Chapter 6: Chapter Six: The Old Grandma Didn
Gu Xiaoniang stood beside the ticket counter, watched for a while, then stepped away—wrong!
Something was terribly wrong!
Why didn’t those people pay for their tickets? That little iron box just beeped when swiped… what was going on?
What should she do now?
Uncle San said you need an ID to buy train tickets outside, but the ID he made for me looks nothing like theirs!
And money…
Why don’t these people use money? That little iron box just beeps?
The girl couldn’t help squeezing the stack of paper bills—Dragon Coins, all ten-yuan and five-yuan denominations—hidden in her pocket.
Just then, a few street urchins near the station had already spotted her.
This girl, at first glance, dressed in something ridiculously rustic.
But look at her face—beautiful in a terrifying way!
Two or three urchins edged closer; one stood right in front of Gu Xiaoniang.
“Little sister, can’t find a place to eat? Want us to take you somewhere cheap?”
The one speaking stared at her face, then down at the pale, exposed neck above her collar.
Holy shit!
Could a golden phoenix really fly out of a straw nest?
This girl dresses like a peasant but looks stunningly beautiful!
Where the hell did she crawl out from?
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Gu Xiaoniang glanced at the three of them, took a quiet breath.
She silently recited Uncle San’s words three times before leaving.
The next second, her face lit up with a sweet smile.
She nodded, voice soft and sweet: “Okay~”
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A few minutes later, in an alley two hundred meters from the station.
The three urchins lay behind a pile of trash; one’s arm bent at a grotesque angle.
Gu Xiaoniang walked along the wall, casually wiping her soft palm across the wall to smear off dust.
Hmm, it’s bloody now—soiled my sleeve, not happy!
She turned, scowling at the three men lying on the ground.
Held the little iron box in her hand—taken from one of them.
How do you use this thing?
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Back outside the station, Gu Xiaoniang circled the building, spotted the freight yard behind it, checked left and right—no one around—then crouched low…
She slipped over the red brick wall.
If I can’t buy a ticket, can’t I just climb aboard?
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Moreover, moreover, moreover…
A freight train rolled along the tracks.
One middle car, open to the sky, was full of coal.
The girl sat atop the coal pile; her once-neat little jacket was now blackened all over.
The girl grew even more displeased.
People out here wear only one kind of clothing!
Hmph, that Chen family’s dog of a man—this is all your fault!
·
Four days later, Chen Yan had boarded the flight to Hongcheng.
Chen Yan had a Hongcheng pass—he’d gotten it three months ago when hired; HR said, “What if you ever need to travel to Hongcheng for work? Just in case?”
So he got it—and paid for it himself.
Those few dozen yuan? Not reimbursed.
Fine. Everyone in the workplace knew HR didn’t do HR things.
·
The seventh-day memorial had passed; the funeral in his hometown was over; the old woman was buried.
Chen Yan had settled all matters at home, thanked everyone in the village who helped.
As he sat on the plane leaving home, Chen Yan felt a quiet unease.
This trip to Hongcheng was a decision he’d gritted his teeth to make—because the flight ticket had consumed nearly all his savings.
After buying the ticket and reserving a cheap hotel in Hongcheng online, his bank balance was left with 338 yuan—not enough for the return flight.
As the plane took off, Chen Yan nearly embraced the mindset of “The wind howls, the waters of Yi run cold”—if this bank account was fake, if the old grandma had tricked him, his only path home would be begging his way back from Hongcheng.
Once the plane leveled off in flight, Chen Yan pulled out the old grandma’s “manual” and flipped through it again.
This had become his daily habit these past few days.
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The manual left by the old grandma contained three main categories.
The first was cultivation methods.
Two were recorded: one called “The Method of Moving Primordial Qi,” the other “The Cycle of Qi and Fortune.”
Chen Yan understood “The Cycle of Qi and Fortune” at once—it was fortune-telling, calculating destiny. He’d learned some of the celestial and terrestrial calculation arts from the old grandma since childhood; with that foundation, this method was instantly clear.
He just didn’t know if it actually worked.
“The Method of Moving Primordial Qi” was the basic cultivation technique—in wuxia novels, it was inner strength; in xianxia, it was spiritual energy. But in the old grandma’s book, it was simply called “primordial qi.”
It said all living beings are born carrying primordial qi from heaven and earth, but once entering the world, it slowly leaks away, leaving little behind. The older one grows, the less remains.
Hence, most ordinary beings are healthy when young, weak and sickly when old.
Those born frail had insufficient primordial qi from birth—their qi leaked away even in the womb.
Ordinary people lose primordial qi after birth and never gain more. But with cultivation methods, this qi can slowly accumulate.
When primordial qi enters the body, it at least strengthens health; at advanced levels, one can use it to perform miraculous arts.
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Chen Yan had begun practicing “The Method of Moving Primordial Qi” the day after receiving the manual.
That night, he felt a faint sensation in his upper, middle, and lower dantians—a subtle absorption of primordial qi from heaven and earth, like soaking in warm water, gently cleansing his body inside and out.
Finally, primordial qi entered his body; he judged he had entered the threshold.
That night, in the middle of sleep, he suddenly felt unbearable abdominal pain, leapt from bed, and dashed to the toilet.
And that night, he ran back and forth five or six times!
By the end, Chen Yan was completely drained; he gave up returning to his room, simply grabbed a pillow, sat on the toilet seat, and leaned his head against the wall.
Chen Yan had a small fantasy that night:
He’d seen this symptom in old web novels—when cultivating, you cleanse your bones and marrow, expelling impurities from the body?
Was this… the Renaissance?
Only the next day did he realize: it was just gastroenteritis.
He hadn’t eaten for two days before the old grandma’s funeral, starving himself.
After his grief eased, he gorged himself—and then… his stomach couldn’t handle it.
Still, whether from psychological effect or not, he felt after that night’s purge, and after sleeping through the morning, his body felt noticeably lighter.
And when he practiced “The Method of Moving Primordial Qi” again, the sensation of qi entering his body became much smoother—not the stuttering, uneven feeling at first, but now faint yet continuous.
Hmm. Here, Chen Yan confirmed: his “Method of Moving Primordial Qi” was officially entered.
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The second major category in the manual was various spells.
A dazzling, chaotic array.
There was the method of opening the heavenly eye to observe qi and people, the method of remote object retrieval, the art of manipulating and transporting spirits, techniques for subduing evil and slaying demons…
Put simply, Chen Yan thought, it was pure xuanhuan.
The third category was artifact appraisal—fragmentary, like instruction manuals for making simple talismans.
But Chen Yan couldn’t use the second or third categories yet.
His primordial qi had just entered the threshold; he couldn’t cast spells, let alone craft talismans.
·
During the days he handled the funeral at home, Chen Yan practiced “The Method of Moving Primordial Qi” daily—though the manual didn’t say whether sitting meditation was required, Chen Yan figured, from all the movies, TV shows, and novels he’d seen, cultivation always involved sitting cross-legged.
And “The Cycle of Qi and Fortune,” he calculated his fortune seven or eight times a day.
According to the qi fortune algorithm, his fortune was decent lately—not great luck, but he’d likely encounter minor fortune.
Chen Yan waited two or three days, and on the night before leaving home, on his way back from thanking the village chief,
he picked up five yuan.
Then, as for my own fortune… it was just a flat line.
This… counts as spiritual, right?
·
Several hours later, exhausted, Chen Yan stepped out of Hong Kong International Airport, dragging the counterfeit Zimowa suitcase he’d bought on some online platform half a year ago, and stared at the unfamiliar streets—still feeling as if he were in a dream.
Hong Kong isn’t large, but prices are high, and taxis are expensive; even a bottle of mineral water in a supermarket costs several yuan.
He checked the time—it was barely past two in the afternoon.
No hotel—straight to the bank!
…
Somewhere on a street in Central, Hong Kong.
He stared at the imposing building before him.
He carefully read the sign and confirmed he hadn’t come to the wrong place—a long-established private bank with British capital, its Hong Kong branch, said to have a long history.
Chen Yan took a deep breath and walked into the lobby.
Unlike mainland banks, always bustling with crowds and retired elders seeking air conditioning, this private bank’s lobby was not spacious, and it was quiet and cold, with none of the massive enclosed counters common in domestic banks.
Behind a reception desk sat a female employee dressed in professional attire—evidently a local Hong Kong girl.
Seeing Chen Yan enter with a furtive air, she immediately stood up, smiled politely, and spoke in English.
Chen Yan was a poor student; his English in school had barely scraped past the passing line.
He frowned. “Can you speak Standard Chinese? I have business to handle.”
The female employee’s polite professional smile didn’t flicker, but her eyes clearly… hmm.
Chen Yan stared into her eyes, reached into his pocket, and pulled out the hexagonal key.
Only then did her expression turn serious; her face immediately softened back into a smile. She picked up the phone on the desk, dialed a few numbers, and said something.
Two minutes later.
“Good afternoon, sir. I am Luca Sommer, head of Asia-Pacific client services. It’s an honor to serve you.”
Standing before him was a well-dressed white man—clearly a pure-blooded old-school Westerner.
Unexpectedly, this white man’s Chinese was surprisingly standard.
Chen Yan glanced at the Hong Kong girl behind the reception desk.
These days, countless foreigners go out of their way to learn Chinese to do business with the Chinese, yet some locals here still put on airs, as if speaking Chinese were beneath them?
Two words: cheap!
·
After the white man asked Chen Yan to present his account and key, he sent someone to verify them, then personally escorted Chen Yan into a VIP elevator.
“Your account is classified as a VIP. Your assets are stored in our underground vault. Per policy, you may freely deposit or withdraw any items within.”
Chen Yan already knew this—he’d researched it online before coming. The ancient private bank’s vault service recognized only the key, not the person; clients didn’t even need to leave personal information.
Hmm… seems quite convenient for certain… unsavory matters.
After the white man brought him to the underground vault, Chen Yan entered a room accompanied by him and two men who appeared to be security personnel.
Sommer pointed to another door in the room: “Your personal vault lies inside…”
Not a safe deposit box?
A whole… vault?
Chen Yan was surprised.
“Our authorization only extends to this point. The first door in this room can be opened with your account code. The vault door inside can only be opened by your exclusive key. We wish you a pleasant experience.”
After speaking, Sommer and the two security personnel politely withdrew outside the door.
Chen Yan watched the door close, then took a deep breath.
He entered the account code on the password-protected door opposite.
The door opened, revealing a corridor that wasn’t particularly narrow.
Three to five meters long, at its end stood a solid metal door.
His heart pounded as he walked over, found the keyhole on the door, his fingers trembling slightly as he pulled out the hexagonal key, inserted it, and turned it gently.
A series of clicking sounds came from within, and the circular metal door slowly swung open.
Standing outside the vault door, Chen Yan took one look inside—at the dazzling golden glow—and his eyes filled with excitement, joy, awe!
“Grandma… she didn’t lie to me after all!!”
In that moment, Chen Yan was so happy he nearly suffered a stroke!
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End of Chapter
