and shouting in English, “Who are you people? What do you want? This is kidnapping! Allah will not forgive you!”

“My esteemed Prince Salih bin Abdul, my employer means you no harm. He only asks that you rest here for a while. Your safety will be ensured, and whatever you need, you may ask me. My name is Henry. I am at your service.” With that, Henry left the room.

Liu Yunfei did not follow. As a young man of the new era, how could he turn a blind eye to wrongdoing? Besides, hadn’t the man just said “Prince”? Even if this “prince” was a bit old—clearly, not every prince rides a white horse or is a handsome youth, but he was certainly wealthy! Today, Liu Yunfei was determined to play the hero and rescue a prince.