I Want To Marry My dad, Not My Uncle - Chapter 1

Late winter, Pennsylvania. Inside the staff room of a luxurious restaurant.

Xingchen changed out of the cotton clothes and jeans he had scrounged from a second-hand market and put on the restaurant uniform.

His body proportions were impeccable. The simple suit vest looked tailored specifically for him, making him appear exceptionally tall and highlighting the refinement of his facial features.

The only thing that did not quite match was his eyes.

His gaze was hollow and unfocused, and the heavy, black-rimmed glasses seemed to seal away any spark of life, making him look like a beautiful doll devoid of a soul.

“Cipher.”

“Cipher!”

Xingchen snapped back to reality. He had only been using this name for two days, and it took him over ten seconds to realize that “Cipher” was calling him.

He turned his head and offered a sweet smile. “Yes, Manager?”

The manager frowned, doubting his own eyes for a moment.

He had just seen this Asian young man with a gaze as hollow as a dead person’s.

Yet now, the young man was smiling so sweetly, with two shallow dimples on his cheeks, looking nothing like someone who was lifeless.

The manager coughed twice. “Have you memorized the menu?”

Xingchen nodded. “I have.”

The manager addressed the new employees:

“Our restaurant has an average bill of $300 per person. Memorizing the preparation method for every dish is the bare minimum.”

Xingchen’s attention was entirely focused on the customers outside. Driven by his current circumstances, he was forced to find prey in a place like this, and he needed to act quickly.

“Alright, get to work.”

Xingchen adjusted the heavy black-rimmed glasses on his face and followed an older employee outside.

Influencers taking photos for check-ins, middle-aged white men treating their partners to a luxury meal.

None of them were his target.

A sharp-dressed elite, wearing an expensive watch—that looked promising.

But the $300 meal only yielded a $10 tip.

No.

It was not until a tall Asian man sat down in a secluded area that Xingchen found his target.

The older employee was delighted to see the man and greeted him with a menu: “Mr. Vincent.”

Xingchen followed, taking the opportunity to observe.

The man wore no visible logos, but his coat had an excellent texture, the suit fabric was exquisite, and his leather shoes were immaculate.

Everything was custom-made.

A glimpse of a watch appeared under his sleeve: a plain silver-white gold strap, no diamonds, no logos.

But Xingchen recognized it immediately.

Audemars Piguet, Royal Oak series. This specific model was $260,000.

The man did not look at the menu; he recited his order directly.

He was a regular customer.

Next, all he needed to do was observe the tipping situation to confirm his target.

Just as Xingchen was secretly observing the man, the restaurant’s welcome bell rang.

A flamboyant young man walked in.

Why refer to him as flamboyant?

Because the young man was wearing fluffy-trimmed high socks, a short pink fur jacket on his upper body that revealed his thighs, and he was holding a drink.

His blonde hair was curled, and his every gesture screamed, “I am a queen.”

The young man scanned the restaurant and found the most photogenic spot. He was just about to sit down when he noticed Xingchen’s direction and looked surprised.

Xingchen knew the young man was not looking at him. Following his gaze, he saw his own target.

He had encountered a conflict of interest.

That was easy to solve.

The young man darted over like a gust of wind and sat directly opposite the man.

“Mr. Vincent, we met at Mr. Yue’s party before. Do you remember?”

Vincent nodded.

“I remember.”

Vincent did not seem to have a negative reaction to gay men.

Even better. It saved time.

The older employee pulled Xingchen away.

“Do not get too close to that guy. Whoever serves him is cursed.”

Xingchen tilted his head, feigning ignorance.

“Is it that guest in the pink fur?”

The older employee opened the floodgates and began to ramble:

“Last time, he asked me if I could make the 100% freshly squeezed mango juice without mango because he was allergic to it.

I was stunned. I hesitated for two seconds, and he started shouting that I was being disrespectful. He called the manager over to complain about me.

I had money deducted from my paycheck for a day, and I even had to bow to him in public.”

Xingchen had no interest in this. He picked up a champagne-colored napkin and a glass.

“Well, we cannot just leave the guest alone. I will go pour him some water.”

Xingchen approached, holding the napkin in a way that mimicked serving wine, and poured the young man a glass of lemon water.

The young man was chatting away enthusiastically; he took a sip to moisten his throat and continued talking.

Vincent just listened quietly.

Vincent was Asian, but his features were deep; his eyes were set under a brow bone that gave him a cold, hard look.

Yet, his eyes remained slightly curved, looking gentle and warm. He seemed to have a very good temper.

Xingchen had no interest in listening further and returned to the staff break room.

The older employee who had been training him was pacing back and forth inside.

“What should I do? It is almost time to serve the appetizers. I am definitely going to have to take that guy’s order.”

Xingchen wiped his hands with a wet tissue without looking up. “You do not have to go.”

“What?”

A scream echoed at the same time as the question.

Everyone’s attention was drawn to the secluded corner.

By the time Xingchen opened the door, the manager had already arrived.

The young man was scratching his neck and face, looking into a small mirror and screaming, causing Vincent, who was sitting opposite him, to frown slightly.

The manager thought an employee had accidentally caused the customer to have an allergic reaction.

But there were only two glasses of lemon water on the table and the drink the customer had brought himself.

The manager rushed to soothe the situation, urging the young man to lower his voice.

Just then, a tall, sturdy Asian man in a suit walked over from the restaurant entrance. Vincent said, “Let my driver take you to the hospital.”

Xingchen understood. The driver had come in so quickly.

It seemed Vincent had already arranged to get rid of him.

The young man grumbled that the drink shop had been careless. The driver did not give him another chance to speak, urging and ushering him away.

Xingchen stepped forward to collect the glasses the young man had used and wiped the table.

Vincent’s gaze lingered on the glass in his hand for a moment, then he looked up, meeting Xingchen’s eyes for the first time.

“Thank you.”

Xingchen caught a different nuance in that “thank you.”

Vincent’s pupils were a gentle amber color. When he looked at you with those curved eyes and thanked you earnestly, it felt as if you were the only person in the world.

But this thank you was strange.

Was he thanking him for the service?

Or was he thanking him for something else?

Xingchen’s lips curled slightly; his beautiful doe-like eyes were full of life behind his black-rimmed glasses.

“You are welcome.”

The old fox.

Vincent was completely unfazed by the earlier interlude and proceeded to eat in a slow, measured way.

Xingchen had inquired; Vincent always left a 25% tip.

He was a good target.

Next, he just needed to get his personal information to formulate a plan.

Of course, personal information is not obtained just by asking.

It requires technology.

Xingchen installed a small device on the card reader slot of the POS terminal.

It looked a bit like a skimmer, seamless and completely undetectable.

As long as a card was swiped, he could get the personal information and prescribe the right medicine.

When Vincent was about to finish his meal, a guest at another table accidentally broke a water pitcher, and the older employee was swamped.

Xingchen considerately offered to help the older employee handle the checkout.

He made a quick call beforehand: “Jizuo, the target is here. Get ready.”

He hung up after just a few words.

Xingchen approached and politely asked if the meal had been pleasant.

Vincent’s gaze lingered on the POS terminal in his hand for two seconds, then he looked up. “Very pleasant.”

“That is good to hear.” Xingchen’s eyes curved, and two shallow dimples appeared on his cheeks.

He covered his mouth, as if realizing too late that he had spoken in Chinese. “I am sorry, sir. I…”

“No need to apologize.” Vincent’s Chinese was fluent. “I speak Chinese, too.”

Was he this easy to hook?

Xingchen had not even been happy for a few seconds before Vincent took out his phone to pay.

Apple Pay.

Xingchen returned to the staff room, stared at the chaotic strings of code on his phone, took off his glasses, and rubbed the bridge of his nose.

Jizuo called at that exact moment.

“Xingchen, it is Apple Pay. Not even God could trace that. Give it up.”

Giving up was not an option.

After a whole day, Xingchen felt that Vincent was the only one worth targeting.

Now it seemed that Vincent was not going to be an easy mark.

He was polite, gentle, and well-mannered—and not just to him, but to everyone.

He was also careful and cautious, not even using a physical credit card.

It looked like he was a tough nut to crack.

It was just in time to get off work, so Xingchen changed his clothes and walked toward the back of the restaurant.

There was a convenience store past two office buildings, and he planned to grab a quick dinner.

The cold wind whistled. Xingchen kept his hands tucked in, calling Jizuo: “This person is too cautious. Let us think of another way.”

Jizuo: “Are you sure the previous mark is done for? You already got over a million from him.”

A pair of wolf-like blue eyes flashed through Xingchen’s mind, and he felt goosebumps rise on his arms.

Xingchen said ambiguously, “The next one will be better.”

Jizuo: “Anyway, if you do not pull it off in ten days, we are all going to die.”

There was no sound on the other end of the line for a long time. Jizuo asked “Hello?” several times. Xingchen let out a bitter laugh. “Maybe it will not even take ten days.”

Across the way, a luxury SUV sat with its passenger-side window smashed in.

In front of the car stood two black men wearing headscarves. One was holding a crowbar, still stained with shattered glass, and the other was holding a handgun, equipped with an extended magazine.

He thought to himself, “Some luck.”