Chapter 329: The Carnivore

Gazing at Fuli Master standing on the car roof, holding up a rectangular box, Wang Ya—though carrying a saddlebag across her chest—fixed her gaze on his bells.

Though Wang Ya struggled to restrain herself, the bells acted like a hypnotist’s pendulum, or a black hole vortex, firmly drawing all her attention.

Looking lower, one could see Fuli Master’s neatly trimmed nails and toes like garlic cloves.

The fur on the fox’s tiny feet looked as if each strand had been meticulously groomed, distinct and precise.

Wang Ya dared not imagine how soft it would feel if Fuli Master kicked her in the face.

“Factory? What’s building a factory where?”

An Sheng, who had been scanning the chemical plant, froze at Wang Ya’s words.

Someone built a factory on top of that grave?

How could they possibly construct a factory there? Wang Ya had already clearly stated that the ruins had surfaced, causing her car to crash.

Though An Sheng wasn’t a civil engineer, he knew buildings required excavation and foundation work before construction.

How could the factory owner dig foundations into such a massive ancient ruin?

But as An Sheng thought of this, something else struck him—he frowned and asked Wang Ya:

“Is the factory you mentioned built by our state-owned enterprises, central enterprises, or their subsidiaries?”

Wang Ya shook her head.

“When I pinpointed the location, I found a ceramic factory built atop the ruins. It’s in Tiechuan, the famed hometown of Yaozhou porcelain. After reviewing the factory’s records, I immediately sensed something wrong.”

“As I traced the ceramic factory’s board members, I followed the trail to Chancheng, where the major shareholder was a large tile manufacturer. Within that tile company’s board, I uncovered Italy’s ‘Santa Lucia Art Group’ and a French marble exporter.”

“This is too bizarre,” Wang Ya said to Fuli Master.

“I don’t want to say this, but I feel something else happened behind Beina’s death—something we can’t yet uncover.”

Wang Ya’s words were blunt, directly pointing out the strangeness she had uncovered.

Beina, from Italy, died within the ruins.

Three years later, a ceramic factory funded by her homeland was built on the very land where she died.

And during the factory’s construction, no reports emerged of ancient tombs being unearthed. According to Wang Ya’s review of city construction archives, the factory hired numerous foreign engineers and large conglomerates she couldn’t trace.

Beina’s death may never have been hidden.

But someone seemed to have sensed something, reaching out an invisible hand to erase all traces of the truth behind her death.

And behind the scenes, that invisible hand quietly invested to build a ceramic factory on the land where Beina died.

Excavating the ruins would have moved massive amounts of soil—impossible to conceal.

But if you built a ceramic factory on top, and the local soil happened to be perfect for pottery?

“Damn it, the foreign devils have gotten addicted to stealing again!”

After a moment’s thought, An Sheng suddenly recalled the title *The Tea Thief*—he let out a whimper and nearly jumped up to curse.

Among those involved in tea and tea culture, many had read *The Tea Thief*.

The book told the story of an employee of the East India Company who “borrowed” tea plants and smuggled tea masters worldwide to cultivate them, then smeared slander on Chinese tea once the plants took root.

Accusing it of illegal additives, claiming drinkers experienced bizarre side effects like “Binzhou spirals fleeing their homes” or growing “Binzhou” all over their bodies—anything to discredit it, with zero regard for physics.

When An Sheng first read the book, he was furious in the early chapters, but by the end, he stared at the text with a strange expression.

How could people who drank tea shipped across oceans, damp and moldy, possibly know what good tea tasted like?

If you drink nothing but broken tea leaves every day, I won’t judge you.

I don’t know what things were like before, but today, even the dust-covered tea scraps I sweep from my warehouse are better than your tea.

Though the foreign devils were spouting nonsense, to those completely unfamiliar with tea, official statements must be true, right?

Chinese tea suffered a blow during that period—due to lack of distribution channels and other reasons—it was stigmatized for a long time, and even now, some foreigners believe tea originated in Bharat.

After hearing Wang Ya’s account, An Sheng immediately recalled his own irritation while reading *The Tea Thief*.

First invent a pretext to seize it, then smear the original source—is that it?

“I understand everything. I’ll go tie up those Italians so they can’t speak a word. But before that, notify Lin the steward—tell him to call Lin Ying and have her come to Changancheng to collect a banner.”

An Sheng raised his fox paw and spoke his plan to Wang Ya.

But first, they needed to finish dealing with the chemical plant.

Fuli Master gripped his wooden stick, went outside, snapped several branches, and handed them to the bears.

During the wait, An Sheng and the fat cat weren’t idle—they tore apart everything they could in the plant, and for anything too stubborn, they kicked it, leaving behind fox paw prints and bear paw prints on the pipes.

The Bear Demolition Team moved in, dust flying everywhere, while the workers trembled and huddled in corners.

“Old Wang! Where’s everyone? How come no one noticed someone burning down the factory? You still want your wages?”

“Where’s that rich kid’s bear? Bring him to the table right now!”

A Mercedes drove in through the main gate, completely unaware of the giant hole behind the factory. The man stepped out, heard the rhythmic “thuds” from inside, but dismissed them as someone running a shredder at night.

Seeing no one in the guard booth, he cursed and pushed open the small door in the center of the main gate, planning to enter the plant, investigate, and properly extort the brat’s parents.

But—

As he raised his hand to push the small door, it felt as if he’d triggered a taboo—the entire double gate shuddered, bolts flew off the pillars, and the heavy iron doors, weighing hundreds of jin, crashed to the ground, toppling outward onto the road.

“Boom—”

The massive gate slammed down directly onto the Mercedes’ roof.

The man stood frozen before the small door, still in his original pushing pose.

He stood in the perfect spot—the gate collapsed just as he passed through the small door, and aside from swallowing a mouthful of dust, he suffered no injury.

Still reeling from nearly being killed, he saw an even more absurd and insane scene inside the chemical plant.

The man froze, utterly stunned.

“I—”

“Did I die from being crushed by the gate and get transported into the world of Zootopia?”

“A panda in a reflective vest, wearing a construction helmet, demolishing walls.”

A fox waving a conductor's baton.

(End of Chapter)