Chapter Eighty-Four: Old Zhu Is Blackmailed

On this day, Zhu Buhuo was strolling outside the main branch of the Yang Family Furniture Store, his belly protruding. Lately, business at the main store and its branches had been booming, so his mood was naturally buoyant. He greeted the familiar shopkeepers nearby from time to time and even ducked into one of their shops for tea and a chat.

He was, in every sense, enjoying a spell of great fortune. Yang Family Furniture had become all the rage among Wuzhou’s upper crust; it was almost shameful for a household not to display a few pieces. The beautiful saleswomen were becoming ever more adept—not only eloquent and persuasive, but each, in pursuit of higher commissions, had built up her own clientele. The whole operation now ran smoothly, requiring little intervention from him.

Those partners who had secured regional agency rights were all capable and bold; sales and expansion required none of his interference. At most, he offered some advice on renovations and sales techniques. In just two months, another eleven districts had seen over fifty new stores open, and his own had added six more. The daily profits left him feeling utterly content.

Currently, Li Qingfeng had replaced the previous head of the Southern District’s municipal administration. The two had become close, calling each other brothers; the monthly taxes were now little more than a formality and could be all but ignored.

Lord Leyin had also greased the wheels in Linhai City and chosen a store location. In a few days, Old Zhu would have to handle the renovations there. Having never set foot outside the city, he was uncommonly excited.

Old Zhu, in his element, bantered with his neighboring shopkeepers, provoking hearty laughter all around. As they chatted idly, a pretty woman burst in, stumbling. As he looked up, he recognized her as the receptionist from his own store. Her appearance startled him, and he was about to ask what was wrong when she blurted out, “Boss, there’s trouble! Some people are making a scene at the store, blocking the door so customers can’t enter. They want to see you.”

Hearing this, Old Zhu felt oddly reassured. He had been a merchant for years and had seen plenty of such street-level bullying and extortion. If they were weak, you drove them off; if strong, you negotiated a price—nothing out of the ordinary.

“It’s fine, don’t panic. Let’s go take a look,” Old Zhu said, getting up.

He was about to step out when he glanced back to see the neighboring shopkeeper still seated, not following. The man gave an embarrassed smile. Old Zhu, a shrewd man, understood: unless one’s family was powerful, no one wanted to cross the local toughs. He thought nothing of it.

Outside, he found seven or eight burly men standing in front of his store, arms folded and faces fierce. People from nearby shops watched the commotion from afar. Two guards, both his own men, lay on the ground, barely conscious.

Old Zhu was instantly annoyed. He knew most of the small gangs in these seven or eight streets—none would dare go this far. They all understood the value of keeping the peace; roughing someone up like this was unheard of.

Suppressing his anger, Old Zhu strode forward with a smile. “Brothers, let’s not be hasty. There must be some misunderstanding here, right?”

The leader, a scar-faced brute, was unmoved by Zhu’s ingratiating grin. “There’s no misunderstanding. We’re just here to tell you: from now on, your shop pays us ten percent each month.”

Ten percent? Zhu nearly laughed out of sheer disbelief. The local thugs all knew to take things slow, collecting small benefits from each shop on the street—enough to live well without making bitter enemies. If they pushed too hard, someone might snap and call the authorities. In all his years in business, he’d rarely seen such outrageous demands.

He chuckled awkwardly. “Brothers, this must be a mix-up. I’m well acquainted with Liu Zhengdong, boss of the Shadowflow Gang.”

The group burst out laughing.

The leader sneered, “The Shadowflow Gang? That lot barely has thirty men and dares call themselves a gang? Pathetic!” He paused, then added mockingly, “Boss, you’re out of the loop. Two days ago, we—the Bluefire Gang—ran them out. Liu Zhengdong even begged for mercy. He won’t be seen in the southern city again.”

Old Zhu was shocked. The Shadowflow Gang was small but boasted seven or eight late-stage cultivators. For them to be ousted—who were these Bluefire Gang people, and why had he never heard of them? His own head enforcer, Duan Zhiwu, was a skilled artificer, but his ten guards were only at early- to mid-stage cultivation, about equal to the Shadowflow Gang. That was why Liu Zhengdong treated him with respect; neither side could afford open conflict. But now the Bluefire Gang had swept Liu aside with ease.

The leader continued, prideful, “Let me spell it out: this street and another thirty or forty around here are under our Bluefire Gang’s protection now. Don’t bother looking for help; the little gangs have either joined us or been driven out. We’re now one of the Nine Major Gangs of the Southern District. Who in this area would dare show us disrespect?”

Old Zhu’s face turned a little pale. If the Bluefire Gang now matched the major gangs, he could hardly refuse their demands. He understood exactly how much his store made, especially with the Yang family’s share—millions a year, at least. Was he supposed to hand over hundreds of thousands annually to thugs? The mere thought felt like he was being carved up alive.

Though furious, he kept his composure, deciding to investigate before taking action. Besides, this matter needed to be reported to Yang Cheng.

The leader, seeing no objection, nodded and signaled his men to leave. He tossed out coldly, “I’ll be back for the money at month’s end. If you’re not ready, we won’t be so polite next time.”

Old Zhu watched them go, seething yet helpless. He soothed the women in the store, tried to gather information from familiar shopkeepers, but none knew much about street affairs. Finding nothing, he hurried to the Yang estate on South Hill.

In the main hall of the Yang family’s rear courtyard, Yang Cheng was deep in discussion with Murong Tie, Zhong Qiang, Wei Xu, and six others about selecting and training children for the Rainflower Academy. Out of more than six hundred candidates, they had picked fifty with promising talent for a special cultivation class, which would supplement the Academy curriculum with lessons taught by the assembled experts themselves.

Today’s meeting was to arrange the new course schedule. Yang Cheng had even prepared a handwritten booklet, designed to subtly instill loyalty and identification with the Yang family. He handed it over, instructing them to instill its core ideas in their students.

Everyone was excited. In a few years, this method would provide the Yang family with a steady stream of fresh cultivators, ensuring boundless prospects for the clan. Having pledged loyalty to the Yangs, and with their families settled here, the stronger the Yangs grew, the brighter their own futures would be. Each offered insights from their own sects or family traditions.

Yang Cheng was happy to learn about the various family backgrounds and encouraged everyone to speak freely. The atmosphere was lively—until a shout rang out from outside: “Brother Yang, something terrible has happened at the shop!”

Old Zhu had been here before and knew his way around the back courtyard. Flustered by the day’s events, he forgot to observe proper protocol and barged straight in without being announced.

No sooner had he entered than he spotted two people chatting by an artificial rock. Though preoccupied, he couldn’t help but notice one of them was dressed in striking blue, drawing the eye. Something about the man seemed oddly familiar, so he looked again.

Liu Changqing! “The Wicked Scion of Mist and Rain”—Liu Changqing! Old Zhu was utterly dumbfounded. Who could forget? On that night in the plaza, he had swaggered about, defeating the martial expert Yin Yichun with a single move, then besting the sect master Wei Yunhu of the Star-Moon Sect. Anyone present that night would never forget Liu Changqing. To see him here now felt like a dream to Old Zhu.

Liu Changqing looked over, but, not knowing Zhu Buhuo, simply assumed he was a member of the Yang household and paid him no mind.

But Lu Baichuan, who stood nearby, recognized Old Zhu. Seeing him notice Liu Changqing, Lu’s eyes flashed with murderous intent as he fixed his gaze on Old Zhu.

The glare sent a chill down Old Zhu’s spine, and he shrank back. He had met Lu Baichuan a few times and knew the man was one who could kill at the slightest provocation. Wiping sweat from his brow—whether from running or from fear—he spotted Murong Tie beckoning him inside, and immediately felt relieved, hurrying over at once.