Chapter Forty-Five: The Lame Old Wolf

Night had fallen, and Hangzhou gleamed with myriad lights.

The Scholar stood atop a high-rise building, his black robe snapping in the night wind.

He gazed in silence toward the direction of the Star Martial Hall and the Zhang family.

To his eyes, a faint blood-tinged aura hung above both the Star Martial Hall and the Zhang estate.

It was the presence of demons—a haze only powerful beings, those worthy of being called great demons, could exude.

So it is, then! the Scholar thought to himself.

The Zhang family’s sudden assault on the Song family in the business world was abrupt. The Scholar was no expert in commerce, but even he understood that Zhang’s actions would be impossible without significant backing. Where did their confidence come from? If it were merely personal hatred toward Song Yue, it made no sense to involve the entire Song family. Zhang Jian was the present head of the Zhang family, but there was still a council of elders behind him; they would never permit reckless actions. Vengeance was one thing, but to strike at a commercial family—one not the strongest, yet far from weak—risked disastrous retaliation, even utter ruin. History was replete with such cautionary tales.

The Scholar had known Zhang Jian’s father for years. They were not close, but they had shared tea and conversation a few times. He had a decent impression of the elder Zhang; wayward descendants did not always reflect upon their forebears.

Tonight, the Scholar came to see for himself and now had a good sense of the situation.

Still, he did not rush to confront the Zhang family.

Demon slaying was not a matter for rash action. This was a modern city, not a lawless wildland, and order prevailed. Even the most powerful cultivators would find it unwise to break these rules, lest they provoke a united response. Today, one might strike down a family’s core member, but tomorrow, the same fate could await one’s own kin. Thus, few dared to trample on the laws of the mortal world unless truly necessary.

Moreover, the Scholar himself was wounded. Slaying a great demon was not beyond him, but what if there were more than one? He was not afraid of death, but neither was he reckless.

He drifted from the rooftop, his descent unnoticed by passersby or even the citywide surveillance network.

Soon, he reached a secluded alley and found a shabby little shop, its roll-down gate half-lowered.

He approached and tapped four times.

A frail, aged voice called from within, “It’s too late, we’re closed. If you’ve business, come earlier tomorrow!”

The Scholar said nothing and knocked four more times.

Footsteps sounded. The person inside unlocked the door, stooped, and hoisted up the gate.

A thin, bespectacled old man appeared. At the sight of the Scholar, he paused, then stepped aside to let him in, lowering the gate behind them with a clatter.

“What brings you here?” The old man limped as he walked, clearly favoring one leg. He fetched the tea set and began boiling water as he continued, “A rare guest indeed!”

“I want to know what’s happening with the Star Martial Hall and the Zhang family,” the Scholar said bluntly, wasting no time on pleasantries.

The old man adjusted his glasses and cast the Scholar a curious glance. “Did they offend you?”

The Scholar asked calmly, “Don’t you know?”

The old man shook his head. “These days, my old eyes are dim, and I hardly ever step outside with my lame leg. How could I possibly know?”

“Old Wolf, don’t play dumb,” the Scholar said.

The old man’s face twisted in mock grievance. “Lu Shengfu, whether true or not, you’re hailed as a great scholar across the land. Could you not choose your words a little more carefully?”

The Scholar pulled ten yuan from his black robe, sat at the tea table, and set the bill down.

“Talk,” he said, looking at the old man.

The old man’s face darkened.

A ten-yuan bill—practically an antique! Even for his own fortune-telling, people now paid by mobile app; it had been ages since he’d seen cash.

Was this fabled ‘great’—no, infamous—Scholar trying to insult him with a paltry ten yuan?

In truth, the old man was a demon known as the Lame Old Wolf. Despite his disgruntlement at the ten yuan, his hand moved of its own accord, snatching and tucking away the note. Money was money, and life was hard for demons trying to survive in the city; one had to be thrifty.

“Those are people from the Beihai demon clan,” the Lame Old Wolf said after a moment. “They’ve been here for some time. According to my not necessarily accurate sources”—he glanced at the Scholar—“they’re after the Song family’s commercial network.”

“The Beihai yields an abundance of ocean delicacies, but unscrupulous merchants have long forced down the prices—buying low and selling high. The Beihai demons have had enough; they want their own business channels.”

“You know well enough—life for demons among humans is hard, though it’s been easier in recent years. In the old days, there were always some bored, overfed mortals running about shouting for the extermination of demons, making survival nearly impossible. Hard times, indeed!”

“Get to the point,” the Scholar interrupted coolly.

The Lame Old Wolf pouted. “The point is, Zhang Jian threw in his lot with the Beihai demons years ago. He’s the nominal disciple of an ancient orca demon. Otherwise, how do you think he managed to found the Star Martial Hall, and in just over a decade turn it into a global chain with hundreds of branches?”

The Scholar nodded. “And who is in the Zhang family now?”

The Lame Old Wolf hesitated, glanced at the Scholar, and finally replied, “That same orca demon—one who has reached the pinnacle. Old Lu, I know a bit about your situation. Take my advice: don’t make an enemy of the Beihai demons.”

“Your junior killed their son—”

The Scholar cut him off, “Do you have proof?”

The Lame Old Wolf chuckled. “Who would dare claim to have proof of something that leaves no trace? But proof is hardly necessary. There are plenty in this world with the gift of divination…”

“Did you divine it?” the Scholar asked.

The Lame Old Wolf put on a look of aggrieved innocence. “Not me! A great demon at the pinnacle is not someone I dare divine against.”

Seeing the Scholar remain silent, the Lame Old Wolf continued cautiously, “As a land-dwelling demon myself, I dislike those sea creatures throwing their weight around here. Still, I’m a virtuous demon and would hate to see you come to harm.”

By now, the water had boiled. The Lame Old Wolf poured tea into the pot.

The Scholar rose. “Thank you.”

“Stay for some tea, at least? It’s not often you visit,” the old wolf said warmly.

The Scholar waved him off. “Perhaps next time.”

He walked to the door, stooped to raise the gate, and vanished into the night.

The Lame Old Wolf poured himself a cup of tea, glanced toward the door now closed once more, and let out a long sigh. “After so many years of peace, is chaos about to return?”