Volume 2, Chapter 82 – The Way of the World

Qiyun Circuit, State Chancery residence. Fang Xiaochun was at his desk, brush flying over paper.

Beside him, Fang Wenya sat in an old-style long dress, both legs stuck straight out in defiance, the soles of her feet tilted up to smack together back and forth. Her fair cheeks were puffed up like little buns.

“Still sulking?” Fang Xiaochun finished writing, stretched lazily, and casually glanced her way.

“I’m saying it’s getting late. You should go wash up and rest. Don’t let it affect tomorrow’s work.”

“Work, work, work! All you know is work!” Fang Wenya snapped her head to the side. “I want to go to school! I don’t want to stay in this residence anymore!”

“Do you have a death wish?” Fang Xiaochun chuckled, openly mocking his daughter. “Did you forget what I told you last time? Do you remember what happened to the last State Governor of Qizhou? Do you remember what happened to his family, to his daughters?”

Of course she remembered.

Just thinking of the horrors described in those words made Fang Wenya shiver, but she still refused to back down. “But that was in the past!”

“At the time, no one imagined the Demon-Immortal Dao would dare come south to take revenge on a high official. There’d been a tacit understanding in the south for a long time… no one expected they’d be insane enough to break it!”

“Tacit understanding? Hah!” Fang Xiaochun curled his lip, lifting a finger to point at his daughter from across the room.

“Wenya, remember this… in this world, ‘tacit understanding’ only exists when there’s profit being traded. At any other time, don’t you believe in those two words.”

“Then what about your tacit understanding with Aunt Tao?” Fang Wenya perked right up. “All that ‘lord’ and ‘master’ calling… doesn’t that count as tacit understanding?”

“T-that’s different!” Fang Xiaochun’s face flushed, whether from anger or embarrassment was unclear. “Go wash up this instant! Don’t make me chase you with a stick!”

“I’m being serious, Dad—”

Fang Wenya scooted over and wrapped her arms around his, rubbing her head against his chest in a show of fake obedience.

“I’m not throwing a tantrum… it’s just, you’ve raised me since I was little to take responsibility. And now we’re short-handed on all sides, this is exactly when responsibility is needed, but you’re locking me up in here. What’s the point of doing all that work then?”

She thought Fang Xiaochun would give her another lecture, but after waiting a long while without a response, she couldn’t help looking up at him in surprise.

Fang Xiaochun was staring at his daughter, dazed. Suddenly he said, “You’re right.”

Fang Wenya arched a brow. “Huh?”

“I said you’re right. Everything I told you before was Dad lying to you.” Fang Xiaochun seemed to have made up his mind. His expression relaxed a little. “Women’s education, female court secretaries, female aides—those are just lies. Even if you study your way to the top, you’ll never set foot in the court. No one’s going to give you a place there.”

Huh?

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Now her mouth fell open too, her mind reeling as if struck.

“The reason you get those privileges, get to strut around under the tag of ‘well-read and sensible’ as some so-called talented young lady, is entirely because you’re my daughter.” Fang Xiaochun had decided to wake her up completely, and his words grew ever more merciless. “It’s always been this way. Everything I told you was just to keep you from overthinking and to make you study in peace.”

Boom.

It was like Fang Wenya had been hit by lightning. She stood there stunned, unable to recover.

“Someone.” Fang Xiaochun raised his voice.

“Master.” Two maids推门进 came in at once.

“Take her back to wash and rest.”

“Yes.”

Once everyone had left, Fang Xiaochun walked back to the desk with a long sigh, lifted the calligraphy, and hung it up.

The four large characters read “Vast and Mighty,” the brushstrokes strong and powerful, as if dragons and phoenixes soared across the page. Taken outside, it would qualify as a genuine work of art. His calligraphy really was quite good.

“The grand trend, huh.”

Staring at the xuan paper, Fang Xiaochun let out a low, cold laugh.

“What’s so new about it.”

“It’s nothing but history repeating itself.”

…

On the other side of the city, Lian Feng, with the thug Ma Lu in tow, made his way smoothly into Shiyou Gang territory. Under the sharp, watchful eyes of the gang’s lackeys, he reached the Northern District’s most famous upscale venue, the “Jinhua Dance Hall,” and sat quietly in a private room to wait.

After a while, the door swung open and a hulking, tower-like brute stepped in.

He wore a clearly tailored black suit, sunglasses, a white shirt, black tie, and white gloves—the full set. As he walked, the sides of his jacket parted slightly, giving a clear view of the shoulder holster beneath.

Lian Feng’s mouth twitched, and nerves tightened in his chest.

He suddenly felt like turning back.

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Counting precisely, he was only fourteen years and eight months old. His body hadn’t even fully developed yet. With this iron sword he’d snuck out of the dojo and his half-baked swordsmanship, dealing with street punks was still manageable… but wasn’t this kind of setting a bit too far beyond his weight class?

But there was no such thing as a regret pill in this world. Whether he liked it or not, he was already sitting here. There was no retreat left.

One after another, burly men in suits filed in, lining up along the wall. Only at the end did a man in a white suit and straw hat stride in. With one glance, Lian Feng saw the thick gold chain around his neck.

This had to be the leader of the Shiyou Gang, Han Shiyou.

Lian Feng immediately stood. He’d just opened his mouth, ready to parrot a few lines he’d learned from TV dramas and storybooks to bolster his courage, when he saw “Han Shiyou” step sideways—and bow deeply, with obvious deference.

Huh?

It wasn’t just Lian Feng whose eyes went wide. Even Ma Lu, sitting on the floor like a little bullied wife, was staring.

Lian Feng didn’t know Han Shiyou. But Ma Lu did!

This was definitely Boss Han, no question. So what was this?

Before he could think too much, a tall, lean, wiry man was ushered into the room by Han Shiyou.

The newcomer had a long horse face, and wore nothing more than a rough cotton shirt and dark jeans, with a pair of leather shoes on his feet that didn’t seem to fit his vibe.

He carried a kind of… how to put it…

Whatever the plainest, most honest migrant worker or laborer’s aura was, that’s exactly what he had.

“Brother Huang?” Lian Feng’s eyes flew open in shock. He could hardly believe what he was seeing.

This was “Huang Meng”!

The head of the carpenters’ crew who’d taken him in back then!

“Xiao Feng.”

Huang Meng shifted a little, clearly uncomfortable, then raised a hand to straighten the watch on his wrist. He walked over to Lian Feng and looked down at him. “They told me you’d come back, but I didn’t expect you to make a big splash the moment you showed up.”

“So what, you want to buy a Grade-A slot from Little Han? You want to rely on biotech modification to get stronger?”

Little Han…?

Lian Feng turned to look at Han Shiyou and saw him grinning at him, expression almost deferential.

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In that instant, memories flooded back.

Why that labor crew never banded together with those around them, yet always managed to survive.

Why Huang Meng knew about something as secretive as Grade-A slots within the Shiyou Gang, and had whispered it to him that night in the dark.

Got it.

Lian Feng understood everything.

“Shiyou Gang has a lot of enemies.” Huang Meng found a sofa and sat down, speaking slowly. “We’ve got big shots covering us from above, but big shots only tangle with other big shots. I can’t afford to cross people like that, so of course I need ways to hide myself.”

That much was true.

A prickling chill crept across Lian Feng’s scalp.

Hide.

There was no better disguise than this.

Who would ever imagine that the head of the Shiyou Gang, the biggest gang in the north, was secretly hiding among a crew of laborers as a minor foreman, sleeping in a concrete pipe at night?

“Don’t overthink it.” Huang Meng looked at him calmly. “I took a liking to you, not because your talent is extraordinary, and not because I want anything from you.”

“If I have to put it into words, it’s just… you were pleasing to my eye.”

“You reminded me of my dead younger brother.”

“…Then what do you plan to do with me?” Lian Feng’s voice rasped. “You know what I’m trying to do.”

Huang Meng was the big brother he’d trusted most in all those years. Huang Meng knew about his revenge; the only thing he’d hidden was that his enemy was Zhengwo Dao.

“At first, I thought you joining the Shenming Sword Dao was the best outcome.”

Huang Meng fell silent for a while, then spoke.

“But now I’ll say this: you’re very lucky, because you actually got out of there early.”

What did that mean?

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Lian Feng froze.

“Brother Huang?” It was like he suddenly realized something. He shot to his feet, eyes wide. “Tell me! Is the dojo in danger!?”

“Not right now.”

Huang Meng shook his head. “Talking about it now is pointless. But leaving ahead of time was the right choice.”

“Who is it!?”

Lian Feng stepped right up to him, glaring.

“How many people?”

“When?”

“Brother Huang?”

He grabbed Huang Meng’s shoulders, his face twisted. “Please tell me! Brother Huang!”

What answered him was a hand chop.

One blow knocked the teenager out cold. Huang Meng looked over at Han Shiyou.

“Lock him up. Watch him carefully. Don’t let him do anything stupid in the meantime.”

“Yes!” Han Shiyou hunched his neck and nodded, then glanced at Ma Lu off to the side.

“What about him?”

“You need to ask me that?” Huang Meng shot him a glare and headed for the door. At the threshold, he finally turned back.

“See how much of him is still good.”

“Whatever you can harvest, harvest it.”

“Then sell it.”