Rebirth at the Start: This Fate is Too Explosive!

Chapter 516 The Paparazzo Who Almost Ascended to Immortality

Ye Fan seemed to have exhausted all his strength. His body swayed, and he staggered back two steps, leaning against the wall before slowly sliding down to the ground.

Despite his physical condition being far superior to that of ordinary people, the sustained high-intensity static burst and the mental tension of being on the verge of life and death still made his heart pound wildly in his chest like a war drum, and his arm muscles throbbed with aches and pains.

The violent breathing in the living room gradually subsided, leaving only the heavy breathing of someone who had survived a disaster.

Ye Fan propped himself up on his knees, and kicked the man's dusty shoe tip with his toe, his tone a mixture of post-traumatic frustration and lingering fear:

"Dude, what's wrong with you? Going bungee jumping like Spider-Man in the middle of the night, and specifically choosing to do it right under my window? If you're really going to do something drastic, at least find somewhere else, don't dirty my freshly cleaned windows!"

The man in black finally regained his senses after being scared out of his wits.

He rubbed the deep red, glaring mark on his neck, wincing as he frantically tried to explain:

"Brother...brother! It's a misunderstanding! A huge misunderstanding! I wasn't trying to kill myself! I...I was just a novice, my foot slipped and I fell!"

Ye Fan didn't speak, but looked him up and down with a "keep making this up" look. He was speechless.

He even had a bizarre thought: What if I interrupted this guy's preparation to travel through time or be reborn and return to the previous state, and then physically intercepted him halfway and pulled him back to reality with a bed sheet?

Of course, such far-fetched ideas can only remain buried in one's heart.

Ye Fan had already guessed about 70-80% of what was going on, but he remained outwardly calm.

He deliberately drew out his words, his tone dripping with sarcasm: "Oh~ a slip? Look at your outfit..."

He pointed to the specialized equipment: "Could it be that these are air conditioner repairmen who insist on serving the public in the dead of night...? But I've never heard of any air conditioner being so precious that it requires being suspended by wires at 3 a.m. to be repaired?"

The man blushed, so embarrassed he wanted to disappear into the ground. He waved his hands repeatedly, saying, "No way! I'm actually a reporter! A legitimate, licensed media professional!"

He instinctively reached for his ID, only to find his pockets empty; he guessed they had fallen out during the struggle.

"Huh? A reporter?"

Ye Fan pointed forcefully at the dark windowpane: "Have the entry requirements for journalists gotten this low now? If you can't scale walls, climb rocks, or even occasionally jump off buildings... you're not even qualified to write an article? Is your editor-in-chief hiring people according to spy standards?"

"It wasn't jumping off a building! It really wasn't jumping off a building..." The man was particularly sensitive to this word, like a cat whose tail had been stepped on, and he nervously emphasized it again.

Ye Fan observed that although he was disheveled and still in shock, there was no ferocity or cunning in his eyes. Instead, there was a sense of annoyance and lingering fear from messing things up.

He felt reassured, turned around and sank into the sofa with a flourish. He casually picked up a cigarette case from the coffee table, lit one for himself, and tossed another over: "Sit down. Calm down."

The man didn't stand on ceremony; his hand was still trembling slightly as he took the cigarette.

He shakily leaned over the lighter Ye Fan handed him, lit it, and greedily took a deep drag.

The pungent nicotine, mixed with the burning heat of tobacco, rolled down my throat and into my lungs, as if only then could I completely suppress the chilling fear and lingering dread that had seeped into my bones.

Amidst the swirling smoke, his tense nerves finally relaxed a little, and he began to talk.

"Hey...brother, now that things have come to this, I won't hide it from you anymore."

He wiped his face, a wry smile appearing on his face:

"I work in entertainment reporting. A couple of days ago I got a juicy scoop: that super popular young actor has arranged to meet a campus beauty from Jinling Normal University tonight for an intimate chat in a luxury apartment on the top floor of the building across the street."

Ye Fan casually picked up an unopened bottle of mineral water from the table, unscrewed it, and handed it over, gesturing for him to continue with his eyes.

The man gratefully accepted it and gulped down several large mouthfuls; the icy water seemed to extinguish the burning pain in his throat.

He wiped his mouth, a renewed glint of professional fervor rekindling in his eyes, and lowered his voice to say:

"Isn't that weird? In the whole neighborhood, only your room has the perfect angle to avoid the gap left by that damn thick curtain across the street, allowing you to capture the clearest, most irrefutable image!"

His tone carried the excitement of discovering a gold mine, but it quickly deflated:

"But the entire corridor of this building is lined with floor-to-ceiling windows! There's no way I can sneak up to your door without a sound! I had no choice but to take the risk, rappell down from the top floor with a safety rope, and hang outside your window like a gecko... just to take those few deadly photos!"

He took another deep drag of his cigarette, a look of lingering fear mixed with a hint of lewdness on his face:

"Everything was going according to plan, all set! But who knew those two on the other side... they were playing so damn... cough cough, so wild! The noise, the poses... I had just focused my camera, getting really into filming, when my palms started sweating, I lost my footing and slipped!"

He slapped his thigh in frustration:

"But man proposes, God disposes! That rope, of all times, got right around my neck! I almost hanged myself on the spot and went straight to meet the King of Hell! Thank goodness for you, brother! My savior!"

As Ye Fan listened to this bizarre and absurd "work report," the corner of his mouth twitched uncontrollably.

"..."

Damn, this guy is a real gem!

In order to film some celebrity bedroom secrets, they turned entertainment gossip into a Mission: Impossible scene!

This is no ordinary paparazzi.

This is practically a retired special forces reconnaissance soldier trying to poach talent from the entertainment industry!

Ye Fan was internally ranting, but at the same time, a clear idea popped into his head.

Although this behavior is despicable and vile, the crazy "dedication" of using any means necessary to achieve the goal, even at the cost of one's life, and the professional skills demonstrated in intelligence gathering, route planning, and covert filming...

If you can hold this knife in your own hand and use it where you need it, it will definitely be an all-pervasive intelligence weapon!

As his business grew, he also needed an intelligence team.

The night outside the window was as dark as ink, so deep it seemed impossible to see through.

The lingering fear of narrowly escaping death had not completely dissipated in the living room.

Perhaps the aftereffects of the alcohol were too potent, or perhaps the soundproofing of this upscale apartment was truly exceptional; the three girls in the bedroom were still fast asleep, completely unaware of the thrilling life-or-death rescue unfolding outside the window.

Ye Fan leaned back comfortably against the thick back of the sofa, the cigarette butt between his fingers flickering in the dim light.