Logan Lu, who had asked the question, was visibly nervous.
He watched Blake Lin sitting in front of him. That young face, after hearing the question, fell into a brief silence.
Time ticked by, second after second.
A minute later, Blake Lin finally spoke, slowly.
"If we fought right now, I'd have about a ten percent chance to win."
Blake Lin took a sip of plain water, set the glass down on the table, then smiled. "But give me ten to fifteen years, and I'll definitely surpass Azure Dragon and make it onto the China Divine Martial List."
Ten percent chance.
It sounded like a low probability—just ten percent—but his opponent was Azure Dragon, the peak of China's Divine Martial world. In that context, a ten percent chance was terrifyingly impressive.
You have to understand, back when Azure Dragon was in Pu Hai, facing Lord Tao, a Fourth-Grade Pointing-to-Mystery master, the outcome was decided in a single move—victory, defeat, life, and death all settled at once.
Ten percent!
Logan Lu, sitting there, felt a surge of excitement that lasted for a long time. His face flushed, eyes full of enthusiasm. After calming himself for a while, he chugged another glass of water, finally suppressing the tremor in his heart.
"Prince Lin really is extraordinary. No wonder you're considered the youngest contender for the China Divine Martial List in all of China."
Logan Lu sincerely admired him: "With a ten percent chance against Azure Dragon, you could instantly crush every peer in Beijing."
Ninety-nine percent.
Blake Lin nodded, not bothering with false modesty: "The remaining one percent are variables. Unless something unexpected happens, give me time and I'll be invincible in the mortal world. That's a given."
"Our orthodox Lin Clan bloodline was literally born for battle. As for Azure Dragon, no matter how strong he gets, he's still just a mortal-world man. Give him all the time in the world—it won't matter."
Logan Lu listened as Blake Lin talked about 'mortal-world men.' He just figured Blake Lin was looking down from above, carrying the Lin Clan's trademark pride in martial arts, so he didn't ask further.
But in reality, 'mortal-world man' meant far more than that.
But if Logan didn't ask, Blake Lin wouldn't bring it up either.
"Prince Lin, aren't you planning to meet that Evan Lin?"
After a while, Logan Lu remembered the earlier conversation and asked curiously, "That Evan Lin—so young, but his strength really is extraordinary."
"If he didn't have some unique tricks up his sleeve, there's no way he'd be that strong. And he's probably even younger than you, Prince Lin."
The Michelin restaurant was mostly empty, with only the lamp above their table lit.
While they talked, the chef—busy in the kitchen for ages—finally brought out two freshly grilled, medium-rare steaks.
Blake Lin set down his water glass, picked up his knife and fork, cut a piece of steak, and ate it. His voice was calm: "The guy you're talking about might be strong—among his peers, his strength is definitely worth mentioning."
"But in my eyes, his little tricks aren't enough to make me want to meet him yet."
"Last time I checked out the so-called Master Lin from Seacrest, I thought he might be a real expert. I went in with high hopes, but he turned out to be a second-rate nobody—I could probably kill him with a single finger."
"Now there's this Evan Lin kid. Instead of wasting time seeing how weak he is, I'd rather not bother."
Blake Lin chewed his steak in small bites, skipping the red wine and instead motioning for the chef, who was about to clock out, to bring him a bottle of cola.
The Michelin chef, whom Blake Lin had brought in from France, didn't understand Chinese. He was already upset about working overtime, and now he grumbled in a string of French, clearly in a bad mood.
But Blake Lin didn't get angry. He just smiled, waited for the chef to bring over the cola, and when the chef slammed the bottle on the table to show his displeasure about overtime, Blake Lin still remembered to thank him.
Logan Lu was baffled by the scene, and his gaze at the chubby chef grew even more peculiar.
If that French chef knew what kind of status his boss held in Beijing, he'd probably wet his pants in terror.
Forget status—if Blake Lin just pinched him with his little finger, the guy would be reincarnated on the spot.
But when faced with the French chef's endless complaints, Blake Lin was tolerant. He just smiled, didn't reply, and waited until the chef finished venting and left. Then he quietly continued cutting his steak.
"What was he saying just now?"
Logan Lu asked curiously, even more impressed by Blake Lin's good temper.
"I have no idea."
Blake Lin shook his head. "I don't speak French, and he doesn't speak Chinese."
"Whenever I'm bored and can't sleep, I call him in to work overtime. If he's upset, I don't care what he says anyway. I can't understand him, but honestly, his ranting is pretty entertaining."
That answer left Logan Lu speechless. He gave an awkward smile and buried himself in his steak.
Logan Lu thought to himself, maybe this is just how Prince Lin operates. Otherwise, with his status, there'd be no reason for him to keep inviting Logan over to chat.
Most people only see the legend: Beijing's number-one wastrel, the youngest Divine Martial List contender, future powerhouse, and the Lin Clan's sole representative in Beijing. They assume Blake Lin must be antisocial or impossibly arrogant—after all, his background and strength are on full display.
But after spending so much time together, Logan mostly feels that Prince Lin is just an ordinary guy.
He runs a restaurant, sometimes he's busy, sometimes not. When he's in a bad mood, he clears the place out and zones out by the window. He rarely gets angry and almost never looks down on others.
Except, sometimes when Blake Lin talks about those so-called famous experts, he'll show a bit of disdain.
It's not arrogance—it's just the natural pride that comes from being a true powerhouse.
But when it comes to ordinary people, Blake Lin really doesn't have a trace of arrogance or aggression.
After finishing their steaks, Logan Lu took the initiative to clear the dishes.
Blake Lin didn't stop him. He just lounged on the sofa, gazing at the night sky outside the window, feeling lazy but bright-eyed, his mind wandering to worlds beyond.
When Logan finished cleaning up and returned, he found Blake Lin already asleep.
He was leaning there, eyes closed, breathing evenly—like a neighborhood boy worn out from playing games.
Not daring to disturb him further, Logan quietly left the restaurant and closed the door behind him.