Chapter 92: The Fate of the Old Village Chief
On the twenty-eighth of January, a Tuesday—the twenty-ninth day of the twelfth lunar month—New Year’s Eve had arrived.
As dawn’s first light crept across the sky, Chen Yan had already risen, for there were important matters to tend to that morning.
As he washed up, he noticed Lu Si Si peeking her head out of her room.
For once, the young lady had woken early, fully dressed and looking fresh in a white down jacket over a checkered wool sweater—likely a new outfit she had brought along.
“Wait a bit, I just finished washing up. I’ll make breakfast in a moment.” With a mouthful of toothpaste foam, Chen Yan called out vaguely. “Go drink some water in the kitchen first.”
“No worries, I’ll help with breakfast.” Lu Si Si smiled sweetly and walked into the kitchen.
By the time Chen Yan finished washing, she was already boiling dumplings—the store-bought frozen kind from the supermarket.
Taste aside, eating dumplings during the New Year was more about tradition than flavor.
Chen Yan was self-sufficient enough to cook a few home-style dishes, but dumpling-making was an art he had yet to master.
Lu Si Si wasn’t much of a cook either, but boiling dumplings was simple enough, and she did it with skill. Seeing that everything was in order, Chen Yan left her to it.
He strode over to Gu Qing Yi’s room and pounded on the door. “Wake up! Time for breakfast.”
The door creaked open, and Gu Qing Yi stood at the entrance, rubbing her eyes with a lazy yawn. “What’s for breakfast?”
“Dumplings. Go brush your teeth.”
“Oh.” The young lady murmured in a sleepy, delicate voice.
Chen Yan couldn’t help but wonder—had this twenty-one-year-old Little Madam stayed up all night gaming again?
Shaking his head, he sighed.
Breakfast was quick and simple—corn and pork-filled dumplings. Chen Yan wasn’t particularly fond of that filling, but Gu Qing Yi devoured over twenty in one go. As usual, Lu Si Si ate the slowest. Seeing that both Chen Yan and Gu Qing Yi had already set down their chopsticks, she immediately said, “You two go ahead and get busy. I’ll take care of the dishes.”
After three days of cohabitation, they had formed an unspoken rhythm.
Lu Si Si, having suffered years of misfortune before turning eighteen, had developed a habit of eating slowly—afraid of choking, perhaps. It wasn’t something she could easily change, so she always volunteered to do the dishes instead.
Gu Qing Yi, on the other hand, was not one for delicate house chores. However, tasks requiring strength? Those she could handle.
Such as sweeping the snow from the courtyard this morning.
It had snowed three days ago, paused for a day, then resumed for another full day and night. The courtyard, once cleared, was now buried under a thick white blanket again.
After breakfast, Chen Yan tossed a broom and a shovel to Gu Qing Yi. She accepted them with a cool expression, but as she swept, a glint of childlike amusement flashed through her eyes.
For a girl like her, why did she always insist on keeping such a stoic face?
Chen Yan watched for a while, then shook his head and left.
At her current pace, clearing the courtyard would take the whole morning—perhaps even require his intervention.
But he had more pressing matters to attend to.
It was time to repay a debt of gratitude.
When Old Madam had passed, the entire village had come together to handle the funeral arrangements. From setting up the mourning hall to officiating the rites, hiring the funeral band, and finally laying her to rest—every household had lent a hand.
Such a favor must be repaid.
When he returned from Jin Ling Prefecture, his car’s trunk had been packed with gifts. But even that wasn’t enough.
After arriving home, he had gone to the small convenience store at the village entrance, sweeping its shelves clean of milk and nutritional supplements.
The remaining shortfall had been settled at the town market, where he ordered a bulk of cigarettes and liquor from several supermarkets, ensuring everything was delivered by last night.
Chen Yan had calculated carefully—
For each household, two cartons of cigarettes, two bottles of liquor, a pack of milk, and a large nutritional gift box from a well-known brand.
The cigarettes were mid-range, about twenty yuan per pack, totaling around five hundred yuan for two cartons.
The liquor was a local brand, priced at nearly two hundred yuan per bottle—two bottles coming to about three hundred yuan.
Add the milk and the gift box, and the total value per household was just over nine hundred yuan, close to a thousand.
For a village, this was considered a heavy gift.
With over a hundred households in the village, the total cost exceeded a hundred thousand yuan.
Had he not come into wealth, such a grand gesture would have been impossible.
But even though he could now afford to, he refrained from raising the stakes further.
He could have tripled the value of the gifts without breaking a sweat, but that would have been unwise.
One must not flaunt wealth carelessly.
And, more importantly, a debt should be repaid proportionately.
If gratitude was returned in excess, one might sow unintended discord instead.
This was a lesson the Old Madam had taught him long ago.
If one family’s funeral garnered village-wide help, and in return, they gifted each household an excessive sum—what then?
Would it not place an unspoken burden on others?
The next time a funeral took place, what would be expected of the bereaved? If they could only afford to return a token sum, would they not feel embarrassed?
Instead of showing generosity, one would be fostering resentment.
In this village, gifts were exchanged with an effortless simplicity—far different from the elaborate customs of the city.
In the city, a guest bearing gifts would be invited in, seated for tea, and entertained with courteous conversation.
Here, things were straightforward.
The village doors were often left open. One merely stepped inside, placed the gift on the table or against the wall, exchanged a few words with the host, and left.
If the host wasn’t in the main hall, the guest would simply call out, wait for someone to emerge from another room, make eye contact, set down the gift, offer a brief greeting, and turn away.
A favor owed, a favor returned—just as it should be.
Thus, the ritual of gift-giving was complete! The entire process, swift as a sword stroke, took no more than two minutes.
So long as the master of the house knew of your arrival and acknowledged your offering, the purpose was fulfilled. This was the way of ordinary exchanges, but should one seek a favor—ah, that was an entirely different matter.
Because of this simplicity, speed became a virtue. Though the village housed over a hundred families, Chen Yan moved with the swiftness of a wandering swordsman, spending but a minute or two at each doorstep. By the time the morning sun had risen to its peak, he had traversed the entire village—save for the old village chief’s residence. That visit he reserved for the first day of the new year, when he would pay his respects in earnest.
Rushing as though pursued by a vengeful spirit, he completed his rounds before noon—delay beyond that would be most inauspicious! For on this eve of the new year, the custom of his homeland dictated that the grand banquet begin in the afternoon. A great table would be set, and from midday till nightfall, the house would be filled with the laughter of kin—some feasting, others lost in games of strategy or idle chatter, cups of fine wine in hand.
To deliver gifts past the appointed hour would be a grave misstep, for one would arrive at another’s threshold just as their family convened. And then—ah! Would they invite you to join them? Decline and appear ungracious, accept and risk overstaying your welcome?
Though Chen Yan possessed the fortitude of a warrior, even he could not avoid the weariness that followed a morning spent visiting a hundred homes. Beads of white frost-like sweat clung to his brow as he finally returned to his courtyard, only to be greeted by an unexpected sight—
Gu Qing Yi stood within the courtyard, sculpting a snowman with practiced grace. She had already completed one, now shaping its features with a sturdy iron shovel. Beside her, Lu Si Si crouched low, rolling an ever-growing sphere of snow, striving to outmatch the first. Three snowmen already adorned the courtyard.
One, a relic of the first day’s snowfall, built by Lu Si Si. The other two, freshly made under the morning’s chill, bore the playful signatures of the two young women. The tallest among them had a smooth, bald head, adorned with cabbage leaves for hair, two pieces of charcoal for eyes, and a carrot nose standing proudly at its center.
The other two were shorter, yet each possessed a distinct character—one bore a simple, smiling face drawn with swift strokes, while the last… Ah! That was the one Gu Qing Yi now refined with the precision of a blade.
Truly, a reckless woman!
Had she really taken a pillow cover from his bedroom and tied it around the snowman’s back? A cloak, was it? A sigh escaped Chen Yan’s lips, yet he could only shake his head in surrender. Very well—if she wished for a snowman with a warrior’s mantle, so be it. The fabric could always be washed later.
A sudden glint flashed in his eyes as he bent down, gathering a ball of snow in his palm. With the swiftness of a hidden dart, he hurled it toward Gu Qing Yi.
Without turning, she lifted her hand lightly, plucking the missile from the air with effortless grace. Her gaze met his, a cold smirk playing upon her lips. “Is that all?”
Before he could retort, she struck back with the speed of a descending hawk. The world blurred for a moment, and then—smack! A perfectly aimed snowball landed squarely on his forehead. The force nearly sent him stumbling.
“Gu Qing Yi, you hit any harder and you’ll be breaking martial law!” he cried.
Laughter erupted as Lu Si Si, emboldened by the battle, scooped up snow and flung it toward him. In an instant, the courtyard became a battlefield, Chen Yan dashing in with wild abandon, facing off against two formidable foes.
Alas, there was no honor in this duel—Gu Qing Yi held dominance over him, striking with relentless precision. Snowballs pelted his head, his shoulders, his very spirit! Soon, she had him pinned to the ground, handfuls of snow shoved into the back of his collar as he bellowed in protest.
Calling upon the art of retreat, he activated his Escape Formula, slipping free of her grasp. Knowing better than to challenge a celestial-ranked warrior, he turned his focus toward Lu Si Si.
She shrieked as he closed in, laughter mixing with the cold winter air. Though she fought back, her throws fell wide, each snowball missing its mark. In the end, he caught her, encircling her within his arms.
From the side, Gu Qing Yi had readied another attack—but upon witnessing the scene, her mirth was severed like a string cut by a sharp blade. Her face, once alight with laughter, tensed, her lips drawing into a thin line.
[Oh? So now the snowball fight turns into a public display of affection?]
With an exaggerated eye-roll, she discarded her snowball and strode into the house.
“You… you should let me go,” Lu Si Si murmured, cheeks flushed. She glanced up at him, her voice a whisper. “Even Gu Qing Yi couldn’t bear to watch anymore.”
Chen Yan smirked. “She’s older than me by a whole generation—you really think calling her ‘sister’ is proper? Feels like you’re siding against me here.”
“Ugh, just let me go already!” Lu Si Si bit her lip, eyes darting away.
Chen Yan chuckled. “Fine. But only if you—”
Before he could finish, Lu Si Si rose onto her toes, her lips pressing swiftly against his cheek. As quickly as it happened, she ducked, slipping from his grasp and fleeing to safety.
The time for merriment passed, and soon, the preparations for the evening feast began.
Spring roll wrappers from the market, fillings mixed and seasoned by hand—chives and minced meat, rich with aroma. Chen Yan’s homeland straddled the line between north and south, its traditions an amalgamation of both. Dumplings were customary, yet not abundant. Fried spring rolls were favored, yet prepared in their own fashion.
But the purpose of the new year was joy, not rigid adherence to rules.
The two women sat at the table, wrapping the rolls—though at first, their creations bore a chaotic nature. Some resembled dumplings, others buns, and still others appeared to be fried dough twists. Nothing quite resembled a spring roll!
But then, Gu Qing Yi’s prowess emerged. A genius who ascended to the celestial realm before the age of twenty, her control over strength and form was unparalleled. Soon, her rolls were crafted with such precision they could put Chen Yan’s own to shame.
Meanwhile, in the kitchen, he stood before the stove, a pair of specially crafted long chopsticks in hand. When Lu Si Si brought over a plate of freshly wrapped rolls, he dipped them into the oil with practiced ease.
A crisp sizzle filled the air as golden fragrance swirled within the kitchen.
Lu Si Si stood by, eyes narrowing in delight at the aroma. And at the doorway—Gu Qing Yi had reappeared, her expression carefully neutral as she leaned against the frame, yet the soft sound of her subtle swallowing did not escape his notice.
When the spring rolls turned to the perfect shade of gold, Chen Yan fished them out, setting them upon a plate to drain. For now, they must wait—one could not rush such delicacies. A brief moment to cool, and then, when the outer shell had lost its sting but retained its crispness—that was when they would be at their finest.
The first plate of spring rolls, over a dozen in number, had barely cooled for a few moments before Gu Qing Yi reached out impatiently, seizing one between her fingers. She bit down eagerly—only to inhale sharply as the searing heat spread through her lips. Yet the aroma of fried chives and minced meat, its rich fragrance intensified by sizzling oil, surged through her mouth and into her nose. Eyes narrowing in pleasure, she exhaled a long breath, savoring the taste.
“How is it?” Chen Yan leaned forward, curiosity gleaming in his eyes.
Gu Qing Yi, too occupied with chewing, merely lifted a hand and gave a firm thumbs-up.
Two full hours had passed, during which Chen Yan exhausted all his culinary prowess. Somehow, he managed to produce four cold dishes and four hot ones.
The cold: spiced sausage and tripe, marinated golden needle mushrooms, smashed cucumbers, and a smoked fish he had prepared days ago.
The hot: braised pork ribs, a hearty mixed stew, beef and potatoes, and a perfectly steamed fish.
Any more than this, and he would have been entirely out of his depth. Yet, as he surveyed the table laden with four cold and four hot dishes, a quiet satisfaction settled over him.
His greatest pride was the braised beef and potatoes—but this was no ordinary beef. Among the gifts Boss Fang had sent for the New Year was an entire box of M5-grade raw steak, the kind reserved for high-end Western cuisine. Instead of grilling it to perfection as intended, Chen Yan had boldly diced it into chunks and stewed it alongside potatoes in a rich red sauce.
To be fair, the taste wasn’t remarkable. The high fat content of the M5 beef made each bite indulgently oily, and after two pieces, the richness became overwhelming.
But tonight, it wasn’t about taste—it was about luxury.
There was fine milk in the house, as well as premium tea leaves. To complement the meal, Chen Yan brewed a large pot of Chen the Great Philanthropist’s signature milk tea, pouring a cup for each of the two young women.
“The first toast,” he declared, raising his cup, “to a joyous New Year!”
Lu Si Si smiled, lifting her own. “May all things go smoothly.”
Gu Qing Yi pondered briefly, then raised her cup with a slow nod. “Then I shall wish us all rapid progress in our cultivation—may we soon ascend to the Immortal Realm! And may I break through to sainthood before long!”
Chen Yan twitched at her words and leaned toward Lu Si Si, whispering, “Ignore her. She’s been reading cultivation novels again.”
Lu Si Si covered her mouth to stifle her laughter, saying nothing.
Though their gathering was small, the three of them made the most of their New Year’s feast, filling the house with warmth and chatter. As the evening deepened, Chen Yan even dragged the television into the main hall, switching it on just in time for the Spring Festival Gala.
Gu Qing Yi watched with initial excitement, only to start yawning before long. “Useless,” she muttered dismissively.
Meanwhile, Lu Si Si, having been up since early morning—shoveling snow and helping with the feast preparations—found herself growing drowsy. Without thinking, she leaned against Chen Yan’s shoulder, exhaustion evident in her posture.
Gu Qing Yi, observing her good eldest son and his future wife, twitched the corner of her lips but said nothing. Instead, a thought struck her. “Where are the fireworks?”
Chen Yan lazily pointed toward the storage room behind the kitchen. “All stacked in there.”
“Let’s set them off!” Gu Qing Yi commanded with the decisiveness of a battle-hardened general.
Thus, moments later, Gu Qing Yi stood in the courtyard, clutching a Gatling gun-style firework tube. She aimed skyward and lit the fuse. At once, a rapid succession of fireworks erupted into the night, crackling and bursting in dazzling displays. Her delighted screams echoed through the yard, accompanied by unrestrained laughter.
Watching her, Chen Yan finally understood—beneath her usual cold and aloof exterior, his little stepmother was, at heart, still just a young girl.
An entire box of Gatling fireworks, fired solely by Gu Qing Yi. Not a single one spared.
Lu Si Si, too timid for such an explosive spectacle, contented herself with two large sparklers, waving them in slow arcs through the frosty air.
Chen Yan stood at the doorway, arms crossed, taking in the scene. The acrid scent of burnt gunpowder filled his nostrils, the crisp laughter of the two girls ringing in his ears.
And then, something in his heart shifted.
For twenty years, he had lived under the watchful gaze of the Old Madam. Her teachings had shaped him, instilling a refined sense of propriety and a natural distance from others. To the world, he seemed more mature than his peers, a man of measured words and perfect decorum.
But that very decorum had always been a shield, its reverse side an untouchable coldness.
Politeness was merely a form of detachment.
Boundaries were a quiet declaration of disinterest.
Yet tonight, as he watched these two young women before him, something unfamiliar stirred in his chest—something warm, something foreign.
[If only this laughter could remain forever…]
The grand supply of fireworks and firecrackers he had ordered from town was utterly exhausted before midnight, thanks to Gu Qing Yi’s unbridled enthusiasm. Even the ceremonial firecrackers meant for the stroke of twelve had already been set off in advance.
The night air settled, leaving behind only the lingering smoke and scattered remnants of exploded casings across the courtyard.
Gu Qing Yi, still brimming with unspent energy, looked toward Chen Yan expectantly. He clapped her on the shoulder. “Tomorrow, we’ll head to town and buy more.”
“Suit yourself.” Gu Qing Yi, as if regaining her usual composure, schooled her features into an indifferent mask and nodded coolly.
Tch.
If you were truly that aloof, let’s see if you can resist tagging along when I go buy more fireworks.
Chen Yan smirked inwardly.
Meanwhile, Lu Si Si had already begun yawning at the entrance to the hall.
“That’s enough for tonight. Time for bed!” Chen Yan announced, waving them inside.
He swiftly tidied the table, discarded the trash, and washed the dishes.
By the time he emerged, Lu Si Si was rubbing her eyes drowsily. He led her to freshen up, then gently ushered her into her room for the night.
Yet, as he stepped back outside, he found Gu Qing Yi standing by the doorway, eyes locked onto him with an unreadable intensity.
“What?” Chen Yan flushed slightly. “I swear I didn’t do anything in her room!”
Gu Qing Yi shot him a sidelong glance but, without hesitation, said, “It’s almost midnight.”
“Yeah? And?”
“When the clock strikes twelve, it’ll be the first day of the New Year. Let’s head up the mountain to the back of the Abandoned Temple—see if that little monk pastes up New Year’s paintings or not.”
Her eyes shone with an eager glint.
Chen Yan yawned lazily—he had no desire to trek up the mountain at this hour. “No need to check. He definitely will.”
“How do you know?” Gu Qing Yi eyed him skeptically.
Chen Yan exhaled a long breath. “When I was delivering gifts to the villagers this morning, I heard the news. The old monk from the mountain left the village yesterday afternoon. He hired Brother Xiao Yang, who runs an unlicensed cab, and had himself taken to the county hospital for treatment.”
After speaking, he turned to look at Gu Qing Yi. “You still don’t understand? That old monk was never truly ill. He was bedridden only because two demon spirits had beaten him, leaving his vitality somewhat damaged. But he knows the thoughts of his disciple…”
“Do you really think he went to the hospital for treatment? No—he was making space for his adopted son and disciple!”
That night, the mountain remained unvisited. Chen Yan returned to his room and slept soundly until dawn.
On the first morning of the new year, he woke up and wandered around lazily. According to tradition, no one worked on this day—no sweeping, no house chores, nothing.
With nothing to do, the two sisters sat together, phones in hand, engrossed in their gaming. Chen Yan greeted them casually before stepping inside, grabbing a thickly prepared gift, and heading toward the home of the Old Village Chief.
The Old Village Chief’s house, though not the largest in the village, nor the tallest, nor the most expansive, had an unshakable weight of authority. Just from this, one could tell the man was no ordinary leader.
Strictly speaking, he shouldn’t be called the village chief anymore—he had served as both the village director and the party secretary, sometimes holding both positions simultaneously. However, years had passed since he stepped down, given his advanced age. He was now well past seventy, a time when he should be enjoying a peaceful life with his grandchildren.
But even with a new village director in place, the Old Village Chief’s words still carried the most weight in Zhao Village.
His surname was Zhao, a name that held great influence here. Though it couldn’t compare to the He family’s status in He Village, the Zhao clan still made up a substantial quarter of the local households, all connected by blood.
Zhao Shan He, now in his seventies, had a son and a daughter—one a teacher at the county middle school, the other a junior official at the county’s traffic bureau. They weren’t extravagantly wealthy, but they lived respectable, dignified lives.
In Zhao Village, where kinship ran deep, the security officer was Zhao Shan He’s nephew by blood, the head of the women’s affairs committee was an apprentice he had mentored back in his farming machinery days, and the current village director had nearly dropped out of school years ago due to poverty—until Zhao Shan He personally stepped in to help cover his tuition.
This old man—while not quite an emperor of the village—was a man whose every word was law. When he spoke, it struck the ground with a resounding weight.
His home sat in the southern part of the village, near a small river, with a wheat field stretching behind the house. Like most villagers, his courtyard gate remained open, welcoming all.
As Chen Yan stepped inside, he immediately noticed a mahjong table set up in the main hall. The house was full, no doubt with returning family members gathering for the new year.
Outside, the old man crouched under the eaves, a cigarette between his fingers, teasing a small dog.
Chen Yan glanced over and chuckled—it was the very same puppy that had wandered into his home a few days prior, where Lu Si Si had caught it and cuddled it for half the day. He hadn’t expected it to belong to the Old Village Chief.
“Elder Zhao! Happy New Year!” Chen Yan called out with a grin.
The old man lifted his eyelids and gave him a once-over before propping himself up on his knees. “Chen Yan, you’re here. Go inside and find yourself a seat. They’re playing cards.”
In the village, visits during the new year were informal—more like dropping by a relative’s house. No excessive formalities were needed.
With a broad smile, Chen Yan entered the house, recognizing more than half of the people inside. He casually placed his gift by the wall.
But the Old Village Chief followed him in, eyeing the gift with a deep frown.
The items were the same as usual—two cartons of cigarettes, two bottles of liquor, a case of milk, and a grand gift basket.
Yet this time, the cigarettes were premium Huazi, the soft pack. The liquor was Feitian Maotai, a luxury.
The old man scrutinized him before his tone took on a sharp edge. “Did you strike it rich? Bringing me such extravagant gifts?”
Before Chen Yan could respond, the old man grabbed him by the arm and dragged him outside. His grip was strong, and his steps forceful.
Once they reached the courtyard, the old man let go and fixed his sharp gaze on Chen Yan. “Explain yourself. What’s going on?”
“What do you mean ‘what’s going on’?” Chen Yan laughed, rubbing his arm. The old man still had impressive strength for his age—he could probably live many more years with such vitality.
In Chen Yan’s twenty-two years of life, aside from his own grandmother, the person he was closest to was this very old man before him.
How close?
Well, even if the old man were to throw a tantrum for no reason and land a few kicks on Chen Yan’s rear, he wouldn’t get the slightest bit angry. He’d even praise the old man’s footwork with a smile.
After all, back when he was a mischievous child, he had once climbed onto the old man’s roof and broken his tiles.
And when he had left for university, dragging heavy bags with him, the only people who saw him off at the county’s train station were his grandmother and this very Old Village Chief.
“You little brat!” The old man raised a brow and bent down as if to take off his shoe—his classic move for dealing with mischief.
Chen Yan quickly stepped back, still grinning. “Elder Zhao, you can’t be angry on the first day of the year, and you certainly can’t hit the young ones!”
“Are you lecturing me on rules now?” The old man huffed, but he didn’t remove his shoe. Instead, he waved Chen Yan back over, lowering his voice. “I heard you gave gifts to every household in the village yesterday. A thousand yuan per family—ten thousand spent in total! That’s generosity alright! What, have you become some wealthy lord outside? You can’t just throw money around like this!”
“I landed a good job, a proper one. Legal and all, you can rest assured.” Chen Yan smiled, reassuring him. “You know me, Elder Zhao. I grew up right under your nose. I’d never stray onto a crooked path.”
“That much is true.” The elder nodded but still furrowed his brows. “How much silver can you even earn from this so-called job? Don’t try to fool me!”
“I make money,” Chen Yan answered with a practiced ease. “After graduation, I roamed the ancient curio street near the academy and chanced upon a couple of old artifacts. The wealthy in the city have a taste for such things. One sale, and I made a hefty profit.”
A simple excuse, impossible to verify. He had considered saying he won a lottery, but Zhao Shan He was stubborn to the bone. If he claimed it was a lottery, the old man would interrogate him relentlessly—What ticket? What draw? What issue? He would dig until he found the truth.
“You think you can trick me?” Zhao Shan He narrowed his eyes. “Boy, I watched you grow up! I saw your face the day you lied after breaking my rooftop tiles. You dare lie before me again?”
“Uh…”
The elder sighed and gave him a long look. Then, as though speaking to himself, he murmured, “Did you learn your grandmother’s ways?”
Chen Yan’s expression flickered.
Zhao Shan He caught it and nodded knowingly. “I see.”
He sighed again, looking at the horizon as if seeing distant memories. “I lived next to your grandmother for half my life. I know she possessed some uncanny abilities. She could make money too… You must have inherited her craft and used it to earn a living in the city.”
Chen Yan nodded slightly. “You could say that.”
“Figures.” The old man muttered, “Your grandmother always said her skills were good for earning fleeting wealth.”
Then he fixed Chen Yan with a stern gaze. “But she also said—fleeting wealth is just that, fleeting. You cannot rely on it forever. A man must have a proper path in life. Do you understand?”
“I understand!”
“If you’re making money, don’t waste it frivolously!” Zhao Shan He lectured. “Save up, buy yourself a home in the city, find a wife! Got it?”
“Got it, got it, got it!” Chen Yan grinned.
“And take back this wine and tobacco you brought!”
“No way!” Chen Yan shook his head, grinning like a mischievous fox. “I don’t smoke or drink. If I take them back, it would be a waste. Just keep them, Elder Zhao.”
As he spoke, he strode over, took the box of cigarettes from his gift bag, and swiftly tore the packaging.
“Look!” He waved the now-opened box. “No returning it now. You might as well enjoy it.”
“Hah! Even loose packs can be returned,” Zhao Shan He scoffed.
Chen Yan sighed, his tone turning softer as he leaned in. “Elder Zhao, you watched me grow up. Now that I’ve graduated and started earning, shouldn’t I be allowed to show my respect to you?”
The old man’s expression shifted ever so slightly.
Chen Yan continued in a quiet voice, “I would have liked to show this respect to my grandmother too, but I never got the chance.” He paused before adding, “So please, let me offer it to you instead. Smoke the cigarettes I bought, drink the wine I brought. Alright?”
Zhao Shan He looked into the young man’s earnest gaze and, after a silent moment, nodded.
Chen Yan immediately beamed, guiding the old man to a worn wooden stool in the corner.
Then, from his gift bag, he retrieved a leather pouch. “Elder Zhao, this is for you!” He grinned. “Your old pouch has seen better days. The leather is peeling. Time for an upgrade! This one isn’t anything fancy, just something practical. You don’t have to hesitate.”
“Hah! What do you know?” The old man scoffed, rubbing the new pouch between his fingers, though his lips twitched with amusement. “My old one is an honor! More valuable than your new-fangled things. You couldn’t buy one like mine even if you had all the gold in the world!”
“Yes, yes, I know. Your pouch is steeped in history and glory,” Chen Yan said with a laugh. “But even relics deserve retirement.”
The old man waved him off but finally took one of the cigarettes from the box, placed it between his lips, and lit it. Taking a deep inhale, he exhaled a thin stream of smoke. “Fine. I’ll indulge in your little offering.”
Then, he suddenly gave Chen Yan a sideways glance. “One more thing! The whole village has been talking. You returned with two young women—both fair and striking. What’s the story there?”
Chen Yan inwardly sighed. [Elder Zhao, don’t blame me for lying again. The truth is simply unspeakable.]
Lu Si Si was easy enough to explain—just call her his sweetheart, and the old man would only be delighted.
But Gu Qing Yi?
Should he tell the old man that she was the rightful wife of the father he never met? That she was his legitimate mother? That she was twenty-one while he was twenty-two? That he, despite being older, was actually her illegitimate son?
How could he say that?
Who would believe it?!
“Just a classmate and my girlfriend,” Chen Yan answered vaguely.
It wasn’t a lie. Lu Si Si, though not from his school, studied in the same university town. They saw each other frequently. Calling her a classmate wasn’t incorrect.
As for the girlfriend part, well, that was true too.
He had merely omitted Gu Qing Yi.
Zhao Shan He narrowed his eyes. “Truly just a classmate and a girlfriend? You haven’t picked up any bad habits in the city, have you?”
“Absolutely not!” Chen Yan immediately declared. “My hands are clean, my conscience clear! They’re both university students, pure as jade and clean as snow!”
“Hmph.” The old man finally relented, pulling out a weathered wallet and fishing out a red banknote. “Here. Your lucky money.”
Chen Yan grinned ear to ear and accepted it. “Many thanks, Elder Zhao!”
The elder snorted. “When you have time, bring your girl over and let me take a look.”
Chen Yan carefully tucked away the red note and smiled. “I’ll pass on their thanks, but bringing them here will have to wait. We just started dating, she’s still shy. Things aren’t fully settled yet. Next time, when things are more stable, I’ll definitely introduce her properly.”
“That will do.” Zhao Shan He tapped his cigarette and added, “More importantly, take her up the mountain. Let your grandmother take a look at her as well.”
Chen Yan’s expression softened. “I will. I promise.”
Under the stern yet steady rebuke of the old man, Chen Yan did not feel the slightest irritation. Instead, a peculiar sense of satisfaction welled up within him…
It was just like the past—when he returned home for the New Year, and his grandmother was still around—she would also lecture him in this exact same tone, earnest and insistent.
He had felt that something was missing this year, something intangible, elusive.
But now, with the old man’s rambling admonition—
Ah! There it was!
This was the feeling!
Gazing at the old man’s ruddy complexion, Chen Yan was struck with an idea. He quietly gathered his Qi-Observing Technique, intending to take a glimpse at the elder’s fate.
The old man noticed his gaze and suddenly waved his hand dismissively.
“What are you trying to do? Don’t think I don’t know! You’ve picked up your grandmother’s craft, and now you want to read my fortune? Study my face? Peek into my fate?”
Chen Yan blinked, then chuckled. “Elder Zhao, you know quite a bit about this.”
“Hmph! I’ve known your grandmother for decades,” Zhao Shan He replied with a faint smile before his face turned serious. “Don’t read my fate.”
“Huh?”
“I never let your grandmother read it while she was alive, and I won’t let you do it either.”
Chen Yan fell silent.
Elder, are you… tsundere?
Does he even realize how many people once begged his grandmother for a reading? Even Little Ma of West Lake, that slippery character…
And yet here he was, refusing outright.
“Why not?” Chen Yan grinned. “Understanding one’s destiny, seeking fortune, and avoiding calamity—isn’t that a good thing?”
The old man let out a cold chuckle, and then, unexpectedly, he uttered something that left Chen Yan momentarily stunned.
“If fate were laid bare before us, crystal clear… then what meaning would life still hold?”
Chen Yan: ???
With a proud smirk, Zhao Shan He continued, “I, Zhao Shan He, have walked this life with an upright heart and a steady step. I have never done anything to bring shame upon myself, nor do I fear ghosts knocking on my door! If even I were to face some ridiculous misfortune, then it would mean that the heavens are truly blind!”
He sneered. “Tell me, if the heavens were truly blind, what would be the use of trying to calculate its will?”
Chen Yan was taken aback.
…That actually made a lot of sense?
The old man laughed again, his voice steady and resolute.
“I am over seventy years old. I have a son and a daughter, many grandchildren, and they are all filial. My family has land, a house, and we do not lack for money or food. When I speak, people within ten miles listen to me with respect.
“Do you think I lived this life by consulting some so-called destiny? By meticulously following some preordained path, dodging calamities and seeking fortune at every turn?
“No! I lived it step by step, by my own hands! I carved my own fate!”
His words stirred something deep within Chen Yan’s heart.
Since he had embarked on the path of cultivation, his understanding of fate and destiny had always been clouded, filled with uncertainties he could not quite resolve. Yet now, this old man’s words struck a chord within him, forcing him to reconsider—
Is fate truly an immutable decree?
Does fate dictate a person’s encounters and choices, or… do those encounters and choices, in turn, shape one’s fate?
Seeing Chen Yan lost in thought, the old man reached out and gave him a firm pat on the head. “You, boy—ever since you were little, your mind has been too full of tricks! I tell you not to look, but I wouldn’t put it past you to sneak a peek anyway.”
He smirked. “But I’ll save you the trouble—you won’t see my fate. It’s useless to try.”
With that, he reached into his robe, rummaged around, and pulled something out, spreading his palm open for Chen Yan to see.
Chen Yan looked carefully and could not help but twitch the corner of his mouth.
It was… a mahjong tile.
A yellowed mahjong tile—a Red Zhong!
A hole had been drilled through its center, and a red string threaded through, allowing it to be worn around the neck like a charm.
There was a flicker of pride in Zhao Shan He’s eyes as he chuckled, “Your grandmother gave this to me back in the day. When she wanted to read my fate and I refused, she said she was afraid that one day, curiosity would get the better of her and she’d take a peek anyway. So she made me this and gave it to me as a gift.”
The old man chuckled, his eyes twinkling like the stars before dawn. “As long as I wear this little trinket, no matter what kind of mystical arts others employ, they won’t be able to see my fate—not even I can see it myself.”
Chen Yan was momentarily stunned. The old man grinned wider, gesturing at him with an encouraging nod. “If you don’t believe me, try it yourself. Use that technique your grandmother taught you and take a look at me.”
Intrigued, Chen Yan focused his Qi Observation Technique on the old man. In an instant, his expression shifted drastically!
Under the mystic gaze of Qi Observation, the old man’s head was completely devoid of any aura—not a trace of fate, fortune, or calamity! It was as though the technique had simply ceased to function in his presence, like trying to grasp mist with bare hands.
Chen Yan’s gaze shifted to the small object in the old man’s hands—a simple Red Zhong Mahjong Tile. Desire flickered in his eyes.
[This thing… is a treasure!]
The old man caught the look and let out a hearty laugh. “Heh! You want it, don’t you?” But just as quickly, he tucked the tile back into his robe. “Not yet. I made a promise to your grandmother. This treasure is mine to keep for a lifetime. Only when I pass on will it return to your family.”
Chen Yan nodded, smiling. “Alright then, Elder Zhao. In that case, I’ll wait another thirty or fifty years for you to hand it down to me!”
The old man burst into laughter, immensely pleased by the words. The elderly, after all, always enjoyed hearing auspicious blessings of long life.
Chen Yan lingered in the village chief’s house for another hour, sharing a cup of tea and a leisurely smoke while exchanging stories of the past. Then, he excused himself. The old man was never one for false courtesies—he simply waved him off without bothering to insist he stay for a meal.
Stepping out into the village road, Chen Yan felt an inexplicable lightness in his heart, as though the weight of time had shifted.
[Only now does this place finally feel like home.]
Humming a tune under his breath, he walked towards his house. From a distance, he spotted a lone figure pacing restlessly at the entrance of his courtyard, like a man struggling with a great dilemma.
It was Chu Yi.
Chen Yan smiled and approached with an easy stride. “Chu Yi? What brings you down from the temple? Shouldn’t you be up there meditating?”
At the sound of his voice, Chu Yi stiffened, his face turning crimson. When Chen Yan stepped closer, the young man became visibly flustered, fidgeting and shuffling his feet. He had always been slow of thought and clumsy with words, but now he was practically stomping in frustration, unable to form a coherent sentence.
Suddenly, as though unable to hold it in any longer, he dropped to his knees with a heavy thud.
“Brother! Brother! I beg you, please help me!”
Chen Yan was taken aback. He quickly reached down to lift him up. “What’s gotten into you? What do you need help with?”
Chu Yi’s voice trembled, his face still burning red. “I—I was told that you might be my only hope!”
Chen Yan raised an eyebrow. “Told? By whom?” He glanced toward the distant mountain.
“The two on the mountain, right?”
Chu Yi nodded frantically, his anxious expression growing more desperate.
Chen Yan pondered for a moment, then sighed. “Alright, tell me exactly what’s going on.”
[A rare moment indeed, for someone like Chu Yi to be this worked up. This must be something serious.]
And so, under the faint glow of the setting sun, the young monk, with a heart weighed down by troubles, prepared to unveil his plight.
This novel is translated and hosted on Bcatranslation