Chapter 43: A Masterful Scheme!
The transaction between the old fox and the young fox concluded. Chen Yan ended the call and resumed his meal.
A grand feast sprawled before him, and he devoured it with the hunger of a warrior returning from battle. Wine and food filled him to contentment, leaving no scrap behind. Once satisfied, he called for the attendant to clear the table and brewed a fine pot of tea.
A short while later, a message arrived on Chen Yan’s WeChat. President Fang had sent over an electronic contract: Housing Repair Commission, a deal worth five hundred thousand. The contract bore the signature and seal—formalized and complete.
Soon after, his account saw a deposit of fifty thousand, the advance payment noted as Housing Repair Deposit.
Boss Fang handled affairs meticulously, leaving no gap for leaks.
Chen Yan chuckled, mood lifted. Bootlicker Hu had to shell out a minimum of two to three hundred thousand to cover the short-term rental loss, yet Boss Fang handed out five hundred thousand. The difference more than filled the hole, and he even turned a profit.
—
Leaving the restaurant, Chen Yan didn’t return home but instead sought out a refined chain hotel along Market Street, securing a room for the night. There was still work to be done.
Inside the room, he retrieved the items he had procured that day—ink, cinnabar, and talisman paper. Seated cross-legged on the floor, he focused, steadying his breath, and meticulously began to inscribe talismans…
—
Deep into the night, past the second watch, Chen Yan stepped out of his hotel room, blending into the shadows of the city. He moved like a phantom, navigating the darkened streets until he arrived at Falling Cloud Retreat.
At this hour, the shop was naturally shut, yet behind it lay three courtyards. To the left, a wall lined the street.
Chen Yan studied the surroundings, strolling along the perimeter, his gaze measuring every detail. Finally, he stopped at several specific points, crouched down, and drew a small blade from his sleeve. With precise movements, he slid the blade into the gaps between the bricks, subtly loosening them before tucking in folded paper talismans.
One after another, at the designated spots, he performed the same ritual, moving like a craftsman engaged in an age-old art.
It took nearly an hour, but fortunately, the dead of night concealed his work. Not a soul passed by.
His task completed, Chen Yan returned to his hotel room.
He could not return home just yet. The results—he would witness them in daylight.
—
At a villa elsewhere, Miss Gu curled up on the couch, her knees tucked against her chest, arms wrapped tightly around herself.
“How… how could someone not go home?!” she muttered bitterly, frustration tinging her voice.
“Laying an ambush, laying an ambush—but it’s been days! What kind of person has a home and doesn’t return to it?!”
—
Chen Yan awoke around ten in the morning, well-rested and at ease.
He took his time, freshening up before heading out for a stroll through Market Street. Grabbing a few street snacks for breakfast, he then returned to a tea house across from Falling Cloud Retreat.
Choosing a seat on the second floor by the window, he ordered a pot of tea and an assortment of pastries—osmanthus cakes, mung bean cakes, delicacies praised in Dragon Nation for their refined sweetness, or rather, their lack of excessive sweetness.
He had been here several times before, enough to be familiar with the place. The tea was decent, and the pastries suited his taste.
Settling in, Chen Yan pulled out his phone, selecting a novel to immerse himself in. The sunlight streamed through the window, bathing him in warmth. It was the kind of comfort that made time slip away unnoticed.
—
Nearing noon, engrossed in his novel, Chen Yan was abruptly drawn back to reality by a sudden cry from the street below.
First, a single shriek—then more voices joined in, cries of shock cascading into chaos.
A slow, knowing smile curled at Chen Yan’s lips.
He set his phone aside and leaned over the window, gazing down at the street.
Opposite, Falling Cloud Retreat’s doors stood wide open. Yet, the usual crowd of bustling pedestrians had vanished, scattering in all directions. Some stomped their feet in panic before darting away, while others scrambled for higher ground—onto tables, counters, even windowsills.
The cause of their terror?
From the depths of manholes and sewer drains, waves of rats surged forth, a dark tide of squeaking madness flooding the street. Their destination was clear—they stormed into Falling Cloud Retreat, as if drawn by an unseen force, pouring in like a relentless army.
Within minutes, the once-lively street had all but emptied. The crowd now huddled at a distance, some having climbed to safety, others keeping their distance, yet all recording the spectacle on their phones.
From time to time, another rat would emerge from a gutter, hesitate briefly, then, as if compelled, join the horde streaming into the shop.
By now, Falling Cloud Retreat’s threshold had swallowed at least hundreds of rats.
Chen Yan sipped his tea, his expression serene.
“Falling Cloud Retreat—this name, you are truly living up to it now.”
—
Inside the shop, pandemonium reigned.
The first wave of rats had sent the remaining customers fleeing in terror, their screams piercing the air. The shop assistants were no better, shouting in alarm as they scrambled about. After a frantic struggle, someone managed to regain enough composure to order the doors shut.
But even with the entrance sealed, the nightmare did not end. The rats outside did not disperse—instead, they began climbing the walls, their numbers forming a writhing, clawing mass.
The sight alone was enough to make one’s scalp tingle with dread.
As more people gathered on the street to witness the scene, countless phones were raised, capturing every moment.
“Holy crap! This place must’ve offended something unclean!”
Someone’s exclamation rippled through the crowd, prompting hushed, wary murmurs.
“Yeah, this is seriously unnatural!”
“Right? Who’s ever seen something like this before? This is definitely supernatural!”
The whispers spread, turning speculation into conviction.
Chen Yan, still watching from the tea house, chuckled.
The pieces had fallen into place. Now, all he had to do—was wait.
The whispers along the street carried an air of unease, like a winter wind curling through alleyways before a storm.
“I’ve heard that Falling Cloud Retreat specializes in geomancy and divination. It’s the most prosperous shop on this street…”
“By the heavens! Something’s gone terribly wrong. Could this place be a den of some… demonic sect?”
“Oh, give me a break! You’ve read too many novels. A demonic sect? Ridiculous! If anything, I’d wager they belong to the Beast-Taming Order!”
“Hah! And you dare lecture me? You’ve clearly read just as much nonsense!”
“Enough bickering! Whatever is happening in there… it’s unclean.”
“Yes, yes! This kind of trade—feng shui, fortune-telling—they meddle in things better left undisturbed. Surely they’ve invited something foul upon themselves!”
In the dimly lit Cloud Pavilion Teahouse, Chen Yan sat by the window, calmly watching the gathering crowd outside, their speculations thick as incense smoke.
He had known this would happen.
Falling Cloud Retreat was finished.
Perhaps not entirely reduced to rubble, but at the very least, shattered beyond recognition. It would take a long time for them to recover, if they ever could.
—
What kind of trade did Falling Cloud Retreat deal in?
The answer was simple: they preyed on human superstition.
And what did the superstitious seek? Good fortune, love, peace, wealth…
All summed up in a single word—luck.
Now, the very place that promised prosperity was rumored to be cursed, haunted, infested with corruption. Those desperate for blessings would flee at the mere thought of stepping foot inside.
And don’t forget—Falling Cloud Retreat wasn’t the only one plying this trade in the area.
Even if this commotion wasn’t quite loud enough to bury them completely, the moment their rivals seized the opportunity to fan the flames…
The entire industry would know soon enough—Falling Cloud Retreat had been tainted by the unclean.
With such a reputation, what wealthy patron would be foolish enough to trust them now?
—
The gathered onlookers showed no signs of dispersing when, suddenly, the doors of Falling Cloud Retreat burst open.
A group of seven or eight employees stumbled out, their faces pale, their expressions twisted in terror.
Shrieks and gasps filled the air as they bolted from the shop, abandoning the threshold as though it were the very gates of the underworld.
Behind them, a voice roared in fury.
“Come back! Don’t run!” Uncle Qing’s voice rang out, desperate and enraged.
“Uncle Qing, we’re just hired hands! We didn’t sign up for this nightmare!” One of the fleeing workers shouted back before vanishing into the crowd.
With the doors wide open, the crowd outside could see inside.
A nightmare of writhing forms.
The floor was covered in rats—countless, motionless, clinging to the ground in eerie silence.
For anyone with a fear of vermin, it was a scene straight out of hell.
Minutes later, Uncle Qing himself staggered out. His face was bruised, his hair disheveled. A hat had been stuffed hastily onto his head, but it failed to mask the panic in his eyes.
Glancing at the swelling crowd, his face flickered between green and white.
Clenching his jaw, he said nothing—only let out a guttural yell before vanishing into the alleys, swallowed by the city like a fleeing specter.
—
By noon, even the Street Administration Office had arrived. A few uniformed officials hesitated before pushing through the throng, peering into the shop with wary curiosity.
Yet none dared step inside.
Instead, someone fetched a ladder, propping it against the outer wall to get a better view of the courtyard within.
The moment the appointed soul climbed to the top, they went rigid.
Then, their legs gave out, and they nearly tumbled from the ladder in fright.
“By the gods! It’s terrifying!” they cried, staggering back, eyes wide in horror. “The courtyard floor—it’s covered in rats! They’re just lying there, rows upon rows, like they’ve… ascended into some kind of foul enlightenment! They don’t move! They don’t scatter! They just—stay there!”
Before long, the Plague Control Bureau and the Fire Brigade arrived.
A fire truck parked at the street’s entrance, its crew rushing forward—only to freeze in place upon glimpsing the scene within.
The report had mentioned a rat infestation.
It had not mentioned a plague.
No one had expected so many rats. Enough to dismantle a building if they so desired.
Yes, the fire brigade had pest control equipment—but staring at this ocean of still, unblinking vermin, not one of them dared to make a move.
Even if someone had the nerve to swing a shovel—
There were too many. Blood and entrails would paint the walls, the ground, turning the place into an accursed ruin.
—
Chen Yan didn’t bother waiting for the final act of this spectacle.
He paid his tab at the teahouse, slipping away through the crowd with the ease of a shadow.
Hidden hands move unseen.
Back at his rented hotel room, he packed his belongings, preparing for his departure.
There was no need to linger. He already knew how this would end.
According to the workings of his spell, the rats would disperse on their own within the next half-hour—the talismans he had drawn under the moonlight last night had nearly exhausted their power.
Before he could finish packing, his phone buzzed.
President Fang.
He answered.
A long silence stretched over the line before President Fang’s voice finally came, thick with astonishment.
“Teacher Chen… astonishing. Truly astonishing. I’ve finally seen it for myself. What a method you have!”
Clearly, President Fang had already received word of what had transpired.
After finalizing their arrangement last night, President Fang had instructed Assistant Yan to keep a close eye on Falling Cloud Retreat.
Chen Yan smiled faintly. “I’m afraid I don’t understand what you mean.”
A hearty laugh rang through the receiver.
“Haha! Teacher Chen, we have time yet. In the days to come, I will make my sincerity known. I respect men of ability, and you—you are extraordinary.”
The call ended, and a moment later, a notification arrived on his phone.
A bank transaction.
450,000 yuan.
The transfer memo read: Final Payment for Property Repairs.
President Fang was more than satisfied.
In a single day, Chen Yan had earned half a million.
Stretching lazily, he let out a satisfied sigh.
“It’s time to go home.”
As for the proprietress, he’d let the situation simmer for another day or two.
Then, he would seek out Luo Qing to renegotiate terms.
Only then would the effect be at its peak.
This novel is translated and hosted on Bcatranslation