Chapter 50

He picked up his phone and dialed his secretary’s number, his tone brooking no refusal.

“Tomorrow, have two students named Jiang Xia and Wang Teng come to my office, along with Teacher Zhang from the Literature Academy—I need to speak with them properly.”

“Also, prepare the contract for the experimental building our group donated to Linjiang Elementary School—I want to see if they truly dare to ignore my status as a board member.”

After hanging up, Yang Zhibiao looked at his still-fuming wife and patted her hand.

“Don’t worry—tomorrow I’ll make them apologize to Itachi. That crocodile skin bag? No one’s taking it away.”

“In Linjiang, it’s not two students who get to challenge the Yang family.”

The aristocratic woman finally smiled, leaning into Yang Zhibiao’s arms.

“Itachi’re the best! Tomorrow, they must kneel and kowtow to me—or I won’t swallow this anger!”

Yang Zhibiao narrowed his eyes, his fingers stroking his phone screen.

He didn’t care about black markets or not—this crocodile skin bag was a symbol of his status; Jiang Xia and Wang Teng making his wife suffer was an insult to the Yang family.

As for the Literature Academy, as long as they couldn’t prove he directly participated in black market dealings, the worst they could do was a meaningless warning.

He’d built his network in Linjiang for years—it was already a web. Did he really fear two greenhorn students?

Early the next morning, Yang Zhibiao sat in his office on the top floor of the Yang Group, gazing out at the panoramic view of Linjiang, two Wu Zong bodyguards standing behind him.

He sipped his coffee, waiting for Jiang Xia and Wang Teng to arrive.

He’d already decided: make the two students apologize and admit fault, then “temporarily store” the crocodile skin bag with him—case closed.

The office door opened; Teacher Zhang walked in first, Jiang Xia and Wang Teng following behind.

Their faces showed no expression—as if they weren’t here to negotiate rules, but merely to go through the motions.

Yang Zhibiao set down his coffee cup, leaned back in his leather chair, and tilted his chin slightly upward.

“Student Jiang, Student Wang, my wife was wronged at school yesterday—don’t Itachi owe her an explanation?”

Wang Teng was about to speak, but Jiang Xia stepped forward first, his gaze fixed on the wall behind Yang Dong’s desk.

There hung a calligraphy piece by Li Chengru, written twenty years ago when Li came to Linjiang.

He pointed at the artwork, his voice calm yet piercing.

“Mr. Yang, Itachi hang Teacher Li’s calligraphy on your wall, use a bag made from the hide of a fire spirit crocodile he and his peers slew—and now Itachi want to talk about explanations?”

Yang Zhibiao’s face darkened; he opened his mouth to retort, but Wang Teng had already pulled out his phone and opened a file.

“By the way, I forgot to tell Itachi yesterday—we checked the auction house under Yang Group’s name. Three months ago, they didn’t just buy fire spirit crocodile skin—they handled three spirit cores stolen from the Literature Academy.”

“Here’s the transaction record—with your auction house manager’s signature.”

At that moment, Teacher Zhang also spoke, pulling a document from his briefcase.

“Mr. Yang, according to the Night Watcher regulations, merchants who privately hoard or trade high-grade monster materials face fines and confiscation at minimum, or criminal liability at worst.”

“As chairman, Itachi should know the rules better than we do.”

Yang Zhibiao’s fingers clenched violently, his knuckles turning white.

He hadn’t expected these two students to dig so deep—even the auction house’s transaction records.

The two Wu Zong bodyguards behind him moved to step forward, but Jiang Xia glanced at them.

In that glance, the Tsukuyomi Mangekyō Sharingan flashed—both bodyguards froze in place, unable to move.

The aristocratic woman’s arrogance from yesterday had vanished; now she cowered behind Yang Dong, silent.

She stared at the transaction record in Jiang Xia’s hand, her heart filled only with terror.

She finally understood: she had provoked not two ordinary students, but someone even the Yang family couldn’t withstand.

Yang Dong fell silent for a long time, then released his grip and stood up.

“...The bag will be delivered to the Literature Academy. As for the auction house, I’ll cooperate fully with the investigation.”

He looked at Jiang Xia, his tone stripped of its former arrogance, now tinged with resignation. “Yesterday’s incident was my wife’s fault. I apologize on her behalf.”

Jiang Xia nodded, pulling Wang Teng to turn away. “Teacher Zhang, the rest is up to Itachi.”

The two walked out of the office; Wang Teng glanced back at the pale-faced aristocratic woman inside and snorted.

“Thought they could challenge us? Didn’t even bother to weigh their own weight.”

The elevator door clicked shut.

Wang Teng leaned against the elevator wall, pulled out his phone, and opened the photo of the crocodile skin bag—he smirked at the gaudy, glittering purse on screen.

“Do Itachi think Yang Zhibiao’s brain is full of water? The fire spirit crocodile was slain by the academy heads to protect the people.”

“That hide should’ve been in the Literature Academy long ago—he turns it into a purse for his wife to show off.”

Jiang Xia’s fingertip tapped lightly on the elevator’s floor buttons, his gaze fixed on the scrolling numbers, voice calm.

“It’s not stupidity—it’s arrogance from believing his connections make him immune to Night Watcher rules.”

He paused. “But now, with humanity flourishing, Linjiang doesn’t need the Yang Group one bit.”

The elevator reached the first floor; as the door cracked open, hurried footsteps echoed from the lobby.

Yang Dong’s secretary, drenched in sweat, rushed over clutching a black velvet box, offering it to Jiang Xia with both hands.

“Student Jiang, this—this is the crocodile skin bag. As Mr. Yang ordered, delivered to the Literature Academy.”

Wang Teng reached out, took the box, and lifted the lid slightly to peek inside—he snorted.

“Why didn’t Itachi just hand it over yesterday? That would’ve saved us all this trouble.”

The secretary turned pale, dared not reply, only bowed repeatedly.

The two stepped out of the Yang Group building; Wang Teng slung the box over his shoulder and nudged Jiang Xia’s arm.

“Lunch at that stir-fried rice noodles place at the alley’s end? Last time Itachi said their pickled mustard greens were especially flavorful.”

Jiang Xia nodded, about to reply—his phone vibrated.

It was Su Changfeng’s message.

In the auction house transaction records, besides the spirit cores and fire spirit crocodile skin, there was also a transfer to the Black Market’s Cult of the Evil God. I’ve already reported this lead to Night Watcher Headquarters.

Wang Teng leaned over, read the message, and raised an eyebrow. “Oh? Yang Dong is hiding deeper than we thought—he’s even connected to the Cult of the Evil God?”

Jiang Xia put away his phone, looked up at the Yang Group tower, his gaze darkening. “So yesterday wasn’t the end—it was just the beginning.”

Wang Teng swung the box in his hand, then suddenly remembered something and grinned.

“By the way, when Itachi used your ability to scare those two Wu Zong bodyguards, Itachi didn’t see how white their faces turned! They’ll probably never dare lay a hand on a student again.”

Jiang Xia’s lips curled into a faint smile—he said nothing, but his steps grew lighter.

That wasn’t just fear—it was real Mangekyō illusion technique. I used to avoid it because of the side effects.

Now that I have the Eternal Mangekyō, even dogs passing by get Tsukuyomi and Amaterasu.

The scent of stir-fried rice noodles from the alley’s end drifted over, making Wang Teng and Jiang Xia’s stomachs growl.