Chapter Thirty-Four: Visitors from the Zhang Residence

In the afternoon, Instructor He and Fat Zhang took the novel written by Feng Yuan back to the academy to handle the promotion of memberships. Feng Yuan didn't go with them; he had other matters to attend to—he needed to deal with the corpses of Feng Fugui and his two companions.

No one could discover these bodies; otherwise, Feng Yuan would be branded a murderer. So that afternoon, he sent Hu Xiao out to buy supplies—wooden barrels and the like—while he stayed behind to dig a pit in the courtyard of the second house.

It took him the whole afternoon, but at last, he managed to bury the three bodies, covering them with a layer of fallen leaves so that nothing seemed amiss.

By the time he finished, dusk had already fallen. After a whole afternoon of toil, Feng Yuan was utterly exhausted, his entire body drenched in sweat, his clothes soaked as though he'd been fished out of a river—he could wring water from them.

His constitution was still too weak, but even so, he felt much better than before. Since he started practicing that nameless cultivation method, Feng Yuan could clearly sense an improvement in his health. In the past, he doubted he could have managed to bury three people even if given three afternoons.

Returning to the front house, he found Hu Xiao already back and Fat Zhang sitting at the stone table, tearing into a roast chicken with gusto. The table was piled high with meat and wine.

As soon as Feng Yuan appeared, Fat Zhang rushed over excitedly. "Feng Yuan, Feng Yuan! Where have you been? I was just looking for you. Guess what happened at the academy this afternoon!"

"Judging by how happy you look, I'm guessing lots of people became novel members?"

"Heh, that's right! Let me tell you, thirty people joined as members this afternoon! We made thirty taels in one go—thirty taels!"

Fat Zhang, still flushed with excitement, produced the money—some copper coins, some silver, all heaped together in a large cloth bag.

Feng Yuan regarded the money with composure. Thirty taels would have been a fortune to him before, but after acquiring two thousand taels earlier today, he was hardly moved; thirty taels now seemed like pocket change.

"You're something else—just as you predicted. Those wealthy scholars don't care about the money at all; they just want to read ahead. When they heard they could pay for early access, they didn't hesitate for a second! Damn, they're real spendthrifts!"

Fat Zhang was so worked up he even started cursing, casting aside any pretense of scholarly refinement.

"Calm down, this is just the beginning. There will be even more exciting things to come!" Feng Yuan said indifferently. In his previous life, some wealthy readers would tip authors tens of thousands, even hundreds of thousands—membership fees were just the basics. In time, he would develop a tipping system and really rake in the money from these spendthrifts.

"By the way, from now on, you take twenty percent of the daily earnings, Instructor He takes thirty percent, and you bring the rest back to me," Feng Yuan said to Fat Zhang.

"Oh, I couldn't possibly..." Fat Zhang protested, but his hands were already busily counting out his share from the bag, earning him a look of disdain from Feng Yuan.

...

Having come into two windfalls and with the novel's earnings growing, Feng Yuan no longer had to worry about his livelihood. Over the next few days, apart from writing and cultivating, he exercised, strolled through the streets shopping with Hu Xiao, and in the evenings, Fat Zhang would bring the daily subscription money. His days were leisurely and carefree.

He also dug up the thousand taels of silver that Lan Qirou had mentioned, and the silver notes he’d tricked out of Zhao Qingxue were exchanged for hard cash and hidden at home. To Feng Yuan, silver notes were just scraps of paper—real money in hand was what mattered.

During these days, Feng Yuan noticed something unusual while cultivating: not only did the golden light appear in his novel, but each day, a glowing aura also appeared above his own head, mysterious in origin. What’s more, the light above his head was much brighter and seemed of finer quality than that in the novel.

With each day of cultivation, the golden glow within his dantian also grew—a bit larger and brighter than the previous rice-grain-sized speck.

That morning, as usual, Feng Yuan was in the study, writing and cultivating.

Just then, Hu Xiao entered. "Master, there’s someone here to see you!"

"Someone to see me? Who is it?" Feng Yuan asked.

"I don't know him, sir. He says he's the steward of the Zhang residence and has important business with you," Hu Xiao replied.

"Zhang residence? Which Zhang residence?" Feng Yuan frowned. He didn't know any Zhang family—what did they want with him?

Setting down his brush, he went outside.

In the courtyard stood an elderly man in his fifties or sixties. Upon seeing Feng Yuan, he greeted him with a broad smile and a bow. "Greetings, Scholar Feng. I am Qiao Si, steward of the Zhang residence. My master wishes to invite you to his manor to discuss some matters."

"Zhang residence? Which Zhang residence?" Feng Yuan asked, puzzled.

"Master Zhang Heng," Qiao Si replied.

At this, Feng Yuan understood. Zhang Heng was a wealthy magnate, one of the ten great families of Feng City. He wasn’t a local—he had arrived from elsewhere, and in just four or five years, amassed a fortune sufficient to join the city’s elite. His meteoric rise was a subject of much local curiosity, but none knew the secret of his success.

Feng Yuan was baffled—he had no connection with this man. "Steward Qiao, your master and I have never met. Why is he seeking me?"

"Scholar Feng, my master read your novel, 'Covering the Heavens,' yesterday and was greatly impressed by your talent. He sent me to invite you to his residence for a meeting."

"Oh, I see. I didn’t expect Master Zhang to be a fan of novels," Feng Yuan said, surprised that even the middle-aged and elderly enjoyed his work.

"Indeed, my master enjoys strange tales. After reading your novel yesterday, he sent me at first light to invite you. I hope you will honor us with your presence."

"Very well, but you mentioned he needs my help. I’m just a scholar—how could I be of use to Master Zhang?" Feng Yuan asked, curious.

"My master didn’t say, only that he wished to speak with you in person."

"Very well. Please wait while I change clothes," Feng Yuan replied, intrigued by what Zhang Heng could possibly want from him. He returned inside, changed, and left instructions with Hu Xiao before following Qiao Si out.

A carriage awaited at the gate—a fine black horse and a spacious, well-appointed vehicle. Qiao Si ushered him inside, where the interior was luxuriously furnished with snacks, tea, and soft cushions. The ride was smooth and comfortable.

"Rich people really do live differently," Feng Yuan mused. It was his first time riding in a carriage. Though not as comfortable as a car from his previous life, in this era, it was certainly the equivalent of a luxury sedan.