Chapter 17: Worldly Wealth and Power, Evil Guests Arrive

That afternoon, Su Chen was drinking tea with his father in the courtyard when Su Feng rushed back in, his face grim.

“Father, second brother—the Wang family bastards are causing trouble again!”

Su Yuanshan shot to his feet, his hands trembling with rage: “What do they want now?”

“What else?” Su Feng’s face twisted in fury. “The Wang family’s steward brought men and blocked the entrance to our silk shop, claiming our silk is fake, demanding we publicly apologize—and they seized our latest shipment!”

“Outrageous! Utterly outrageous!” Su Yuanshan stamped his foot in fury. “I’m going to confront them!”

“Father, don’t go!” Su Feng grabbed him urgently. “They’re nothing but unreasonable beasts—you’ll only get hurt!”

Su Chen set down his teacup, stood up, and spoke calmly: “Big brother, don’t panic. Where are they? Still at the shop?”

“No, they left after causing a scene. But the Wang steward warned us: tomorrow morning, Wang Ping, the second young master of the Wang family, will come here in person to ‘discuss’ the transfer of our silk shop.” Su Feng spoke through gritted teeth.

“Come to call?” Su Chen smiled. “Good. I’ve been waiting for them.”

The next morning, the Su family’s front gate was shut tight; everyone sat in the main hall, the atmosphere heavy.

Su Yuanshan and his wife fidgeted restlessly; Su Feng paced back and forth.

Only Su Chen sat calmly in his chair, sipping tea slowly.

“Thud! Thud! Thud!”

A muffled knocking echoed, each strike louder than the last, dripping with provocation.

“Open the door. Let the guest in.” Su Chen spoke softly.

The retainer trembled as he opened the gate, revealing seven or eight burly men holding clubs, led by a young man in his early twenties.

He wore an opulent brocade robe, his face pale, dark circles under his eyes—a man drained by wine and women: Wang Ping, second young master of the Wang family.

Wang Ping strode into the courtyard with arrogance, sneering at the Su family’s estate, muttering “Tsk, tsk”: “This place isn’t bad. Once I take it over, I’ll keep a few good dogs here.”

His retinue burst into laughter.

Su Feng’s face turned ashen, his fists clenched until his knuckles cracked.

Wang Ping sauntered into the hall, spotted Su Yuanshan seated in the main chair, and offered a hollow bow with a fake smile: “Old Master Su, still in good health?”

Before Su Yuanshan could reply, Wang Ping plopped himself onto a side chair, crossed his legs, and spoke condescendingly: “No need for nonsense. I’ll buy your silk shop for five hundred taels. Here’s the contract—sign it. We’ll still be neighbors; no need to make things unpleasant.”

He tossed the contract onto the table.

Five hundred taels? The shop—land and inventory combined—was worth at least three thousand!

This wasn’t a purchase—it was outright robbery.

“Young Master Wang, you’re going too far!” Su Feng finally snapped.

“Too far?” Wang Ping laughed as if hearing a joke of cosmic absurdity. “I’m being too far? What are you going to do? Listen: today, you sign—or you still sign! Otherwise, it won’t stop at your silk shop. Your house, your entire Su family—whether you can stay safely in Mianshui County—will be another matter entirely!”

As he spoke, his men slammed their clubs onto the ground with a clatter, their menace laid bare.

Li Shi turned pale with fear; Su Wen and Su Yue cowered behind their mother, trembling.

Su Yuanshan shook with rage, pointing at Wang Ping, lips quivering, unable to utter a word.

In that tense moment, a calm voice spoke.

“The tea’s gone cold.”

All eyes turned instinctively to the Daoist priest who had said nothing until now.

Su Chen slowly poured the remaining tea onto the floor, then refilled his cup from the teapot.

Wang Ping frowned—he’d noticed the Daoist earlier, but ignored him.

Now, seeing this utter disregard, a surge of rage flared in his chest.

“Who the hell are you? Do you have the right to speak here?” Wang Ping barked.

Su Chen lifted his cup, blew gently on the steam, still not looking at him, and said calmly: “This tea is new this year—bitter on the tongue, sweet in the aftertaste. A pity. Wasted on dogs.”

“Who the fuck are you calling a dog?!” Wang Ping exploded, slamming his fist on the table and leaping to his feet.

The nearest burly man instantly understood, swinging his club toward Su Chen’s head.

“Second brother, watch out!” Su Feng cried out.

But a strange thing happened.

The club halted an inch from Su Chen’s skull, as if blocked by an invisible wall, unable to move forward.

The man’s face turned crimson; he strained with all his might—but the club didn’t budge.

Then, something even stranger occurred.

“Crack!”

With a sharp snap, the solid wooden club—thick as a man’s arm—split cleanly in half, without warning.

The man screamed, clutching the broken half, stumbling backward, eyes wide with terror.

The entire hall fell silent—so quiet a pin could be heard dropping.

Everyone stared, dumbfounded, utterly baffled by what had just happened.

Wang Ping’s arrogance froze on his face; he stared at Su Chen, his eyes filled with doubt for the first time.

Su Chen finally lifted his gaze and looked at him.

Wang Ping felt an indescribable chill surge from his soles to the crown of his head.

It wasn’t the gaze of a man—it was the gaze of two bottomless abysses, brimming with terror that could shake his very soul.

“Plop!”

Wang Ping’s legs buckled; he collapsed to his knees without control, his knees striking the hard blue stone floor with a dull thud.

His men turned deathly pale, their legs trembling, clubs nearly slipping from their grasp.

They didn’t understand what had happened—but the fear deep in their souls was real.

“Y-you… who are you?” Wang Ping stammered, voice trembling with terror.

Su Chen did not answer. He turned his gaze to the contract Wang Ping had thrown on the table.

He extended a finger and pointed at it, midair.

“Whoosh—”

A small cluster of golden flame appeared atop the contract.

In an instant, the thick paper burned to ash—no trace, no residue remained.

Golden Core truefire, used to burn a single sheet of paper—was like using a cannon to kill a chicken.

Having done this, Su Chen finally looked again at Wang Ping, who was nearly fainting, and spoke slowly, his voice still calm.

“Go back and tell your father.”

“Before sunset tomorrow, return everything your family has stolen from the Su household—principal and interest, all of it.”

“And tell him: Su Chen is back.”