Chapter Thirty-Eight: The Tycoon Who Came Calling

“Hello, your lease will expire in one month. If you wish to renew, please call xxxxxx…! The renewal fee for one year is about two hundred thousand yuan. Please be aware!”

Fang You held the notice in his hand, just torn down from the door of his fortune-telling parlor. His uncle’s shop was nearing the end of its lease. If he wanted to keep the shop, a sizable sum would be needed for renewal.

Yet Fang You, alone and penniless, had no means to gather such a sum.

He gazed at the empty fortune-telling parlor before him, recalling how his uncle entrusted it to him before leaving for the Miao Gu Sect. Fang You’s heart was tangled with emotions.

Though they hadn’t spent many days together, his uncle had treated him like family. No matter what, Fang You was determined to keep the parlor safe.

But two hundred thousand was no small amount. Where could he possibly find such funds?

Just as Fang You was lost in thought, someone knocked at the door. Assuming it was a client in trouble, he called out calmly, “The door’s open, please come in.”

“Sorry to disturb you, sir!” A corpulent, broad-shouldered man adorned with gold rings and clad in mink walked in, followed by several attendants.

“Who are you…?” Fang You recognized immediately that these men were not to be trifled with, but he had never wronged anyone. Presumably, they were here seeking help.

“Are you Mr. Fang You?” The tycoon asked.

“I am. May I ask what brings you here?” Fang You glanced at the group. He had only recently begun taking clients—how did they know his name?

The tycoon laughed heartily, “A few days ago, I heard that a certain gentleman single-handedly slew the fox demon at Shankou Village. Was that you?”

Fang You’s expression darkened. It was not a proud achievement—the deed had left no survivors, and he had long felt remorse for the slaughter. Now that this man brought it up, what did he want?

“Don’t worry, sir. I am considered one of the wealthiest men in North City. I’ve come to ask for your help with a matter,” the tycoon said bluntly.

“What matter?” Fang You asked.

“Grave robbing,” the tycoon smiled faintly. “The tomb of Cao Anman.”

“What? You mean Cao Cao’s son, Cao Anman?” Fang You was startled. Cao Anman, son of the famed warlord Cao Cao, had died far from home during the Warring States era. Cao Cao himself buried him.

So, Fang You thought, this tomb must be fraught with danger.

“Your scholarship is impressive!” The tycoon went on, “I’ve already hired experts from the Moving Mountain, Touching Gold, and Exhuming Earth clans, but this tomb is exceptionally perilous. I won’t deceive you—the situation demands a master versed in the peculiar arts of Eight Trigrams and talismanic magic. If you help us rob this tomb, I’ll offer half the treasures found within, to be split equally between you and the three clan representatives.”

This was indeed a grand undertaking. If they succeeded, not only would the parlor’s rent be secured, but Fang You would not have to worry about money for years.

The tycoon’s promise was generous—half the tomb’s wealth to be divided among himself and the three companions. Such a tomb could easily yield treasures worth tens of millions, if not more.

If the tycoon kept his word, each would walk away with several million.

Grave robbing is a business of feast or famine—ten years without work, and one job could feed you for ten more.

In ancient times, grave robbing flourished, with four famous sects: Exhuming Earth, Touching Gold, Moving Mountain, and Unsealing Ridge.

Exhuming Earth used their special seal, and were skilled at recognizing and controlling spiritual creatures—some even raised little ghosts to scout ahead.

Touching Gold, masters of mechanisms, wielded the Touching Gold talisman. Legend had it the emperor, during famine, bestowed this honor to them so they might rob tombs to raise funds and save the nation. They even held official posts, leading troops to loot tombs lawfully.

Moving Mountain possessed a special talisman—each member was said to have great strength, capable of shifting mountains and opening tombs.

But despite their skills, these three sects lacked the methods to subdue evil spirits within tombs.

The Maoshan Sect, however, specialized in dealing with demons and malevolent spirits.

With the Eight Trigrams, they could slay ghosts and exorcise monsters—divining fate above, dispelling evil below—Maoshan’s purpose was to drive away darkness.

Having weighed all this, Fang You spoke directly, “Pay a deposit of two hundred thousand, and I’ll take the job. You can rest assured I’ll see it through.”

Robbing ancestral graves harms one’s karma; Fang You would not have accepted if not for dire necessity.

But in this world, one must have money to live—and with his uncle’s lease about to expire, he had little choice.

He would take the deposit first, secure the parlor, and worry about the rest later.

“Since you’re so straightforward, I won’t waste words. Tomorrow, I’ll deliver three hundred thousand in cash as a deposit. In three days, please meet me at Wang Burial Mountain. I won’t disturb you further.” With that, the tycoon turned and left.

“Wang Burial Mountain!” Fang You knew the place, north of North City. When Cao Cao marched north to attack Wu, he was outmaneuvered by Zhuge Liang’s bean-soldier trick, causing his son Cao Anman to die in battle.

In the midst of war, Cao Cao, though stricken with grief, could only bury his son on a hillside, hence the mountain’s name: Wang Burial Mountain.

Having agreed, Fang You wasted no time. Over the next few days, he prepared chicken blood, black dog’s blood, glutinous rice, yellow talisman ink, thread for measuring, and ten sticks of fine sandalwood incense.

He left the little fox in Zhang Shengnan’s care. Though born of the demon fox from Shankou Village, the creature possessed innate spiritual awareness—a true spirit beast.

But Fang You had no intention of using the fox for anything; he simply wished to raise it until it could be released. He had already killed its parents, and did not want to deceive it for his own purposes.

Soon, the tycoon sent his men with three hundred thousand cash to Fang You’s parlor. Fang You paid two hundred thousand for a year’s rent, and deposited the remaining one hundred thousand in his bank card.

He set off immediately, carrying his supplies, bound for Wang Burial Mountain.