Chapter 516

The group didn't linger long in Yichang; the next day they set out and left the Yang residence. It was said that Yang Shouren handed over all the Yang family's businesses to the clan, and spent a large sum of money building a welfare institute dedicated to taking in disabled people with limb impairments or mental disorders.

Actually, I know that Yang Shouren is paving a way out for Ye Qi. People's hearts are cold; even ordinary families have relatives turn against each other over interests, let alone such a big family as the Yangs. Those eyeing the position of family head are by no means few. I fear that Yang Shouren's retirement will spark another bloody struggle.

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

……………………

At the bustling train station, because it was near the year-end, train tickets were especially hard to get. Finally, clever Pangzi came up with a compromise: he bought a ticket for the full trip to Guangdong, but first purchased only the Yichang-to-Hengyang leg, then claimed he had forgotten after arriving in Hengyang, and later supplemented it to a full ticket.

"Buying just this one ticket and making a fuss for half a day—it's only thanks to you having such a clever brain." I exclaimed sincerely.

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

Me: "..." Although it's off-topic, it actually makes sense.

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

After returning to Guangdong, we enjoyed about a month and a half of leisure. During that time, Pangzi and I also sought out Yao Wenju; that guy really kept his word, actually taking us to Dongguan to a leisure club of the Yao family for a massage… and it was the stimulating oil-rub kind.

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

Behind Yao Yirong stood four women of different dispositions; Pangzi and I exchanged glances, wondering why she had brought these girls—was it to cheer her on, 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 those women, he immediately wilted, covering himself with the blanket and pillow, frowning and looking miserable at the sister standing nearby.

Then we learned that these women were actually Yao Wenju's first, second, third, and fourth girlfriends; originally they kept to themselves, not even knowing of each other's existence.

But Yao Yirong, that meddler, sent a group message via 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 tear at Yao Wenju; instead, in the private room they glared at each other, refusing to yield, shouting and grappling. Sometimes I really don't understand women: obviously it's your own man who's philandering and dissolute, yet beating the third, fourth, fifth mistress is useless—men don't change their wandering ways, and the third mistress doesn't stay gone.

Besides, this relationship is also chaotic—no one knows who is the third, fourth, or fifth. I only know the private room is now more chaotic than the Three Kingdoms war; Yao Yirong coldly watched the women scuffle, her icy gaze occasionally sweeping over us, making Pangzi and me shudder.

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

So Pangzi and I skirted around those squabbling girls, preparing to leave the room and head back to Shenzhen. Before leaving, we didn't forget to give Yao Wenju a thumbs-up, thinking: I never realized this guy had such boundless energy, actually having one, two, three, four girlfriends—just keeping them company would exhaust him; it's not that ordinary people lack such vigor.

Unexpectedly, as soon as we stepped out of the room, we saw a tall figure blocking the doorway. The moment we looked up, Pangzi and I immediately wilted—the person at the door was QingSongShu, glaring at us with a furious face.

Afterwards, the wilted Pangzi and I, one on each side, had our ears twisted by QingSongShu as he took us back to Shenzhen. No need to guess—it must have been Yao Yirong who tattled; otherwise QingSongShu would have no reason to show up in Dongguan.

The result was that Pangzi and I, with our ears twisted, knelt for three days before the altar of Huaguang Ancestral Master. For practitioners, the foremost prohibition is against lust; this lust does not mean one cannot touch women—marital intimacy is allowed—but one must not go out seeking women, and must avoid excessive indulgence, because excessive indulgence drains yang energy. Moreover, on certain specific days we cannot even engage in intercourse; 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 hearts fluttering like startled deer, and we forgot this crucial time. Although QingSongShu wasn't originally that angry, happening to hit this taboo made our fate predictable: we were forced to fast, copying scriptures before the ancestral altar, kneeling for three full days. After rising, we could no longer act cute and affectionate.

A week after our punishment ended, Yang Qiye came and took Pangzi away, saying he would bring him to the mountains to endure hardship 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 tradition, learning arts is a long road—not to mention that the master must test the disciple. Moreover, few are selfless; anyone passing on skills usually keeps a trick up their sleeve, and this final trick cannot be learned by just an inner disciple or direct bloodline. Often a master may have a hundred disciples, but only one or two truly inherit that secret transmission.

Now that Pangzi has encountered Yang Qiye, he should be happy, yet Pangzi not only isn't happy—he wears a bitter face, as if he'd been swindled out of his entire fortune.

"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 dying? History doesn't record it; perhaps it was an admonition to descendants to promote and glorify medical arts.

But Pangzi raised a finger and shouted: "Wrong—Li Shizhen must have been choking his own neck before death, saying, 'This herb is poisonous!'" After speaking, Pangzi still gripped his own neck, performing it vividly.

As my spirits were utterly crushed by his antics, Pangzi tugged at my sleeve and pleaded pitifully: "Hai Sheng, I've already confessed to Sister Jingjing ninety-nine times, failed all ninety-nine, and now I've prepared my hundredth confession. If I unfortunately kick the bucket, please be sure to relay this final confession to Sister Jingjing. At least I'll have succeeded once, so even if I die I can die content."

"Okay, go ahead," I said, seeing how moving his performance was, I could only sacrifice myself to cooperate.

"Wait, I believe Sister Jingjing will surely be moved by the confession I specially designed," Pangzi said, pulling a sheet of paper from his pocket and formally beginning his confession.

"Ah… Sister Jingjing, you are the wind and I am the sand, you are the Hami melon and I am the fruit, you are the teacup and I am the tea, you are the toilet and I am the brush…" Pangzi suddenly spread his arms wide, poetically shouting "Ah…"

"Ah… Sister Jingjing, if you wake up, I wish to be the eye discharge in your eyes; 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 poured out his feelings again.

"Get lost……: Facing such a despicable person, I can only generously deliver a flying kick."

Parting should have been sentimental, but for some reason, after Pangzi's antics I only feel the urge to shove his head into the toilet. This damn nonsense love poem—if I don't finish relaying it, I fear Sister Silijing will stuff me into the toilet.

Volume Eight, Han Duo Volume, Finale

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