Chapter 172: Trouble Strikes Again

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I saw Gao Mo appear and thought to myself, this time the scammers have really gone all out, even fooling Meng Xiaoyu. Meng Xiaoyu’s business in Jiangcheng was actually quite straightforward—she owned several large nightclubs, but her main enterprise was Wanguo Department Store, the famous shopping centers in Jiangcheng, all under her name. She also developed commercial hubs with cinemas and other amenities, primarily targeting female consumers. Women have always been a significant driver of GDP.

I once asked Shen Yihu how much money Meng Xiaoyu actually had. He told me the Meng family was extremely wealthy, and Meng Xiaoyu’s holdings were just a fraction of it. Their main operations were in the U.S., with minimal involvement domestically.

Given Meng Xiaoyu’s prowess, it was shocking that Yingfei Group had managed to deceive her. When Gao Mo and a team of police officers arrived, a crowd of elderly people surged forward, wailing and pleading. Some elderly women clutched at the officers, crying their hearts out. One woman with high blood pressure fainted from the stress, and the officers quickly called an ambulance to take her to the hospital.

I told Feng Wushuang to look after my parents and pushed through the crowd, calling out, “Gao Mo! Over here!” She spotted me and said, “You got scammed too? Weren’t you the one who specialized in deceiving people’s feelings?”

My face darkened. “It’s my parents—they lost 90,000 yuan.”

Gao Mo didn’t bring up Chen Tucha to tease me further. Instead, she led me upstairs. The computers and monitors had already been cleared out, and the office was empty except for a few smashed desks.

She held up three fingers. “Our group was scammed for this much by Yingfei.”

“Three million?” I asked.

She shook her head. “Three million wouldn’t even warrant my involvement. It’s three billion. The project was in high-tech, and we were collaborating with a Japanese tech company.”

Gao Mo was Meng Xiaoyu’s top assistant, with five or six others beneath her. Unless it involved three billion, she wouldn’t have been involved at all.

I frowned. “Three billion just gone like that? Surely you can recover it. Even if I don’t understand contracts, a shell company couldn’t just walk away with three billion that easily.”

“The problem is, the Japanese company is real,” Gao Mo said. “The three billion was already contracted, and all we got was worthless tech. We even secured a factory site. Now rumors are spreading, and the pressure on Meng is immense.”

That made sense. The Yingfei Group was clearly no amateur. Even splitting half of three billion would set them up for life. For Meng Xiaoyu to fall for it, there must have been something legitimate mixed in. The art of deception lies in blending truth with lies.

Japan?

Something felt off. The first time I met Abe Muryu, he mentioned scouting locations for Panasonic in Shanghai—six months ago. Could this be connected?

“What’s the name of the Japanese company?” I asked.

Gao Mo glanced at me. “Abe Financial Group. Why? You know business? I thought you were a ghost hunter.” I chuckled bitterly. “I’ve met a few people from Abe. Not sure if they’re involved, but if you have photos, let me take a look.”

After combing through Yingfei Group’s five-story building, Gao Mo found no leads, and the police came up empty-handed too. Before leaving, she told me, “Yingfei’s boss is named Xiao Buquan. If you want your money back, go after him. Then again, he’s probably already fled the country.”

Xiao Buquan. I muttered the name. How shameless—scamming his own family. Now that I had the boss’s name, I’d track him down to the ends of the earth.

Gao Mo left in a hurry, but I called after her, “Your company was doing fine. Why suddenly jump into high-tech?”

She gave a bitter smile. “Business has been declining for years. We took a huge gamble to pivot—didn’t expect to fall into a pit.”

Outside, the wind howled. Half the elderly had been taken home by their children, some had fainted and been hospitalized, and others stubbornly waited for answers. The police took statements and promised updates.

The old professor and my father refused to leave, determined to get their money back. “I’ve never been scammed in my life,” the professor fumed. “These crooks are despicable.” I consoled him, “Karma will catch up—they’ll have children with no rear ends. And the mastermind, Xiao Buquan, is the worst of them all.”

The professor studied me, then grabbed my hand. “You’ve got remarkable bone structure. Great potential.” I frowned. “Why are you holding my hand?”

He laughed. “I’ve been studying ancient martial arts. I’d like to gift you a lost manual—the *Sunflower Manual*.”

Before parting, the professor exchanged numbers with my father, vowing to recover the money together. After finally coaxing them home, my mother was too upset to eat, her face blank. Feng Wushuang had a flight to Tokyo that afternoon and comforted my mother before reminding me not to miss our New Year’s gathering.

I grinned. “Parties every day—soon enough, we’ll be a couple.”

She turned, her scarf fluttering in the wind, exuding an ethereal grace. “Dream on, Xiao Qi. I’m your sister.”

Well, it was just a thought.

Back home, I searched online for Xiao Buquan’s details.

Then Abe Financial Group crossed my mind. Could their onmyōji roots be involved in this scheme? I called Gao Mo, asking for a map of Wanguo Department Store’s locations in the city. Half an hour later, the map arrived. The feng shui of each site was impeccable, forming an auspicious overall layout. Clearly, Meng Xiaoyu had consulted a feng shui master.

But if someone wanted to sabotage it, they might have tampered with the original feng shui arrangements—masters often leave backdoors. When I called Gao Mo again, she hesitated before handing the phone to Meng Xiaoyu.

“The feng shui master is beyond reproach,” Meng said firmly. “Drop it.” Her tone was odd, but I didn’t press further. After she hung up, I resumed my search for Xiao Buquan.

Then it hit me—if Yingfei was a scam, why would its boss use his real name? It was probably an alias.

My mother still refused to eat. “Xiao Qi, come talk to me.” I smiled. “Sure, Mom.” She called my father over. “Listen, we lost the money, but we’re still healthy. We can’t sit idle. I’ve seen street vendors selling breakfast—why don’t we make dumplings and tangyuan to sell?”

I was furious. “Mom, that’s grueling work, and you’ll just get chased by city inspectors. As your son, I can’t bear to see that.”

I insisted, “I have savings—enough for you and Dad to live comfortably. The city’s full of bad people and polluted air. You’ve lived in the countryside all your lives. Why suffer here?”

My father stayed silent, guilt weighing on him. My mother snapped, “Fine! If the city’s so bad, I’ll just raise more pigs next year.”

My father finally stood, tossing his cigarette aside. “You’re blaming me? I’ll get that money back even if it kills me!”

My mother turned away, wiping tears. The tension was unbearable—Dad stubbornly refusing to admit his mistake, Mom furious at his pride. I remembered her telling me about their early marriage fights—once, Dad threw a chair at her, but she dodged and cracked his head open with a bowl.

When Dad came to fetch her, Grandpa Long Youshui slapped him hard—but Mom stopped the second blow. Grandpa laughed and said, “Alright, go home.” Dad later told me about a neighbor whose wife left after an argument. He sipped his bitter tea, oddly proud of Mom’s bowl incident—like it was a badge of honor.

Every time I heard that story, I vowed never to argue with my future wife.

Watching them now, I counted down from twenty. Sure enough, at five, Dad reached for Mom’s hand. “You’re right. I’ll listen to you.”

I sighed. Couldn’t you have held out until I finished counting?

Mom nodded, heading to the kitchen to fry eggs and boil dumplings. Soon, she served three bowls, including one for Xiao Jian.

Dad rubbed his stomach. “I’m not hungry.” He gave his egg to Mom. “You worked hard—eat more.”

I grinned. “Mom, if you hit him with that bowl again, would it still bleed?”

She smirked. “Xiao Qi, you rascal.”

Dad laughed too.

Over dinner, I suggested they stay in Jiangcheng for a week—visit the Yellow Crane Tower, take a ferry on the Yangtze. I’d find Xiao Buquan within seven days.

Mom shook her head. “No, tomorrow we’ll help at your flower shop.”

I resolved to track Xiao Buquan through Shen Yihu’s connections. With some supernatural help, it shouldn’t be impossible.

After all, the three-billion deal with Meng Xiaoyu wasn’t fully settled yet—Xiao Buquan might still be in Jiangcheng.

Just then, my phone rang. A stranger’s voice said, “Mr. Xiao Qi? Your friend was in a car accident and is at Central Hospital. The medical bills are short. Can you come pay? If not, you can transfer to their hospital account…”

I cut her off. “Wrong number. I’m Lin Danan.” Another scam? Don’t these fraudsters coordinate? Try again another day.

I hung up.

The phone rang again.

I snapped, “Scammer, I’m calling the police.”

An annoyed but sweet voice replied, “I’m Nurse Sun Xiaolin from Central Hospital. Three patients—Liu Jun, Tie Niu, and Liu Jibao—need payment. Hurry.”

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