Miss Beautiful C.E.O and her system-Chapter 717 - Slice of life?

A group of four—well, three women and a little girl—shared a takeout dinner, the simple scene radiating unexpected warmth.

If only the Spirit Fox operators' uniforms didn't disrupt the atmosphere with their bulky, tactical fierceness. Still, the two had already pushed their hoods back, revealing their faces beneath the helmets.

The mother and daughter, especially the little girl, exclaimed in delight, "Pretty!"

Neither of them had expected that the women working in such a dangerous line of duty could possess such captivating allure.

Of course, the faces they revealed were masked by subtle holographic projections to conceal their true identities. But even then, their real faces underneath weren't far off—they were genuinely beautiful.

After all, Spirit Fox girls exercised regularly, ate nutritious meals, and maintained their health with discipline. Regardless of genetics, their appearance was naturally elevated by the alluring physiques honed through years of intense training. There was a vibrant, magnetic energy within them—an aura that couldn't be faked.

On top of that, the ancient sutras they practiced enhanced both their bodies and even their genetic potential in imperceptible ways.

With such graceful curves and strength in form, it was only natural for these operators to be considered beauties. Many of them had even grown from their once shorter statures into healthy, model-like proportions.

In fact, on average, all of them ranked slightly above standard beauty norms. That was why Ling Qingyu always praised herself so proudly when she was with Tang Ziyi, declaring that her harem was the most beautiful in the world.

How much good karma must she have accumulated in her past life to deserve such a stunning view? Even if her girls were absolute monsters in terms of strength and ability, in her eyes, they were adorable.

No—correction—they were handsome.

Either way, the mother and daughter felt even happier, believing they'd seen the operators' real faces, deepening the emotional bond between saviors and saved.

The mother even pledged to treat them to a proper home-cooked dinner once everything was resolved. Her offer, however, was politely declined—gently, but firmly—so as not to burden her further.

Besides, the operators were keenly aware that Spirit Fox still had enemies out there, even with past missions concluded successfully.

There were remnants lurking in the shadows, ready to exploit any act of kindness. The operators could show compassion—but not to the extent that they risked putting the mother and daughter on an open stage for retaliation.

"Madams, I don't know how to express my gratitude. You're like angels," the mother said, her voice soft with sincerity.

"I think you're overpraising us. It's just our duty and responsibility," one operator replied gently, while her partner playfully teased the daughter nearby.

Joyful, peaceful laughter erupted from time to time. Hopefully, this child was doing okay—surviving the trauma, bit by bit.

With warmth like this, perhaps she wouldn't suffer too many nightmares in the future.

"I almost forgot—just in case you face any problems at your workplace or anywhere else, remember the contact I gave you," the operator added, her tone turning more serious. She was concerned the woman might dismiss it or underestimate its importance.

The number led directly to Spirit Foundation, an organization spearheaded by Tao Ling—a woman personally recruited and entrusted by Ling Qingyu to manage the foundation's operations.

The Spirit Foundation provided more than just words. Financial assistance, legal consultations, volunteering support, aid to orphanages—its reach was wide and growing.

Although recently established, its foundation was rock-solid. Backed by Ling Qingyu herself, it took no effort to gather competent professionals—including a number of righteous, fearless lawyers who weren't afraid to stand up against the tide.

The reason was clear: Ling Qingyu had founded the group to fight back against those who exploited the weak, especially the kind of capitalist predators, political elites, and second-generation bullies that crushed struggling families under the weight of law and money.

And behind Ling Qingyu stood Gu Yi, ever firm, though her support remained veiled beneath the surface—tied together by mutual interests.

While Tao Ling served as the foundation's public face, a certain man held the role of vice-director. He was a capable lawyer, but recruiting him had given Ling Qingyu a massive headache.

Why? Because he happened to be closely acquainted with one of her friends abroad—and worse, he was an admirer.

The process of negotiation had numbed her brain. She really didn't want to owe favors, especially not when it involved someone with false hopes.

But in the end, she admitted: with his help, the recruitment process was much smoother than expected.

One good recruit led to another. Then to four. Then to dozens. With competitive salaries and a mission backed by solid principles, Spirit Foundation attracted a formidable collective of righteous legal practitioners.

And now, that inner contact—quietly passed from the operator to the mother—was a lifeline.

Should anything ever turn against her, she wouldn't be left to fend for herself. The Spirit Foundation would stand behind her.

In the event the mother lost her job, the Spirit Foundation could also help find an open position—either within its circle or through external networks.

While two operators stayed behind, warmly keeping the mother and daughter company, the other two, who had parted ways earlier, found themselves stuck in traffic—bored and restless.

Their vehicle was a few cars behind the lead one. The pair exchanged helpless glances as loud music blared from a nearby vehicle next to the lead car. A hand shot out from a window, flailing wildly in rhythm with the beat. At the song's climax, the driver even pointed at the lead vehicle, triggering a ripple of movement as the passengers inside started dancing.

From the two operators' perspective—through weirded-out and mildly entertained eyes—the vehicle shook with enthusiastic force. Back and forth, side to side, matching the tempo of the music.

"At night, people really lose it," the copilot muttered.

"You can join in and catch the frequency. Doesn't hurt to move your hips a little," the driver joked.

"Bullshit," the copilot retorted.

Fortunately, the embarrassing display ended as the traffic light turned green and the convoy surged forward.

The driver took it slow—no need to rush up to more potential eyesores. But at the next red light, something else caught their attention.

A motorbike pulled up beside their SUV. The rider was a woman clad in all-black gear with a white jacket over it. From her stature and curves, she was clearly one of the stunners out there.

The two operators didn't think much of it. If anything, their eyes were just glad not to be tortured again.

But then, a man stepped out of another vehicle and strode toward the female biker.

Even though the SUV's windows were up, voices at this range still reached the operators inside.

"Hey! Unveil your mask," the man said, trying to sound suave and confident—completely unaware of how cringeworthy and intrusive he came off. The girl visibly flinched, panic flashing across her face from the abrupt, aggressive approach.

"Excuse me, this is a little—" she tried to respond politely.

"What's your number, girl?" he pressed, ignoring her discomfort.

The operators sensed the shift in atmosphere immediately—tension thickened, clearly outweighing any awkwardness. Still, as long as the man kept his distance and didn't escalate, it wasn't quite harassment... yet.

Besides, the woman hadn't voiced a firm rejection—perhaps out of fear. Maybe she worried that upsetting the man would provoke reprisal. After all, it wasn't uncommon to hear stories on the news about people being attacked—or worse—for turning someone down.

Her hesitation was perfectly understandable, and the operators inside the Land Rover silently prepared to act. If things went south, they wouldn't hesitate.

Watching the man continue to pester the biker without the slightest hint of guilt or awareness of personal boundaries, the two sighed in unison.

Then he stepped in closer—his hand moving toward her phone.

That was the final straw.

Who does he think he is? Driving a flashy car made him a hero? A king?

The driver flipped the switch. The siren blared once—Whoo!—as blue and red lights burst into life. At the same time, the copilot slid down her window, exposing part of her uniform and face.

The result was instant. The man straightened up like a kid caught stealing, hastily adjusting his expression as if nothing had happened.

"Officer, it's not illegal to ask a girl for her number, right?" he said, trying to sound innocent and unbothered.

"Of course not," the operator replied with a stern frown. "Provided you don't make her uncomfortable."

Words like narcissistic and toxic drifted through her mind. She hoped every woman this man encountered in the future would see right through him and stay far away.

"She didn't say no," he argued.

"She didn't say yes either, sir," the operator shot back, her eyes locking onto his with intensity.

The man coughed, trying to recover, but his bravado had already wilted. His momentum faltered as realization dawned.

At first, he'd assumed they were just regular patrol officers. Then, maybe SWAT. But now—looking closer at their bearing, their gear, their presence—he almost bit his own tongue.

Damn. Thank heaven he hadn't said what he was about to—some sexist garbage about how women need to be "guided."

"You're not seriously assuming that not saying no means yes, are you? That's a bit extreme," the operator challenged.

"Well… sometimes people say a guy needs to be brave to succeed," the man offered weakly.

"Bravery and being a creep don't exactly align, do they?"

Just as the copilot started to get impatient and reached for the door handle to step out, the man raised both hands in surrender and backed off, retreating into his car without another word.

The operator turned to the biker. "Ma'am, are you alright?"

"Thank you, officer," the woman replied softly, lifting her visor just enough to reveal a pair of striking eyes.

"You're welcome." The operator cracked a smile. "You weren't seriously thinking about giving him your number, were you? I'd feel guilty if you did—and scared that I'm doomed to be single forever."

The biker chuckled. "Officer, you're so funny."

"Take care of yourself," the operator said, her tone softening. "And if anyone bothers you again, don't hesitate to call. Unfortunately, what he did didn't quite cross the line into actionable territory. Civil rights cases can be tricky—and messy."

"Will do, officer. I'm just now recovering. Honestly, I barely reacted—it's scary how all my thoughts and movements froze," the biker admitted.

"That's a normal stress response when you feel threatened," the operator reassured her. "But I don't think it's as bad as you're imagining. Sometimes, our emotions make it feel worse than it really was. From what I saw, you held up just fine."

As she spoke, her eyes flicked briefly toward the man who had retreated into his vehicle.

Suddenly, the operator's expression altered but she managed to hide one because of darkness.