Chapter 76: Eight Directions Feng Shui, Flame Within Shadows

Chu Tianshu and the others quickly followed Yin Lao Die to his destination and stopped at a distance.

Ahead was a large area enclosed by walls.

The main gate was half an electric sliding barrier, half a horizontal bar set by the guard.

Inside the gate was a concrete road, flanked on both sides by flower beds and trees.

To the left of the road, not far from the main gate, stood a tall building; to the right, farther and deeper, was a three-story structure with a large footprint.

Further off, other buildings could be seen, but none were as conspicuous as these two.

When Yin Lao Die arrived at the gate, he showed his credentials, was taken to the guardhouse for inspection, and only after emerging did the barrier lift to let him in.

As soon as he entered, someone hurried out from the outer corridor of the building on the left.

“Where have you been? Didn’t I tell you to prepare for the lecture? It’s about to start—everyone’s already gone to the venue to get ready!”

Yin Lao Die hurriedly replied, “I just went to park the vehicle—I’m on my way now.”

“Just leave the vehicle here.”

The man told him to park the electric scooter right outside the building and briskly led him onward.

Fang Jun said from inside the car, “Security seems tight—probably can’t slip in easily through the gate.”

But Chu Tianshu was watching the guide, sensing something unusual about his demeanor.

If this were a scam or pyramid scheme, such a so-called key-node lecture would typically be an intense brainwashing session targeting those already trapped.

Outsiders with no prior bias, if they could overhear, would find it easier to judge the true nature of the operation.

“I’ll go in first. If something’s off, I’ll send an exclamation mark on my phone—you bring a squad of cops.”

Chu Tianshu opened the car door and waited.

As the guard lowered his head, his figure vanished instantly—not heading for the main gate, but straight to the base of the three-meter wall.

He moved swiftly along the wall’s edge, estimating the position inside corresponded to the far left of the building on the left.

Chu Tianshu made no climbing motion—his body shot upward, curled in midair, knees drawn to chest, soles rising above the wall’s top.

After clearing the wall, he extended his legs, toes touching ground, barely gaining friction before launching forward, vanishing into the building’s shadow.

A three-meter wall was nothing to his current physique—he could have done a front flip over it, or leapt straight up and cleared it effortlessly.

But only this “monkey crouching up a tree” technique offered maximum stealth, with the shortest time from takeoff to ground contact.

To an ordinary observer, even if they’d caught a fleeting glimpse of the wall’s top, they’d see nothing human.

They’d only think it was a dark shape, about the size of a cat, flashing across the wall.

Chu Tianshu already knew where every surveillance camera was around the building; as he moved, whenever he couldn’t avoid one, he used a flick of mental force to make it flicker briefly, slipping past undetected.

The left building was currently quiet; Chu Tianshu moved like a wisp of smoke, crossing the road to the deeper right, entering the three-story building.

The building was grand, with multiple entrances on the first floor.

Perhaps because the outside was tightly guarded, this area had grown lax—the corridors held no one; everyone had gone inside the first-floor hall.

Chu Tianshu pressed his back against the wall, extended his arm along the surface, pried open a narrow gap at the hall’s door, and peered inside.

The interior layout resembled not a lecture hall but a large cafeteria—tables and chairs tightly packed, tabletops narrow.

Each table held a bottle of water, most already half-drunk.

Yin Lao Die wasn’t lying—there were indeed hundreds here.

Chu Tianshu’s eyes brightened slightly.

Killing evil spirits, eliminating malevolent sorcerers—these acts were satisfying, but couldn’t be made public, leaving a faint regret.

The great deeds he’d done in the other world couldn’t be mentioned here.

Chu Tianshu wasn’t the type who did good deeds and gladly remained anonymous.

If conditions allowed, he wanted everyone—especially those he knew—to know what he’d done, so his heart felt lighter.

If Yin Lao Die ’s case truly involved a scam or pyramid scheme targeting hundreds of people,

then after Chu Tianshu’s investigation and reporting it, it would become a major case worthy of public recognition.

Whether there was a reward didn’t matter—surely he could bring back an official banner from the Macau authorities to show back home.

The energy bar on his token should also gain a noticeable boost.

Chu Tianshu arrived quickly; Yin Lao Die had just taken his seat, and someone beside him was chatting.

“Old Yin, I told you not to wander off—you got scolded by that junior supervisor, didn’t you?”

“Hmph! When my son was home, I’d casually pass by and glance. Now he’s away, I haven’t seen him in ages, so I went to look—this kid’s never easy. Should’ve stayed home.”

“Ah, I heard you went bankrupt gambling before. It’s natural your kids hold grudges.”

These hundreds of people looked mostly around fifty, with hardly any young ones.

As soon as Yin Lao Die spoke, he sparked lively conversation among those around him.

“Our gambling tax revenue is the city’s top industry—last year, it hit tens of billions. Too many people have gambled. Your son will understand eventually.”

“I still think steady work’s best. These past two years, I’ve been pasting flyers everywhere—back and shoulders ache, but now my husband and kids treat me well.”

“True. I heard after today’s lecture, we’ll get promoted. Even if we don’t, at our age, finding a peaceful job like this and sticking with it is fine.”

Yin Lao Die said, “If the company really makes big money later, and we’re all long-term staff, you don’t want a raise?”

Chu Tianshu’s hearing was excellent—he could hear not only this group but also other conversations inside the hall.

Most of these people had worked here for two years; Yin Lao Die , once a gambler, now spoke only of raises—his attitude had truly become grounded.

At that moment, over a dozen noticeably younger people rose from the front rows and walked around the hall, seemingly counting heads.

After finishing their count, a woman rose from the front row and stepped onto the stage.

Her red suit stood out; diamond earrings and lipstick gave her a sharp, capable aura.

“I’m sure everyone here recognizes me—I’m Mai Danhong, head of this company.”

The woman spoke into the microphone; the hall immediately erupted with voices.

Especially among older women, she was especially popular—they joked freely, claiming to know her, expressing familiarity.

The entire hall felt like a big family—warm and lively.

Mai Danhong smiled, but her gaze drifted upward, as if her smile wasn’t meant for those before her.

She raised a stack of papers. “When you joined this company, the last page of your contract—now all removed—is these five hundred and thirty-eight sheets in my hand.”

“They contain your ID copies, company employment certificates, and your handwritten signatures.”

“But from today on, you no longer need these old documents.”

Someone beside her held a large pair of garden shears.

Mai Danhong passed the papers over; the shears snipped once at the edges—right where everyone’s signatures were.

Since rumors had spread that new contracts were coming, none of the five hundred-plus people in the hall felt anything strange.

Some even stood up, ready to cheer and clap as the old contracts were cut.

But the instant the contracts were cut,

Chu Tianshu’s right eyelid twitched.

He sensed a surge of intense resentment rising in the hall.

From a spirit-seer’s view, thick strands of pale gray, translucent mist were rising from every corner of the hall.

What the hell?!

I just wanted to expose a normal case—what is this?

Chu Tianshu’s eyes darted left and right, unable to pinpoint where the mist originated.

Because it seemed every one of the five hundred-plus people was emitting resentment.

Many stood, genuinely cheering and clapping, yet thick resentment poured from them.

This scene was deeply unnatural.

“List!”

Chu Tianshu murmured softly, left hand drawing lightly—a wisp of resentment slipped through the door crack and coiled around his fingertip.

When he left, he’d casually wrapped the Three Seven Divine Sword around his left wrist.

After refining his mental force and enhancing its quality, the sword’s potency, destructive power, and perception had all grown sharper.

With the sword’s aid, Chu Tianshu’s true words could now list the essence of the resentment.

“Son of a bitch, lost again! Son of a bitch!”

“Stop gambling—the house has no money left, stop gambling...”

“Mom! Mom! Don’t jump! Damn gambling den!!”

Chu Tianshu seemed to hear thunderous cries of resentment—some wailing, some screaming.

All directed at gambling dens—pure, unyielding bitterness or hatred.

No, these resentments weren’t newly born—they weren’t even from these people themselves.

They’d drawn these resentments from elsewhere and released them just now.

Ordinary people’s mental energy is weak; even intense emotion can’t linger long in the air.

Practitioners of dark arts must torture people to death, combining specific birth times, environments, and incantations to gather even a sliver of usable resentment.

Yet these resentments against gambling dens weren’t all from the dead—they couldn’t have been collected in time before vanishing...

Chu Tianshu suddenly realized.

“It’s feng shui!”

The artificial feng shui formations in this city are too dense.

Hundreds of feng shui fields, while hoarding wealth, also use malevolent energies to sabotage competitors.

Those who set these feng shui formations wanted too much—creating an environment too comprehensive, too unnatural.

Even things harmful to them would naturally be preserved longer and accumulate in such an environment.

Gamblers’ actions sometimes destroy not themselves most severely, but their families—endless streams of bitterness and resentment.

The more flamboyant the casino’s surface, the thicker the hatred smoldering in its shadows becomes.

The erosion of feng shui artifacts, the decline of the casino owner’s fortune in certain phases, even bankruptcy and ruin—perhaps all bear the influence of these resentful energies.

The world has two sides; to crave benefits is inevitably to endure drawbacks.

This could be considered a weak form of retribution.

But these forces meant to one day strike them down have now been deceived and gathered by a large group of elderly men and women, using themselves as vessels.

Now, however, he had been deceived into using a host of elderly men and women as vessels to collect it.

These elderly people, who thought they had found jobs, ran back and forth for two years—most of their flyers were surely posted near casinos.

Macau is this small; most areas can be called “near a casino.”

Over five hundred people, over seven hundred days—tiny, incremental collections of resentment went utterly unnoticed.

The drinking water provided by the company must also be tainted—likely some kind of cursed water.

Each day, only a little was collected, requiring only a little containment; mixed with the cursed water, the resentment became utterly still, utterly stable.

Even with Chu Tianshu’s perception, when he met Old Yin before, he detected nothing abnormal within him.

The collective grief and resentment of so many people is a universal offering usable by any sect’s spirits, ghosts, or malevolent deities.

Today’s event is clearly a long-planned dark ritual.

“They gambled themselves into ruin—deserved it. But those families shattered—lost not just their money, perhaps even their lives.”

“And now, even their cries and resentment are being stolen by a greater monster!”

The more Chu Tianshu’s emotions churned, the colder his expression grew; every muscle in his body seemed to hum with a faint, rhythmic thudding.

He said nothing aloud, but his fingers tapped ten exclamation marks on his phone and sent them instantly.

In those few seconds, the applause and cheers in the hall vanished entirely.

The group that had just risen sat down again, dazed, their heads spinning, limbs weak.

Old Yin wondered if the hall lacked ventilation; he opened his mouth but had no strength to speak.

When the resentment was first released, these deceived elders briefly felt lighter—some slight relief.

But as the resentment released faster, it began scouring their own consciousness.

Eventually, it might even drag their souls from their bodies, evaporating away.

Now signs had appeared: their vision blurred; the figures on the stage twisted unnaturally.

They were still people—beautiful women.

In their current sight, they twisted into red snakes.

Mai Danhong’s lip gloss gleamed like a venomous serpent’s tongue; she swept her arm sideways.

Five hundred torn papers fluttered chaotically through the air.

“It begins!”

Mai Danhong laughed softly.

Those torn papers were merely catalysts—their readiness was already complete; merely stepping inside today had triggered the ritual.

She had waited two years—no, since childhood. The children her father adopted were assessed by temperament: some placed in plain sight, others kept hidden.

Those in plain sight seemed more glorious, but her father had long made clear: they could never truly be trusted with the most critical authority.

Organizing this event proved her ability and potential.

“My future will begin its stage here!”

Mai Danhong’s eyes burned, as if she longed to embrace the torrent of resentment.

Mai Danhong’s eyes burned with desire, almost longing to embrace this overwhelming resentment.

A deafening crash—the hall’s doors burst open violently, slamming into the walls and shattering into fragments.

Cracks exploded across the wall tiles.

A figure, trailing a piercing, whistling wind, streaked like a blade down the hall toward the podium.

Mai Danhong gasped—when she saw the figure, she felt as if it would split the hall clean in two.

Furious wind, raging fire, murderous intent tore through the air.

Reinforcements had not arrived.

But I can’t wait any longer!

(End of Chapter)

(End of Chapter)