Chapter 13: So, It’s You!
Chen Yan had never paid much attention to jade and antiques, for such treasures did not captivate the heart of a youth accustomed to the ways of modern life. Yet he vaguely recalled that beyond the Eastern University City, past two streets, lay an old district fashioned in the style of antiquity—an area crafted by the Imperial Authority to serve as a traditional cultural and tourism zone.
There, along the Ancient Curio Street, were a handful of jade shops. He had visited this place once or twice before during his university days, usually with classmates on leisurely holiday strolls.
Summoning a hired carriage from his phone, Chen Yan made his way toward the Ancient Curio Street. As he leaned back in the seat, gazing at the moving scenery, a thought surfaced in his mind: Perhaps it’s time I bought a car?
His residence was no longer an issue—now he dwelled within a grand estate, luxurious yet somewhat distant from the bustling heart of the city. The wealthier denizens of his gated community all possessed private carriages of their own, gliding through the streets in effortless opulence.
Wealth fuels courage. With seven figures resting in his bank account and an eight-figure hoard of gold sleeping within the vaults of Harbor City, Chen Yan felt the stirring desire to indulge.
But… the moment his carriage approached the tourism district, the roads choked with traffic, the sight alone was enough to shatter his fleeting impulse.
A sea of carriages lay ahead, locked in a stalemate. The year-end festivities loomed, drawing countless travelers into the streets. A smile of self-mockery curled on Chen Yan’s lips. If I were driving, I’d be pulling my hair out by now.
Instead, he lounged in the back seat, scrolling through his phone in ease. No need to fret over parking. No need to battle the tide of restless drivers.
Perhaps… it was simply in his nature to prefer leisure over unnecessary toil.
—
The Imperial Authority’s cultural district bustled with life, the air thick with the scent of festivity. The approaching end of the year, coupled with the looming Western holiday and the dawn of a new year, had drawn merchants into a frenzy of promotional sales.
Students from the nearby Eastern University City, free from academic burdens before the winter break, meandered through the lively streets, their laughter interwoven with the calls of eager vendors.
It was afternoon by the time Chen Yan found himself stepping into the heart of the district. He purchased a skewer of candied fruit, an old childhood favorite of his—only to spit it out after the first bite. The mountain hawthorn inside was of the lowest quality, unbearably sour and astringent.
A wry chuckle escaped him. Black-hearted merchants, preying on nostalgia.
Still, the atmosphere of the street, the chaos of it all, was undeniably vibrant. Shouts of sales, chatter of visitors, the clinking of coins—such was the symphony of a world teeming with mortal livelihood.
For a moment, he nearly forgot his original purpose for coming.
As he walked past a renowned milk tea shop, its entrance besieged by an army of customers, a voice suddenly cut through the noise—one he recognized.
“Brother! Brother!”
Chen Yan halted and turned. A lanky youth, taller than most, was waving at him from within the line. In just a few strides, the youth slipped free from the crowd and stood before him, grinning as he patted Chen Yan’s shoulder.
“I knew it! I thought I was seeing things!”
Chen Yan let out a laugh. “Well, if it isn’t Boss Zhao!”
“Come on, don’t call me that—just Little Zhao is fine!” The young man, ever humble, ducked his head with a sheepish grin.
Little Zhao had been a junior at their university, a year younger than Chen Yan. During their student days, the two had been quite familiar with each other.
“What brings you here, Brother Yan? No work today?” Little Zhao asked with genuine enthusiasm.
Chen Yan shrugged, unwilling to delve into the particulars of his sudden departure from his internship. “Just a day off,” he answered vaguely. Then, shifting the topic, he asked, “What about you? No classes?”
Little Zhao let out a chuckle, rubbing the back of his head. He was lean, with a narrow face, and when he smiled, there was something almost roguish about it. “Nah, I’m here for work.”
He gestured to the long queue in front of the milk tea shop.
Chen Yan raised a brow. “So, you took a job standing in line?”
“Not just me. I brought about ten classmates with me. Fifty bucks per person.”
Little Zhao wasn’t one for secrets, and Chen Yan understood instantly.
Many so-called ‘famous’ stores inflated their reputations through deception—hiring people to form artificial queues, making it seem as though their business was booming. Such tactics weren’t uncommon. And in a university town teeming with students eager for pocket change, labor was both cheap and plentiful.
Back in their university days, Chen Yan himself had taken part in such schemes, earning spare cash on occasion. And the mastermind behind many of these minor enterprises? Little Zhao.
Unlike most, Little Zhao had a talent for sniffing out short-term gigs. Though his appearance carried a certain cunning air, he was, at his core, an honest broker. He never swindled his peers, nor did he take excessive cuts—traits that earned him respect among his fellow students.
Curious at first, Chen Yan had once asked how Little Zhao managed to source so many odd jobs.
The answer had been simple: it ran in the family.
His parents were none other than talent brokers for Hengdian Studios, supplying extras for film sets.
Everything suddenly made sense. Little Zhao had inherited his family’s knack for managing people. By the time he reached university, he had already built a thriving network beyond the reach of the average student labor group.
His ventures spanned from queue-standing and flyer distribution to even breaking into the entertainment industry. One summer, he had led over fifty students to Hengdian Studios, leveraging his parents’ connections to have them play as extras. In the morning, they donned the armor of soldiers; by afternoon, they became bandits; by nightfall, they transformed into ghosts, eunuchs, or courtiers.
Somehow, two of the girls in the group had even managed to land speaking roles.
One had said, “Young Master, this is inappropriate…”
The other had delivered, “Master, you mustn’t!”
Chen Yan had no desire to imagine the kind of chaotic plot that required such lines.
Regardless, Little Zhao’s business acumen was undeniable. He always managed to secure the best rates for his peers, earning himself the honorary title: Boss Zhao.
Though many sought his favor, bowing and scraping for opportunities, Little Zhao remained unwavering in his respect for Chen Yan. To him, Chen Yan was always ‘Brother Yan’—a title he spoke with genuine deference.
Their friendship had been ordinary at first. But there had been one incident that changed everything.
A journey across the Northern Riverlands.
A fateful trip on a ferry.
And a debt of gratitude that Little Zhao had never forgotten.
As the ferry neared the shore, Little Zhao leaned over the railing, gazing at the passing scenery. Suddenly, a careless shove from behind sent him tumbling into the river. He flailed wildly—he was no swimmer, after all—while the onlookers aboard the ferry gasped and shouted. Yet, for all their noise, none dared leap into the waters to save him.
But Chen Yan did. Without hesitation, he plunged into the river, cutting through the waves with powerful strokes. In just a few moments, he dragged Little Zhao up from the depths and hauled him toward the shore, gripping his hair to keep his head above water.
Children raised in the Southern Riverlands were often adept swimmers. This was no great feat for Chen Yan, but for Little Zhao, it was a second chance at life. From that day forward, he addressed Chen Yan as Brother, never again speaking his full name. The bond between them only deepened with time.
Little Zhao’s respect came from gratitude, while Chen Yan valued him for his sincerity.
[The old madam once taught me: A man who knows gratitude will never stray far from the righteous path.]
—
After a brief exchange of pleasantries, Little Zhao pulled a young student to his side, one who had just “purchased” a cup of milk tea from the nearby shop. Snatching the drink from the student’s hands, he stuffed it into Chen Yan’s grasp.
“Brother, this one’s for you. It’s not bad—I’ve had several cups over the past few days.”
Chen Yan wasn’t fond of milk tea, but since it was from Little Zhao, he accepted it with a smile. “Let’s have dinner this weekend.”
“Sounds good! But not this week—I’ve got a job lined up. Some celebrity needs fake fans at the airport, so I’m bringing a group over.”
Ah, Boss Zhao truly had his hands in many businesses.
They chatted a while longer by the roadside before parting ways. Yet, before leaving, Chen Yan secretly opened his Heaven’s Eye, casting a Qi Observation Technique over Little Zhao. His luck seemed steady, free of ominous black energy, and so Chen Yan left in peace.
—
Strolling through the Ancient Curio Street, Chen Yan quickly grew disappointed.
What treasures could one hope to find in a tourist trap like this? The jade shops were worse, most selling mere trinkets, their so-called “ordinary jade” often nothing more than quartzite, a cheap imitation.
With a mere sweep of his Artifact Appraisal Technique, Chen Yan exposed their deception. The true jade pieces were absurdly overpriced—a matchbox-sized piece of the lowest-grade white jade cost several thousand at the very least.
Yet, knowing he was being fleeced, he still bought two jade plaques—one white, one green—and tucked them into his pocket before stepping out.
As he passed the milk tea shop from earlier, a commotion caught his attention. A crowd had gathered, their voices raised in anger.
Chen Yan’s eyes narrowed.
Among the bystanders, he spotted a few students from his own university—the same ones Little Zhao had brought as fake fans.
He strode forward, parting the crowd, and saw Little Zhao sitting on the ground, clutching his forehead.
“What happened?”
Chen Yan crouched beside him, reaching for his hand.
“No big deal…” Little Zhao waved it off. As he pulled his hand away, Chen Yan saw a small gash near his temple, blood beading along the wound.
The injury was minor, but Chen Yan’s brows furrowed. “Who hit you?”
“No one.” Little Zhao sighed in exasperation.
Chen Yan felt a flicker of doubt. Just moments ago, he had checked Little Zhao’s fate, and his Qi Fortune had been clear—no disasters in sight. Yet now, as he once again activated his Heaven’s Eye, a faint, flickering black aura wreathed his forehead.
However, the moment blood was drawn, the black energy rapidly dispersed. Within a few breaths, it faded into nothingness.
Chen Yan froze.
[Strange. According to the Cycles of Qi Fortune, a person’s luck does not shift so drastically without cause.]
[Unless… he committed some grave act of wickedness in these past few minutes?]
Impossible. Even if Little Zhao had dashed off and done something utterly immoral—bullying the weak, desecrating a grave—it was absurd to think his Qi Fortune could change so fast.
[Or… did he come into contact with something foul?]
Chen Yan’s expression darkened.
“I was just standing there, and suddenly, something flew out of a second-floor window and hit me.”
Little Zhao stood, brushing himself off. “It’s nothing serious. The hit made my vision go dark for a moment, scared me into falling.”
He touched his wound and winced, sucking in a sharp breath.
The students who had accompanied him pointed angrily at the window above—a second-floor restaurant.
On the ground lay the culprit: a shattered, battered old phone.
Just then, from the restaurant’s entrance, a figure dashed down the steps.
—
A petite young woman, her expression flustered, her face filled with guilt and urgency. She rushed forward, already bowing in apology before even standing still.
“I’m so sorry! It wasn’t on purpose—I really didn’t mean to—”
Mid-sentence, she froze, her eyes locking onto Chen Yan.
Her expression changed in an instant—first surprise, then, beneath it, a flicker of fear.
Chen Yan studied her, then smiled. “Oh. It’s you.”
At his words, the girl’s first reaction was to lift both hands and cover her nose.
This novel is translated and hosted on Bcatranslation