Chapter 261: Again the Talk of Fate

“This doesn’t make sense—how did that old shrew come back?” Fang Yiliu’s expression turned dark.

Yesterday, he used his connections to smuggle the owner of Longfeng Inn out of Meilong Town through a roundabout route and earned a hefty reward.

As for why the buyer wanted such a fiery old woman, Fang Yiliu didn’t care one bit.

With that sum of silver, his life suddenly became lavish—he spent last night at the town’s biggest brothel, hiring three courtesans to keep him company.

“That man clearly isn’t someone to mess with—if he finds out the old shrew ran off and comes looking for me, I’m dead.” Fang Yiliu was, after all, a bully who picked on the weak and cowered before the strong.

Only because the reward was so large did he dare to provoke Li Wanwu.

“I’ve got to find a way to capture her and deliver her back—if she comes looking for me, she’ll kill me.” Fang Yiliu was terrified.

He knew the man was cruel, but Li Wanwu was merely fierce—she wouldn’t kill him.

“If I return her, maybe I’ll get another reward.” Greed flickered in Fang Yiliu’s eyes.

As for fleeing? The reward money would only last him a short while—what would he do elsewhere, outside Meilong Town?

He acted on impulse, kicked his spirit beast, Wu Jiao Dog, then strode boldly into Longfeng Inn.

But as he reached the doorway, he saw chaos inside the main hall—his heart leapt. This was a perfect opportunity.

The waiter rushed out and bumped into him—he cursed: “Why are you running so fast? Trying to get yourself reincarnated?”

“Get lost, get lost, I’m busy!” The waiter shoved Fang Yiliu, sending him stumbling.

Fang Yiliu was about to curse back—but the waiter was already gone.

It wasn’t just Longfeng Inn that treated him this way; most other shops did the same.

Poverty alone wouldn’t provoke such hostility—the real reason was that he constantly stole, caused trouble, and harassed nearby shops.

Over time, everyone avoided him, so they naturally disliked seeing him.

Even the waiters who served guests had no patience for him.

“Pfft, you’re just a waiter—acting like a master?” Fang Yiliu spat, spotted Li Wanwu, and shoved his way toward the back rooms.

But before he could push in, someone grabbed him.

“Who are you? What are you doing following them?” Chu Danqing studied the man closely—his clothes were patched haphazardly, reeking of sour stench.

Clearly didn’t care about personal hygiene.

But that was his own business—Chu Danqing didn’t care. Still, following them to the back rooms was suspicious.

This man wasn’t staff—the clothes alone proved it, but even a place for meals and lodging wouldn’t tolerate such filth unless the pay was terrible.

“I’m the” Fang Yiliu sized up Chu Danqing—didn’t recognize him, a stranger, could be fooled.

But the moment he opened his mouth, Chu Danqing slapped him three hard blows across the face.

“Where did this thug come from? Does anyone know him?” Chu Danqing lifted Fang Yiliu by one hand.

He wasn’t skilled in combat—but his stats weren’t just for show.

Five attributes at 20 points—back when he first entered the Paradise, that would’ve crushed his original self into paste with a single punch.

Not to mention Fang Yiliu, who’d been drunk and exhausted after three rounds last night—his legs were still weak, no chance to resist.

“I know him—Fang Doghead, always scheming to steal chickens and sneak into gardens. He’s here to stir up trouble.” A diner glanced over and spoke up.

After being exposed, Fang Yiliu glared venomously at the diner.

But who in this inn would fear him? The diner stood and slapped him two more hard blows.

Retaliation? This was a world of spirit beasts—what right did a thug like him have to challenge a rich man’s power?

If he dared cause trouble, they’d drag him into a mansion, beat him half-dead, then dump him outside to die.

He only bullied the poor.

Chu Danqing raised an eyebrow: “Not a good person?”

“Definitely not. He kicks open widows’ doors, beats widowers, insults orphans—what evil deed hasn’t he done?” Another diner added.

“Such a vile man never had his legs broken? Fine—I’ll deliver justice.” Chu Danqing reached for Wu Jiao Dog.

Wu Jiao Dog sensed danger, turned to flee—Chu Danqing stopped reaching and kicked it dead in one motion.

Spirit beast dead—Zi Fu backlash struck. Fang Yiliu bled from all seven orifices.

But the backlash wasn’t as severe as when the female innkeeper of the Wilderness Inn died.

Simple reason: the weaker the cultivator, the weaker the backlash.

So he only suffered superficial injuries.

Yet without his spirit beast, Fang Yiliu—the thug—lost all power.

He was immediately thrown out of the inn.

Fang Yiliu knew he’d stepped on iron—he didn’t care about the reward or Wu Jiao Dog’s corpse, scrambled and crawled away as fast as he could.

After dealing with that, Chu Danqing continued into the back room.

“Another opportunity has come knocking—Chu Brother truly has great fortune.” On Yang Qianyuan’s shoulder, the Chènmìng Spider wove its web, sensing something.

“Opportunity? Where from?” Chu Danqing didn’t understand: “Not from that thug, surely?”

“Precisely. But my power and the Chènmìng Spider’s are too weak—we can’t discern its origin or nature, only that it appears at night.”

“If Chu Brother needs, we can go together tonight and see what this opportunity is.” Yang Qianyuan continued.

Chu Danqing noticed something interesting: his increased luck could synergize with Yang Qianyuan’s Heavenly Fate calculation—like a qualitative transformation.

Luck didn’t directly boost or indirectly strengthen—it quietly opened doors.

If you seized that chance, you’d receive ample positive feedback.

If you missed it, the opportunity vanished—no more “fate.”

But sometimes, fortune and misfortune could coexist.

Like the spirit beast atlas of the Cangtian Bawang Spear.

“Let’s see how things look tonight—if nothing happens, we can go later.” Chu Danqing didn’t refuse this time.

If it triggered a side quest, even better.

Like this thug—normally, Chu Danqing would’ve just beaten him and tossed him out, never imagining any “opportunity.”

As for killing—he hadn’t committed a capital crime.

Without Wu Jiao Dog, even if he lived, he’d have to pay for his past sins.

They entered the back room together. Sun Dashou lay unconscious on the bed; an elderly physician had been summoned, examined him, and frowned deeply.

“Madam Li, this man has no illness—only injury.” The physician, experienced with Zi Fu backlash cases, said: “It’s Zi Fu backlash—and severe.”

“I’ve never seen such intense backlash—I’m not sure I can cure him.” The physician began writing a prescription.

Zi Fu backlash was common. Though irreversible—preventing cultivation of a second spirit beast—the injuries it caused could be healed.

After healing, he’d lose his power and become an ordinary man.

Why did this old doctor have so much experience? Because spirit beasts died often—like when someone chopped wood and encountered wild spirit beasts, and the beast died protecting its master.

Also fishing, mining, accidents—Meilong Town saw three or five such cases monthly.

Spirit beasts weren’t immortal—death was natural.

As the physician wrote the prescription, his spirit beast, Golden-Haired Macaque, began treating Sun Dashou.

“Send someone to fetch these herbs. Whether he lives or dies depends on his fate.” The physician handed the prescription to Li Wanwu, waited for the Golden-Haired Macaque to finish, then left with his medicine chest.

Li Wanwu was furious—she’d lost a meal, and now this burden was dumped on her.

Finally, she grumbled, handed over silver, and ordered a waiter to get the medicine.

But Chu Danqing and Yang Qianyuan weren’t concerned with survival—they noted the severity of the injury meant Sun Dashou had once been powerful.

Such a person fit the profile of high rank and authority—but how had he fallen so low?

“Sigh, why is my fate so bitter?” Li Wanwu muttered.

Anyone would be angry—but she was the type who spoke harshly but had a soft heart.

Sun Dashou was clumsy, but he worked earnestly.

After treatment, Sun Dashou slowly woke.

“You… sigh, never mind, rest well.” Li Wanwu started to say something, then stopped.

Sun Dashou knew his condition—he asked: “What did the doctor say about me?”

He wasn’t foolish—he’d closed his eyes and opened them on a bed, his pain slightly eased, even if only a drop in the bucket.

He knew Li Wanwu had called the doctor.

Sun Dashou was moved—no one had ever treated him so kindly, without expecting return.

He’d had good people around him before—but he knew they respected him for his status, not for himself.

“Rest well, and you’ll recover,” Li Wanwu lied, hiding the truth: “Don’t worry—the doctor is famous in these ten li.”

“He’s healed countless Zi Fu backlash cases. Rest now. When you’re better, your room and medicine fees will be paid off with your labor.”

Li Wanwu grumbled, then gestured for Chu Danqing and Yang Qianyuan to leave.

After they left, Sun Dashou gave a bitter smile—he knew his condition too well. Her words fooled no one.

“I, the Emperor, was truly blind—this is my just punishment. I deserve to die.”

(End of Chapter)