Chapter 244

The group didn't linger long in Yichang; the next day they set off and left the Yang family. It is said that Yang Shouren handed over all the Yang family's business to the clan, and also spent a large sum of money to build a welfare institute, specifically to take in those with limb disabilities or mental impairments.

Actually, I know that Yang Shouren is doing this to pave the way for Ye Qi. In these times, people's hearts are cold; even ordinary families have relatives turning against each other over interests, let alone the Yang family, such a large clan. Those eyeing the position of family head are by no means few. I fear that Yang Shouren's retirement will only spark another bloody struggle.

But… what does all this have to do with us? Having seen too much, experienced too much, our hearts have gradually become numb and indifferent. The survival of the fittest, dying for wealth, seems to have become the nature of postmodern people. No matter how heartbroken or dissatisfied, I am ultimately just one person, unable to change anything.

Shenzhen - Shenzhen

At the bustling train station, because it was close to the year-end, train tickets were especially hard to get. In the end, clever Pangzi came up with a compromise: board the train that goes all the way to Guangdong, but first buy a ticket from Yichang to Hengyang; upon arriving in Hengyang, he would claim he had forgotten, and later make up the full ticket.

"Buying just this one ticket and causing such a fuss for half a day—really, it's thanks to you having such a clever head." I exclaimed from the heart.

Pangzi waved the train ticket in his hand, smirking: "Do you think we're buying train tickets? But during the year-end rush, we're not buying tickets—we're buying lottery tickets; if we win, we just happen to go home."

Me: "..." Although it's irrelevant, it actually makes sense.

Under Pangzi's compromise plan, we still managed to return smoothly to Shenzhen. I found that Pangzi's method, while not entirely honest, was indeed very useful—at least much better than being unable to buy a ticket and having to linger in Yichang for several days.

After returning to Guangdong, we spent about a month and a half of leisurely life. During that month and a half, I and Pangzi also went to find Yao Wenju; Yao Wenju really kept his word, actually taking me and Pangzi to Dongguan, to one of the Yao family's leisure clubs for a massage… and it was that kind of stimulating oil massage.

But… when I, Pangzi, and Yao Wenju had just entered the private room, our clothes not yet off, Yao Yirong led a large group of women over, murderous intent in their eyes. She slapped away the masseur sitting on Yao Wenju's back, and gave him a cold stare.

Behind Yao Yirong stood four women of different temperaments; Pangzi and I looked at each other, wondering why she had brought these girls here—was it for moral support, or were they her entourage? Logically, we don't know any of these girls.

But we soon noticed something. As soon as Yao Wenju saw these women, he immediately wilted, covering himself with the blanket and pillow, frowning and looking bitterly at the sister standing beside him.

Then we realized that, damn, these women were actually Yao Wenju's first, second, third, and fourth girlfriends. Originally they had nothing to do with each other, and they didn't even know of each other's existence.

But Yao Yirong, this meddler, sent a group message with the phone numbers, and so the four beauties gathered at the leisure club, lacking only a mahjong table to start a game.

The four women didn't go after Yao Wenju; instead, in the private room they glared at each other, refusing to yield, shouting and grappling. Sometimes I really can't understand women: it's obvious that your own man is philandering and debauched, yet beating the third, fourth, fifth mistresses is useless—men don't change their wandering ways, and the mistresses either leave or come back.

However, this relationship is also chaotic enough that we don't even know who is the third, fourth, fifth. I only know that the private room is now more chaotic than the Three Kingdoms war. Yao Yirong coldly watched from the side as several women fought. Her icy gaze occasionally swept over us. It scared me and Pangzi into a shiver.

You can manage your own brother, but you can't manage us… However, seeing the private room's current chaotic state, Pangzi and I both know Yao Wenju has a headache; this matter probably won't go anywhere.

So Pangzi and I weaved past those few girls fighting, preparing to walk out the door back to Shenzhen. Before leaving, Pangzi and I didn't forget to give Yao Wenju a thumbs up; I never realized this guy had such abundant energy, he actually has 1,2,3,4,4 girlfriends—thinking about the time spent with girlfriends would exhaust him, not just ordinary people have such energy.

Unexpectedly, as soon as we walked out of the room, we saw a tall figure standing in the doorway blocking us. The moment we lifted our heads, Pangzi and I immediately lost our nerve; the person standing in the doorway was exactly QingSongShu, glaring at us with an angry face.

After that, Pangzi and I, having lost our nerve, were each grabbed by the ear by QingSongShu and taken back to Shenzhen. No need to look—it must be Yao Yirong who tattled; otherwise, why would QingSongShu suddenly appear in Dongguan for no reason?

The result was that Pangzi and I, with our ears twisted, knelt for three days before the altar of the Huaguang Ancestral Master. For cultivators, the foremost prohibition is against lust; this lust does not mean one cannot touch women—marital relations are allowed—but one must not go out looking for women, and must avoid excessive indulgence, because excessive indulgence causes the loss of yang energy. Even so, on certain specific days we cannot engage in sexual activity; we must keep our bodies pure to face the ancestral master.

Coincidentally, the day Yao Wenju took us there happened to be a forbidden day. However, Pangzi and I were nervous as deer and forgot this crucial time. Originally QingSongShu wouldn't have been so angry, but unfortunately we happened to hit this taboo; one can imagine how dire our consequences were—we didn't eat or drink, copying scriptures before the ancestral altar, kneeling for a full three days. After getting up, we could no longer act cute and innocent.

A week after our punishment, Yang Qiye came and took Pangzi away, saying he would bring Pangzi to the mountains to undergo austere training for a period, so as to clearly identify the medicinal herbs growing there.

It's clear that Yang Qiye genuinely wants to pass on his lifetime of skills to Pangzi; if it were an ordinary person, they'd already be grinning from ear to ear, unable to close their mouth.

Among those of the Dharma sect, learning the arts is a long road—not to mention that the master must test the disciples. Moreover, few are without selfish motives; whoever passes on skills always keeps a trick up their sleeve, and this final trick cannot be learned by just any direct disciple or blood relative. Often a master may have hundreds of disciples, but only one or two truly learn this secret transmission.

Pangzi has now met Yang Qiye; he should be happy, but Pangzi is not only unhappy—he looks miserable, as if he'd been swindled out of all his possessions.

"Do you know what Li Shizhen said before he died?" Pangzi asked me with a bitter face, eyes brimming with tears.

According to historical records, Li Shizhen died of old age, a natural death. But what did he say before he died? This history doesn't record it; it should be an admonition to future generations to develop and glorify medical arts.

But Pangzi stretched out a finger and shouted loudly: "Wrong, Li Shizhen must have been gripping his own throat before he died, saying, 'This herb is poisonous!'" After saying that, Pangzi still gripped his own throat, performing it vividly.

When my mood was ruined by him to the point of being speechless, Pangzi tugged at my sleeve and said pitifully: "Hai Sheng, I have already confessed my love to Sister Silijing ninety-nine times, and I have failed all ninety-nine times; now I have prepared the words for my hundredth confession. If I unfortunately die, please be sure to relay these last words of confession to Sister Silijing. At least I succeeded once; even if I die, I can die in peace."

"En, okay, go ahead!" Seeing how moving his performance was, I had no choice but to sacrifice myself to cooperate with him.

"Wait, I believe Sister Silijing will definitely be moved by my specially designed confession words." Pangzi took out a piece of paper from his pants pocket and formally began his confession.

"Ah… Sister Silijing, you are the wind and I am the sand, you are the melon and I am the gourd, you are the teacup and I am the tea, you are the toilet and I am the brush…" Pangzi suddenly spread his arms wide, with poetic sentiment, and shouted loudly "Ah…"

"Ah… Sister Silijing, if you wake up, I wish to be the eye gunk in your eye; if you die of heat, I wish to be the three feet of cloth left on your body; if you go to the toilet, I wish to be your toilet paper; wipe…?" The tone shifted, and Pangzi expressed his feelings again.

"Get lost…: Facing such a despicable person, I had no choice but to unleash a flying kick without holding back.

Originally parting should have been sad, but for some reason, after Pangzi did that, I only felt the urge to violently stuff his head into the toilet. This damn, what a crappy love poem—I'm afraid I'll finish relaying it before Sister Silijing shoves my head into the toilet.