Chapter 42: The Golden Patron
The Boss Lady bit her lip, took a deep breath, and cautiously said, “We know that striking another is wrong. We have come here with sincerity, hoping to personally apologize to Mister Luo. I…”
“Ah, fair lady, please don’t make things difficult for me,” the shop assistant spread his hands. “Uncle Qing is the master of this place. What he has decreed, I have no authority to overturn. If I were to take you inside, I can’t say if your issue will be resolved, but one thing is certain—I would be in for a scolding.”
The Boss Lady felt helpless. She glanced at the shop assistant and understood that he was merely speaking the truth.
Chen Yan patted the assistant lightly on the shoulder and said in a low voice, “Brother, we won’t trouble you. But even if your master has forbidden an audience, surely he has expressed some stance on this matter?”
The assistant hesitated briefly, but the Boss Lady, being a seasoned businesswoman, acted swiftly. She reached into her trench coat pocket, pulled out a pack of fine tobacco, and swiftly slipped it into the assistant’s hand.
The assistant froze for a moment before discreetly tucking the cigarette box into his sleeve. Only then did he finally speak.
“Uncle Qing is absolutely furious. His decision is firm—he refuses reconciliation. This matter caused him a great loss of face. He is set on making those three who attacked him suffer. If I were you, I’d find another way.”
Chen Yan raised an eyebrow. “No room for negotiation? We could offer more compensation—medical fees, emotional damages—we are willing to pay extra.”
The assistant had initially intended to ignore them, but given the gift, he checked his surroundings and lowered his voice. “Brother, let me be honest with you. Uncle Qing is no pauper. Money means little to him. Besides, the injuries were minor—at most, what? A bit of medical expense? Do you even know what Uncle Qing was doing when he was attacked? He was in a grand marketplace, providing Feng Shui readings for a powerful tycoon. And your reckless little brothers—good heavens—charged in and publicly pummeled him to the ground, making a spectacle of him!”
Chen Yan instantly understood.
Luo Qing must have hoodwinked some wealthy benefactor again, feigning the demeanor of an enlightened sage while selling his mystic arts. Then, out of nowhere, three street thugs barged in and gave him a ruthless beating right in front of his patron.
What would the wealthy patron think?
The image of the “Eminent Master” was instantly shattered. Not only was it humiliating, but it could cost him a lucrative deal.
“So, there is absolutely no room for discussion?” Chen Yan pressed.
“The master has spoken—no negotiation.” The assistant waved his hand dismissively. “I’ve already shared more than enough with you. Don’t make things difficult for me. You should leave.”
The Boss Lady was unwilling to concede but had no choice. She and Chen Yan exited Falling Cloud Retreat in silence. Once outside, she walked a few paces with her head down before turning to Chen Yan. “You—”
“Boss Lady, you aren’t thinking of going back to beg again, are you?” Chen Yan shook his head. “It’s pointless. That assistant’s words—half of them were likely instructions from Luo Qing himself. His stance is clear; no amount of pleading will change it.”
The Boss Lady took a deep breath. “But… what am I supposed to do? I can’t just abandon them.”
Chen Yan pondered for a moment. “Direct pleading won’t work. You should go back and think—connections, favors, influential acquaintances. See if you can find someone with enough clout to mediate. That would be better than hitting a wall here.”
The Boss Lady considered his words seriously. It wasn’t much of a plan, but it was better than nothing.
“Alright… I’ll go ask around.”
Chen Yan sighed in relief and escorted her to the street corner of the commercial district. Suddenly, he smacked his forehead. “Ah, Boss Lady, lend me fifty bucks for a cab, will you? My card’s out of funds.”
She gave him a puzzled look but then added him on WeChat and transferred him two hundred instead.
“Go home and rest. And…” She gazed at him meaningfully. “Little Yan, now that you’ve graduated and started working, don’t squander your earnings. Keep some savings on hand—you never know when you might need them.”
Chen Yan watched as she got into a car and left.
Truthfully, his words were merely to console her—to get her to leave.
Once she was gone, Chen Yan turned back and strolled through the commercial district. He didn’t return to Falling Cloud Retreat but instead wandered into a few other shops.
He purchased a calligraphy brush, a block of Song Vein Ink, a box of yellow talisman paper, and some inferior-grade cinnabar—the high-quality kind was out of stock.
The total? Nearly ten thousand yuan.
With these items in hand, Chen Yan meandered until he found a quiet eatery, secured a private booth, and ordered a few dishes along with a pot of corn juice. As he ate and drank, he suddenly slammed his hand on the table.
This couldn’t go on—his accounts were utterly imbalanced.
The Boss Lady had only given him two hundred yuan.
Yet, he had just spent nearly ten thousand on supplies.
It was the same story when he helped Lu Si Si—he had only charged the young lady one hundred and twenty, yet he had ended up spending tens of thousands fixing her place.
Was he, Chen the Great Philanthropist, doomed to make losses forever?
Grinding his teeth, Chen Yan made a resolution—
He needed to find a Golden Patron to foot the bill!
With a steady hand, Chen Yan lifted his phone and dialed.
The line connected, and a familiar voice came through. Chen Yan smiled.
“Boss Fang, how goes your recovery?”
A hearty laugh rang in response. “Ah! Teacher Chen, I appreciate your concern. I’m doing well, truly. These past few days have been calm, and my body is steadily healing. That talisman of yours worked wonders. I’ve felt as stable as a mountain, not a single mishap has come my way.”
“Hmm.” Chen Yan nodded, his tone shifting to something softer, yet edged with meaning. “Falling ill, losing wealth, breaking a leg—are you truly willing to accept this fate without reprisal?”
Silence lingered on the other end, brief but weighty.
Then Fang’s voice returned, steady and deliberate. “Teacher Chen, give me a moment.”
He sat in his freshly refurbished office. The place had been completely cleansed—every object replaced, not a single scrap of the past remained.
Holding his phone, he cast a meaningful glance. His assistant, Yan Zhao Xing, caught the message instantly, turned, and exited the room, shutting the door behind him.
“Teacher Chen,” Fang leaned back, his tone light yet sharp with restrained intensity. “What wisdom do you have for me?”
Of course, he was not willing to let things be.
To speak plainly—Luo Qing’s recent beating? That was Fang’s handiwork.
Assistant Yan had arranged for a few young, reckless brutes from East City’s university district to carry out the deed. The execution was clean—so clean that even the hired fists knew nothing of who had sent them, let alone left any trace of monetary transactions beyond a simple envelope filled with cash.
The moment Luo Qing was struck down, the news reached Fang’s ears.
Yet satisfaction remained elusive.
After all, what was one night’s pain compared to the suffering he himself had endured?
A grave illness that nearly sent him to the other side.
A business disaster—an entire shipment ruined, costing him millions.
And the final insult—a shattered leg, still bound in a cast.
Was a mere street beating truly enough to balance the scales?
Hardly.
Still, to act with greater force bore its own risks. Fang was no saint, but neither was he a reckless brute. A serious incident, something that could bring the law’s gaze upon him, was not a path he dared tread.
Thus, his plan had been simple—he would let Luo Qing taste suffering in small, measured doses. One beating today, another a few months later, and so forth. Slowly, methodically, he would chip away at the man’s spirit. By the time a year passed, ten or so such encounters would wear him down. If needed, the torment would extend into the next year.
The blade of vengeance need not be swift; the pain of a dull knife cut deeper over time.
Yet now, Chen Yan’s unexpected call had presented an intriguing alternative.
Fang stretched his injured leg out before speaking. “Teacher Chen, enlighten me further.”
Chen Yan merely chuckled. “I have little to say, save this—what is sown shall be reaped, and the heavens see all. When men walk the path of wickedness, calamity often finds them before justice does. And though justice may be slow, it never truly fails to arrive.”
Fang’s eyes gleamed. He reached for a cigarette, lighting it with deliberate slowness before taking a deep drag.
“Your words hold truth, Teacher Chen.” His smile widened, easy yet full of calculation. “Hearing them brings clarity to my heart.”
“Oh?” Chen Yan responded lightly. “Then, Boss Fang, is there something else on your mind?”
Clearing his throat, Fang continued, “You’re still residing in my estate, are you not? As it happens, I’ve been contemplating something. That house—grand as it is—has aged. Who knows when a leak might spring or a brick might loosen? I’ve been meaning to refurbish it, add a few finer touches. Yet, as you can imagine, year-end affairs leave me swamped. My people, too, have no time to spare.”
A pause.
“And so, Teacher Chen, since you dwell within its walls, would you mind overseeing the renovation on my behalf?”
Chen Yan chuckled softly. How astute of Fang—to understand and act accordingly.
His tone remained even. “That depends, Boss Fang. What budget are we looking at?”
Fang hesitated briefly before testing the waters. “Would twenty million be sufficient to make some noticeable improvements?”
Chen Yan laughed. “Boss Fang, your estate is a palace. A sum too small would yield results that fail to match its dignity.”
Ah, so he wanted more.
Fang furrowed his brow, considering all he had endured—the sickness, the loss, the pain.
He exhaled. “Four—no, let’s make it fifty million. That should suffice to do the job right.”
“That will do nicely,” Chen Yan agreed with a nod. “Of course, renovations can be troublesome. If I am to oversee them, any problems that arise will naturally be mine to handle.”
“Good.”
A quiet understanding settled between them.
This novel is translated and hosted on Bcatranslation