Chapter 80: Father

The next day, before dawn, Zhang Fan was awakened by a clamor.

Lately, his sleep had been poor; the hours he could fall asleep had grown fewer, but luckily he still had the sleeping pills left by Zhang Lingzong, barely managing three or four hours a night.

“So early… what’s going on?”

Zhang Fan, half-asleep, went downstairs and, just as he reached the gated entrance of the compound, saw a crowd gathered by the alleyway beside him.

“What happened, Auntie?”

“What are you yelling about, kid? I’m only fifty-eight this year—who’s your auntie?”

“...”

“Last night’s thunderstorm collapsed the alley… looks like it buried two people…”

“Oh my god, those two were people?”

“They’re twisted like twist dough…”

In moments, the old men and women around had gathered, each chiming in, and in an instant, those two were already ruined in reputation.

After all, who in their right mind would be struck by lightning in the dead of night?

“These days, why does thunder only strike people?”

Zhang Fan murmured softly, and as he turned, he bumped into Liu Fusheng.

“Uncle Liu, good morning.”

“Morning…” Liu Fusheng yawned.

“Has my dad contacted you?” Zhang Fan asked.

For the past two days, he hadn’t been able to reach Zhang Lingzong; when he called the construction site, they said work had stopped nearly half a month ago—since the houses weren’t selling, the final payments couldn’t be settled, and there was no point in dragging it out.

“He had some urgent business—seems he went to Shangjing City. Told you not to worry,” Liu Fusheng said offhandedly.

“Shangjing? Why would he go there? And why can’t I reach him on the phone?” Zhang Fan’s expression turned suspicious.

“He lost his phone… once he gets a new one, he’ll contact you.”

“Lost it!?” Zhang Fan’s brow twitched; he fell silent.

“Fanfan, haven’t had breakfast yet? Come, have some with Uncle. Freshly baked pork buns—still hot.”

Liu Fusheng carried a brown paper bag and two cups of soy milk, strolling slowly toward the security booth.

“Uncle, what did my dad used to do?”

Zhang Fan followed, asking casually.

Liu Fusheng’s hands paused slightly, then he said: “Why are you asking?”

“Just curious… you know, when I was twelve… I can’t remember some things.”

“He used to… do everything… the most he did…”

“Collect corpses.”

Liu Fusheng’s words were startling.

“What?” Zhang Fan blinked: “My dad worked at a funeral home? Then he was officially employed…?”

Nowadays, getting a job at a funeral home requires an exam; though not dignified, the pay is high.

“Funeral home… yeah… you could say that,” Liu Fusheng nodded.

“Why did he quit?” Zhang Fan pressed.

Though the job sounded unlucky, it was far easier than laboring on a construction site; Zhang Lingzong was no longer young, and Zhang Fan had long urged him to quit the site once he graduated.

“You collected so many corpses—you’d want to throw up too,” Liu Fusheng shook his head.

“What a sin.”

“A sin? Isn’t that accumulating virtue?”

“Uh… yeah, yeah, accumulating virtue… a great good deed.”

Liu Fusheng grinned, shoving a large pork bun into his mouth and biting down—juice splattered everywhere.

… Nine a.m., Taoyuan Square.

Zhang Fan was waiting for the elevator; his peripheral vision caught Jiang Lai walking over—still with shoulder-length hair, fresh and lovely.

“Jiang Lai, your health’s recovered, right?”

Zhang Fan greeted her, concerned.

“You haven’t been sleeping well?” Jiang Lai looked at Zhang Fan and suddenly spoke.

“Dark circles? Are they that obvious?” Zhang Fan instinctively rubbed his eyes.

“If you can’t sleep, take medicine,” Jiang Lai turned her head, staring at the elevator—just then, the doors opened.

Both stepped in; now the elevator held only Zhang Fan and Jiang Lai.

“Jiang Lai, where did we meet before? I mean, before Zhenwu Mountain…” Zhang Fan fixed his gaze on her and asked.

“We met.”

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Jiang Lai’s reply made Zhang Fan’s eyelid twitch slightly.

“Where!?” Zhang Fan hurriedly asked.

“You told me to wait for you to come back,” Jiang Lai turned, her ethereal gaze unrippled, resting on Zhang Fan.

“Huh? I’m back now, aren’t I?” Zhang Fan’s expression turned strange.

Jiang Lai turned away, silent.

At that moment, the elevator stopped at the seventeenth floor; the doors opened, and she walked out directly.

“Jiang Lai… Jiang Lai… wait, tell me clearly—where did we meet?”

Zhang Fan hurried after her, but Jiang Lai said not another word.

Inside the company entrance, Zhang Fan stared at Jiang Lai with a strange expression, but did not press further.

“What’s wrong? You didn’t sleep well?”

Jiang Hu sat in her swivel chair and leaned over.

“...”

“By the way, the materials you asked for—I’ve prepared them.”

As she spoke, Jiang Hu placed a stack of documents on Zhang Fan’s desk.

“So much?”

“Of course—do you know how big Yujing City is? One of thirteen cities in Jiangnan Province, it leads them all; countless hidden cultivator families dwell here…” Jiang Hu whispered.

Without exaggeration, Yujing City gathers most of Jiangnan Province’s cultivators; individuals abound, but families with over three generations of lineage are few.

For example, the He family—descended from horse spirit practitioners—is utterly insignificant among Yujing’s cultivator clans.

As for the Shen family, originating from the Talisman Sect, they once had ties to major sects like Maoshan, placing them in the second or third tier; precisely because of this, during the great affair of the [Mystic Mirror Scripture], the Shen family avoided the mass purges that befell the He family.

“The Yinshan Sect’s Xiong family!?”

Zhang Fan noticed that among Yujing’s many cultivator families, the Yinshan Sect’s Xiong family was unquestionably a top-tier clan.

“The Yinshan Sect is one of the most mysterious branches among countless Daoist sects; roughly three lineages reached Yujing, with the Xiong family as the main branch, strongest in power. Besides them, the Gu family and Ming family are also Yinshan Sect, subordinate to the Xiong family,” Jiang Hu explained.

“Huh? This Ming Chengjun… also from Yinshan?”

At that moment, Zhang Fan spotted a name on the documents—he belonged to no family, classified under “hidden cultivators.”

“They say this old man came from the Ming family of Yinshan Sect, left his clan years ago, and set up a stall in Yujing, making a living as a healer…”

“To outsiders, he’s just a retired traditional Chinese doctor; to insiders, they call him the Yinshan Ghost Physician,” Jiang Hu said casually.

He had little fame in Yujing, his cultivation seemed unremarkable, utterly ordinary—had he not been from the Ming family of Yinshan Sect, no one would have noticed him.

“No. 368, Guazi Alley, Chengnan!?” Zhang Fan stared at the address, his expression turning strange.

“When I was a child… I think I’ve been to this place!?”

(End of Chapter)