Chapter 53: The Wrath of Boss Fang
Beyond the Falling Cloud Retreat, deep within the three-tiered courtyard, lay the most secluded chamber—a quiet retreat within the western wing. This was the private residence of Uncle Qing.
Though the entire estate had been built in a classical architectural style, Uncle Qing had meticulously refurbished it upon acquisition. Within, modern comforts abounded—heated floors, air conditioning, and an array of intelligent appliances seamlessly integrated into the traditional setting.
Two days prior, an unexpected intrusion by vermin had led to quite the commotion. Though the shopfront of Falling Cloud Retreat had temporarily closed in response, Uncle Qing remained in the courtyard behind. After all, this was his home.
Every inch of the estate had since been scoured clean, and professional pest control had been enlisted. Now, on this particular evening, Uncle Qing reclined in his chair, smartphone in hand, reviewing his accounts.
Earlier that day, per Elder Zi’s decree, he had been forced to return funds from three separate scams—a pain akin to carving flesh from his own bones. To make matters worse, his junior sister had paid a visit to that formidable Boss Fang and, much to his dismay, had agreed to a hefty compensation. The funds needed to be transferred by tomorrow without fail.
As Uncle Qing idly swirled the remnants of his drink, his indignation festered.
[The money I swindled fair and square—why should I return it?!]
Just as he stewed over his misfortune, a sudden, thunderous bang echoed from beyond the courtyard.
Uncle Qing froze, his body stiffening as if doused with ice water. The slight intoxication that had emboldened his grievances dissipated in an instant, replaced by sheer terror.
[Could it be…? That mysterious master skilled in the Mystic Arts has returned to torment me?!]
In a heartbeat, he dashed behind his chair, hands grasping at the peachwood sword hanging on the wall—the only weapon he had for protection. Mustering every ounce of false bravado, he bellowed, “Who’s out there?!”
Boom!
Another shattering impact rang through the night.
Uncle Qing nearly dropped the sword from his trembling hands. He forced another shout, though his voice wavered, “W-Who is it?! I-I’m calling the authorities!”
Before the echoes of his words faded, the wooden doors to his chamber exploded into splinters, fragments raining down like a storm of daggers.
With a strangled shriek, Uncle Qing collapsed onto his knees, his limbs betraying him as he scrambled to hide behind his chair. The peachwood sword slipped from his grasp. “Mercy! Eminent Master, spare me!”
Peering beyond the ruins of his doorway, his eyes fell upon the courtyard—and his mind struggled to comprehend the scene before him.
His personal chambers were situated in the eastern wing, directly facing the western wing’s quarters.
Or at least, what had been the western wing.
Half of the western wing had utterly crumbled, its walls reduced to heaps of debris, bricks strewn haphazardly across the ground. Only the main beam miraculously held firm, preventing total collapse. Yet the roof groaned in protest, tiles cascading in steady drifts.
Where once had stood a flourishing osmanthus tree, now lay a gaping hole in the earth.
And in the center of the courtyard stood a lone figure—small and slender, unmistakably a young girl.
But despite her delicate frame, she wielded an object that defied reason.
The massive osmanthus tree, uprooted entirely, rested in her single-handed grip. Like an arhat wielding a vajra staff, she swung it with devastating force, striking down walls as if they were no more than brittle parchment.
The absurdity of the moment struck Uncle Qing like lightning.
[What in the world…? Like that joke from the internet… Daiyu uprooting the willow tree?!]
Hearing his terrified screams, the girl turned.
Clad in an unassuming cotton jacket, her features remained obscured by darkness. Without hesitation, she hurled the osmanthus tree aside. It crashed against the central hall, the impact caving in the roof and sending another cascade of debris tumbling down.
Uncle Qing’s breath hitched, his spine drenched in cold sweat. His legs trembled so violently they could barely support him.
Then, the girl raised a hand—and a formless force seized him, wrenching him from the ruins of his chamber. Before he could react, his body was dragged across the stone courtyard and deposited at her feet.
A pair of small yet unwavering feet stepped before his trembling form.
“Lift your head,” came a delicate, icy voice.
A lifetime of navigating treacherous waters had honed Uncle Qing’s instincts. In a flash of enlightenment, he clasped his hands over his head, pressing his forehead to the ground. “I understand the rules! I dare not lift my gaze!”
Silence stretched for a moment before the girl let out an approving hum. “Good. Saves me the trouble.”
She paused, then continued, her tone soft yet sharp as a blade. “Do you know why I’ve come?”
Uncle Qing trembled violently but forced himself to respond. “I know! I know! I was blind, I made mistakes, and I offended an Eminent Master!”
His admission gave the girl a moment’s pause. Then, with quiet amusement, she said, “Since you understand, this will be easy. I have a task for you. Do you comply?”
“Yes! Yes! Whatever you need! I swear to do it without question!”
Even as he spoke, the distant shouts of inquiry drifted from the entrance of the commercial street. Heavy knocks and frantic doorbell chimes signaled the arrival of others—either concerned neighbors or the local patrol alerted by the ruckus.
Yet before Uncle Qing could cling to the hope of rescue, a weight pressed upon his back.
A single foot.
In an instant, it was as though a mountain had settled atop him. His breath caught in his throat, unable to escape, his very bones groaning under the pressure.
“A written statement of forgiveness,” the girl’s whisper reached his ears, light as silk, yet heavier than fate itself. “Do you understand?”
Uncle Qing’s heart trembled violently—A letter of understanding?
So… all of this was for that?
He and his junior sister had discussed countless possibilities, speculated from every angle… yet, they had never imagined that the one who summoned sinister Yin energy with talismans and personally arrived today to demolish his house… was merely here for such a trivial matter?
[You should have said so earlier!]
[Do you even know how much money I’ve lost today?!]
He dared not hesitate. He wanted to speak, but the suffocating pressure crushed the words in his throat. Not a single syllable escaped. All he could do was nod frantically.
In that instant, the foot pressing against him lifted, and the overwhelming pressure vanished completely.
That high-pitched voice rang out again, eerily calm, “Settle it by tomorrow. If you fail, I will return. Next time, I won’t tear down your house—I’ll tear apart your bones.”
Then, silence.
Uncle Qing lay there for another ten seconds before cautiously lifting his head to scan the surroundings. The courtyard was empty save for the wreckage left behind. Not a single shadow remained.
His entire body trembled as he struggled to his feet, dazed as he stood in the ruined courtyard. From the street beyond, the sounds of knocking and shouting grew louder and louder. Only then did Uncle Qing, his legs weak and unsteady, drag himself toward the entrance.
Outside, five or six people had gathered. Among them were neighboring shop owners and members of the Market Street patrol.
The moment he opened the door, someone immediately shouted, “Boss Luo! What the hell is going on in there? We heard crashing and banging—are you demolishing your house?!”
“Yeah! We thought something terrible had happened! We’re just one wall away, you know. With all that noise—”
Uncle Qing’s face was ashen. Gritting his teeth, he growled, “What I do in my own courtyard is none of your business.”
One of the neighboring shopkeepers frowned, clearly offended. “How ungrateful can you be? We heard all that ruckus and worried something might’ve happened to you—”
Waving a hand impatiently, Uncle Qing, his heart full of anger, snapped, “I don’t need your concern! I’m perfectly fine!”
The patrol leader furrowed his brow. “Boss Luo, are you sure everything’s alright?”
His gaze swept over Uncle Qing—his clothes covered in dust, his face smeared with dirt.
Uncle Qing exhaled sharply. “I was just tearing down my own house! What, I can’t do that? My courtyard was infested with rats! I don’t want to live there anymore! I’m rebuilding—what’s it to you?!”
The patrol leader’s face darkened. “Boss Luo, let me remind you—this property is rented. It belongs to the district. You can’t just tear it down.”
“That’s none of your concern! I’ll go to the district office myself tomorrow and settle the compensation!”
With that, Uncle Qing slammed the door shut.
Inside, his heart bled.
The inner courtyard was practically in ruins. This wasn’t just any regular civilian house—it was prime real estate in a bustling tourist district, a carefully crafted imitation of ancient architecture developed by the local tourism corporation. As a mere tenant, he had no right to demolish anything.
The compensation alone would be a staggering amount.
Having suffered one heavy financial blow after another these past days, Uncle Qing was already struggling. This was the final straw.
He staggered back into the ruined courtyard, staring at the destruction, his heart aching as if bleeding.
But then—
A sudden realization struck him!
The esteemed master had come in person. Though Uncle Qing had suffered, his suspicions had been confirmed!
This whole incident had been about those three lowly ruffians he had beaten!
He had no idea how those nobodies had managed to associate themselves with such a powerful figure… but that no longer mattered.
What mattered was—
If the master had come solely for those three thugs… then the other payments—such as the massive sum promised to Boss Fang—
…Could he just ignore that now?!
The sum his junior sister had promised was the largest of them all.
[To hell with that!]
[What I fear is that master—not that fat pig Fang!]
—
The next morning.
President Fang lounged in his office chair, idly playing a game on his computer.
Three knocks sounded at the door before Assistant Yan stepped in, his expression an odd mix of hesitation and unease.
“Boss!”
President Fang glanced up from behind the monitor, lazily saving his progress.
[Damn it, I still can’t get past this level. I’ve already died over twenty times this morning.]
[Maybe I should just join the sect?]
His thoughts drifted idly as he absentmindedly asked, “What is it?”
Assistant Yan took a deep breath. “Boss… As per your instructions, I contacted Luo Qing of Falling Cloud Retreat this morning. You remember how Elder Zi visited and agreed on a sum to be transferred to our company’s account?”
President Fang’s brows knitted. “What nonsense is Luo Qing up to now?”
Assistant Yan’s voice lowered, grave and steady. “He refuses to acknowledge the debt. He says there’s no such payment, and he won’t be paying a single cent.”
[What?!]
President Fang’s face darkened instantly. With a heavy slap, his palm crashed onto the desk!
This novel is translated and hosted on Bcatranslation