Chapter 69: This Man Is No Ordinary Person

Wang Sheng placed the two decayed corpses and the blood-soaked clothes of Old Master Li together. The three bodies were laid in the newly purchased coffin, which was then carried by four security guards to the burial plot Lian Yu had selected. At this moment, the plot was festooned with red cords. Guided by Lian Yu, the four security guards became laborers, digging the pit and moving the earth. But with Li Fei present, I dared say these four would be promoted for sure upon their return.

Now, the three bodies, once whole, two decayed and one dissolved to blood, were utterly useless. The baleful energy they once possessed had turned into a stench so foul that I felt it was a waste for them to be interred in such a prime feng shui burial ground.

Yet Uncle Mao and Lian Yu said nothing more, choosing to keep Li Fei in the dark. Uncle Mao merely told Li Fei that the zombies were dealt with and that, with the support of this auspicious land, the Li family would soon flourish. Only Li Fei was unaware that these were simply words of comfort.

The truth was, the baleful energy that once emanated from the intact corpses was the driving force for the feng shui of this site. Now, with that energy dispersed into mere stench, the land held potential but no power to set it in motion.

The four security guards dug a large pit, laid the coffin horizontally within, and spent about ten minutes filling it in. They even heaped up a grand mound of earth, showing just how much effort they put in for the sake of promotion.

When all was done, Uncle Mao had Wang Sheng place incense at the grave, uttered a few superstitious phrases, then turned to Li Fei and said, “All is complete. In the year to come, just visit the grave once. And remember, do not pave over this place with concrete, or face the consequences!” With that, he glanced back at us with a smile, then looked sternly at Li Fei.

Li Fei, knowing nothing of such matters, could only nod repeatedly, entirely led along by Uncle Mao.

The truth was, Uncle Mao forbade concrete not out of whim, but because covering such a prime feng shui site with cement would, over time, easily create a “Polar Corpse Pavilion.” Then, the yang energy would be blocked, yin energy would accumulate, and corpses buried nearby for miles around could be affected—possibly even revived as zombies.

Everything settled, Li Fei called us to his car, insisting on treating us to a meal, including the security guards.

Unable to refuse, we returned with him along the way to Z City, Lian Yu trailing behind in his Buick.

After several hours, we arrived in Z City in the afternoon. Li Fei treated us to a lavish meal in a five-star hotel. After the feast, Uncle Mao gave him a talisman, claiming it was for clarity and peace of mind, suggesting he wear it around his neck to help him lose weight.

After the meal, Li Fei bade us farewell, driving away in his stretch Mercedes. Lian Yu, in his Buick, pulled up and motioned for us to get in, offering to give us a ride.

I gestured for Uncle Mao and the others to go ahead—I needed to return to school. Having been away for two days, if I didn’t return soon, the dean would surely lose his temper.

So, as everyone left, I found myself alone at the hotel entrance. Though I had no appetite for mortal food, today’s meal must have cost a fortune.

I hailed a taxi and gave the address of the academy. The driver merely grunted in acknowledgment, not even mentioning the fare, and slammed down the accelerator, racing forward as if unafraid of speeding.

No sooner had we gone a dozen meters than the heavy scent of alcohol hit my nose. Damn, the guy was clearly driving drunk, unafraid of getting caught.

He was even smoking, filling the car with a stifling, choking haze that nearly drove me mad. I held back and patted the driver’s shoulder, saying, “Sir, if you must drive drunk, at least stop smoking. It’s suffocating. And what if the police catch you? That won’t end well!”

To my dismay, he replied, sounding surly, thumping his chest, “Relax, kid! Your uncle here is the best driver in all Z City. I could drive with my eyes closed! And who’d dare stop my car? I’ve got friends in the traffic police!” With that, he floored the gas, adding another twenty kilometers per hour.

Hell, he was really pushing it. He thought I couldn’t tell he was talking big. Who doesn’t brag when drunk? If he could drive a hundred meters down this straightaway, eyes closed, without crashing in his current state, I’d give him a million.

But there was no getting off a ship once you’d boarded it. I asked him several times to stop and let me out, but he only thumped his chest, breath reeking of alcohol, saying, “You doubt your uncle’s skills? Fine, I’ll take you for a spin around Z City, let you see real driving!” With that, he floored it, and the car shot away.

There was no reasoning with such a first-rate maniac and clown. It was like playing a lute to a cow.

Since I couldn’t get out, I could only resign myself to fate. As the school gate flashed by, I couldn’t get off, so I slammed my fist on the seat and pleaded, nearly in tears, “Uncle, I trust your driving. Please, just let me out!”

But the driver, if anything, got more excited, pushing the engine another twenty. By now, I figured someone must have reported the car.

I wasn’t worried about the car being stopped—it wasn’t mine. I just feared an accident. For me, a crash would be nothing, but for an ordinary man like the driver, it could be fatal.

This wasn’t ordinary driving—this was street racing, illegal on public roads. Yet this uncle seemed to care nothing for the law.

Driving drunk was truly terrifying. He ignored my pleas, even turning on rousing American road music, utterly unaware of the three police cars in hot pursuit behind us.

The wind whipped fiercely past my ears, and I realized the window was down. I saw the police behind us and said to the driver, “Sir, please stop—the police are after us!”

But the driver only pressed the pedal harder. This was madness, absolute madness. The engine was at its limit. As he raced along, he shouted, “You think your uncle’s drunk? This is the most fun I’ve had in decades behind the wheel! Remember my name—Red-Scarf Lei Feng!” With that, he kicked me out of the car. That kick was nothing an ordinary person could muster.

A madman, absolutely insane, with no regard for my feelings. I was so exasperated I forced open the locked door, and the moment I hit the ground, I used my supernatural speed to flash away. No ordinary person could have perceived my movement.

After I darted to a deserted green lawn, a thought struck me: “Decades behind the wheel?”

He didn’t look more than thirty. How could he have decades of driving? And that kick—no special forces soldier could have managed that. I thought to myself, “This uncle is definitely not an ordinary person.”

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