I laughed and said, “Let’s talk somewhere else. I know Brother Shan, but you just hit someone’s Fukang car. Can you afford to pay for it?”
Chen Yongming replied, “Xiao Qi, you’re ruthless.”
Within fifteen minutes, Chen Yongming and I were sitting alone in a KFC. Chen Tutu stayed with the young fox girl to comfort her. Chen Yongming said, “Xiao Qi, I still remember how you took a beating for me back then.”
“Fuck your mother. Back then, I thought you were being falsely accused, but turns out you really did grope that girl. I’m not here to reminisce. Hand over all the renovation blueprints and addresses for the Abe Group’s projects. I’ll give you two hundred grand.” I was furious. That incident had cost me more than just a beating—my status as a Party activist was downgraded to a mere Youth League member, while Chen Yongming became a probationary Party member.
Chen Yongming hesitated. “That’s confidential business information. I can’t just leak it.”
“Two hundred grand isn’t enough? Let me ask you again—can you afford to pay for that Fukang?” I lit a Baisha cigarette. Chen Yongming knew he could, but he stayed silent.
“You’re basically spying. The Japanese have ulterior motives,” I warned.
Chen Yongming looked skeptical. “Wait, did you really join the Ministry of State Security? You just run a flower shop on the surface.” I smirked. “You think a flower shop could land me a girl like that?”
Chen Yongming fell silent.
As we left, Chen Tutu came in and told me to wait—things were getting heated outside. I peeked out and paled at the scene.
Song Youwei was crying hysterically. “Chen Yongming, you heartless bastard! Just because I worked in the coal mines… you abandoned me!”
I felt a pang of guilt. Poor Song Youwei.
I’m sorry.
Chen Tutu and I shared a family bucket while waiting for the chaos outside to settle.
The next morning, Chen Yongming delivered the blueprints. Sure enough, several renovation spots were marked in Meng Xiaoyu’s WanGuo Department Store. The changes were designed to disrupt the grand feng shui arrangement Meng Xiaoyu had set up.
I transferred Chen Yongming the two hundred grand—money I’d later recover from Meng Xiaoyu. I called Gao Mo, telling him I had evidence of sabotage. He offered to pick me up. Armed with my golden compass, I headed straight to Meng Xiaoyu’s office.
Meng Xiaoyu, her hair elegantly coiled, looked more mature and alluring than ever.
Shen Yihu, that lucky bastard, had married such a woman. But fate was fair—while he enjoyed her beauty, he also endured her fiery temper.
Meng Xiaoyu wasted no time. “You found the blueprints? Name your price.”
Business was business to her.
Behind her, two elderly men in robes were scrutinizing maps and a sand table, muttering calculations involving mystical numerology.
“Two hundred ninety thousand,” I said.
Two hundred grand for the bribe, ninety to cover my parents’ losses—easy money from Meng Xiaoyu.
She snapped her fingers, and the cash was handed over. I tossed the blueprints onto the table and watched one of the old men pace restlessly.
Meng Xiaoyu added, “You’re a feng shui master too. Break this curse, and I’ll double that.” She held up a finger—I didn’t know the exact amount, but it was substantial.
The old man examined my notes, which outlined how to redirect trapped energy and unblock the Dragon’s Breath across five key points.
“Who taught you this?” he demanded.
“My master was Long Youshui. I’m from the Ghost School.”
The old man frowned. “Never heard of it. Who’s Long Youshui?”
Meng Xiaoyu introduced him. “This is Meng Shenlong, our family’s feng shui master. He designed the original layout in Jiangcheng.”
I bowed respectfully. “Long Youshui was my grandfather. The Ghost School is obscure, so it’s natural you wouldn’t know. Let’s work together to crack this.”
I pulled out my golden compass, its light shimmering.
Meng Shenlong trembled. “The Golden Compass…” Tears streamed down his face.
Confused, I asked, “What’s wrong? It’s just a compass.”
He shook his head. “Nothing. It just… moved me. Where did you get this?”
“Found it by chance in Yunnan. Do you recognize it?”
“No, but whoever wielded this was no ordinary man. You’re blessed to have it.”
Using the sand table, we devised a countermeasure: shutting down specific shops near the department stores to neutralize the curse. Abe’s modifications—some underground, others atop buildings—were meant to sever WanGuo’s vitality.
Meng Shenlong proposed ruthless retaliations, like blocking Abe’s life gates with strategically placed mirrors.
Ancient feng shui masters often left backdoors in their work. If clients betrayed them, they’d sabotage the layout, ensuring ruin within a decade.
True masters could alter fate with minor adjustments—like the butterfly effect in meteorology.
Meng Shenlong was one such master.
“Your blueprints were crucial,” he admitted.
As we wrapped up, he begged to hold the compass again. His hands shook as he traced its engravings.
“I was never destined for this,” he murmured. “Young man, treasure it. Or… would you consider becoming my disciple?”
“I can’t betray my lineage. The esoteric community would scorn me.”
He sighed. “You’re right. Forgive an old man’s loneliness.”
The elderly grow lonely because their stories outlive their listeners.
Suddenly, the compass needle spun wildly, pointing southeast.
Something scuttled across the wall—a shadowy figure in a WWII Japanese uniform. Meng Shenlung hurled sand, forcing it to materialize.
The specter writhed, seeking escape. Meng Xiaoyu yanked open the curtains, and sunlight consumed it.
“The Golden Compass senses what even I miss,” Meng Shenlong said.
“Why is Abe targeting you?” I asked.
“Because we barred them from Jiangcheng. This city sits at the confluence of dragon veins. We won’t let them poison it.”
I believed him.
Meng Xiaoyu slammed the window shut. “They dare invade us?”
Gao Mo entered. “Boss Meng, Abe’s suing us over the 300-million-yuan tech deal.”
“Damn swindlers. Damn con artists. Damn Xiao Buquan!”
Then my phone rang—my mother. “A-Qi, your father went with that old professor to find Xiao Buquan.”
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