Fang Zhiyi's business had been expanding continuously, while Laughing Maitreya's share grew increasingly smaller. Watching newcomers receive dividends nearly equal to his own, he grew resentful and seized the chaos to set his own plans in motion.
The rebellions among the sects had nothing to do with him—he lacked the strength for such schemes. Instead, he chose to target Mei Ruoxue, knowing full well that Fang Zhiyi would eventually hand everything over to her. A mere girl, he thought, letting greed and bitterness drive him to a fatal mistake. Everything unfolded as he predicted: Fang Zhiyi, consumed by rage, embarked on a path of vengeance.
But he hadn’t anticipated Fang Zhiyi’s survival. According to his intelligence, the ancestral masters of those sects were formidable, yet they had only managed to leave Fang Zhiyi severely wounded.
His carefully laid plans crumbled. With Mei Ruoxue unconscious and Fang Zhiyi supposedly dead, he had intended to leverage his knowledge of the business to seize control. Yet, against all odds, the Demon Sect intervened.
Desperate, he sent his most trusted subordinate.
Fang Zhiyi watched as blood trickled from the corner of the fat man’s mouth, recognizing his choice of a dignified exit.
With that, everything came to an end.
The Demon Sect’s rescue of Fang Zhiyi came with a price—they wanted the business.
Fang Zhiyi studied the Demon Sect’s leader before him, a stark contrast to the man he’d met at the martial school. Now, shrewd calculation gleamed in his eyes.
"Has the world’s will faded? The Child of Fortune is dead, so the world returns to normal? Even these background characters are stirring to life?" Fang Zhiyi asked Little Hei, who had only returned the day before, his form bloated and grotesque, resembling some monstrous creature.
After a long pause, Little Hei replied gruffly, "Yes."
Silence stretched between them.
Fang Zhiyi suddenly laughed. "Little Hei, what exactly are you?"
Little Hei remained silent, none of his former simplicity remaining.
"Never mind," Fang Zhiyi said abruptly. "Take the business if you want it. I’m tired."
The Demon Sect leader nodded. "I’ll arrange for someone to attend to your daily needs."
Across the land, Shunfeng Courier and Shunfeng Premium resumed operations, though with heightened security and many unfamiliar faces. Rumors spread that the Demon Sect now held the largest stake in Shunfeng Courier.
This disgusted many in the martial world, prompting numerous former employees to resign. Yet, the impact was minimal—the Demon Sect’s disciples filled the vacancies. Only Jiang Rou remained, managing everything behind the scenes. The Demon Sect knew nothing of the business, leaving the seemingly frail woman as its public face. The martial world settled into an eerie stability.
The Jianghu Daily made no mention of these events, instead publishing trivial news.
Fang Zhiyi no longer appeared in public, staying instead in the old campus of the martial school, keeping watch over the unconscious Mei Ruoxue. A taciturn servant, assigned by the sect leader to monitor him, followed him everywhere.
Students came and went as usual, while Fang Zhiyi lost himself in thought, occasionally chuckling to himself.
Then, one day, a long-absent figure stood before him, bowing respectfully. "Headmaster."
Fang Zhiyi looked up.
Jiang Rou’s hair was tied up, giving her a more capable appearance.
"I’ve regained control of the business."
Jiang Rou, ever Fang Zhiyi’s most brilliant student, had never stopped learning. While her peers had left, unwilling to bear the shame of working for the Demon Sect, she remained unfazed. Fang Zhiyi had taught her that force wasn’t always the answer.
She diligently executed the plans Fang Zhiyi had drafted but never implemented.
Performance evaluations, insurance policies, six-day workweeks—under her guidance, these measures were enacted one by one.
The Demon Sect’s followers, caught in Jiang Rou’s system, grew increasingly busy, sometimes forgetting their true allegiances.
Finally, during a meeting, Jiang Rou opposed the Demon Sect’s third proposal to raise shipping fees.
It was her first act of defiance. The attending elder, faced with her icy demeanor, grew furious—but then he noticed something alarming. The Demon Sect members hesitated at his commands.
The elder left in haste, rushing to report to the sect leader.
After hearing her account, Fang Zhiyi rose like an old man, rubbing his back. "You’ve worked hard. Leave the rest to us." The attendant beside him paled—then his neck was snapped.
The Demon Sect’s forces stormed the city gates, a scene eerily reminiscent of Lin Muran’s arrival years ago.
The sect leader spotted Fang Zhiyi standing alone beneath the city wall.
"Headmaster Fang, what brings you here?" he mocked. These years of Fang Zhiyi’s absence had pleased him—but now this woman dared manipulate his followers?
Fang Zhiyi smiled. "I had to make time. My student is in trouble—how could I ignore it?"
The sect leader’s face darkened. "You dare oppose the Demon Sect? Have you forgotten who saved you?"
Fang Zhiyi shook his head. "I haven’t. But you’ve been repaid tenfold. Haven’t you profited enough these years?"
"Do you have a death wish?"
Fang Zhiyi laughed. "I’ve lived long enough."
The sect leader raised his hand, signaling his men forward. They knew Fang Zhiyi’s strength and didn’t underestimate him.
"Who dares touch our headmaster?" A cry rang out as a dozen old men leaped down from the wall.
Fang Zhiyi glanced at them. "I owe you all an apology."
Lu Zhaoran snorted but said nothing.
He Wugui grinned. "We’ve lived long enough. These years with you showed us wonders we’d never seen—worth it!"
"Exactly. I was already at death’s door. What’s there to fear?"
The sect leader sneered. "A few old men think they can stop me?"
Fang Zhiyi sighed. "Do you know your flaw?"
The sect leader paused.
"Before you awakened, your followers were merely unruly. Then they grew reckless. Now, with wealth and power, they terrorize the martial world." Fang Zhiyi spoke slowly. "Extremes invite downfall."
"Enough nonsense!"
"Who dares touch our headmaster? The Thousand Mechanisms Pavilion’s elite disciples stand with him!" A group charged forth, saluting Fang Zhiyi before turning hostile gazes toward the Demon Sect.
"The Hundred Pleasures Hall’s master has arrived!" A flamboyant entrance, followed by a crowd.
"The Crescent Moon Pavilion of the Mystic Moon Tower comes to vanquish the Demon Sect!"
"The Beggars’ Sect, thirteenth-generation disciples, stand guard for our headmaster!"
Fang Zhiyi’s smile twitched.
"You! Hold it! Which class were you in? You graduated to become a beggar?"
The man scratched his head awkwardly. "No, Headmaster. The Beggars’ Sect is just a name now. We handle transport—canal shipping, mostly."
Fang Zhiyi nodded in approval.
As more names were called, even the prepared sect leader’s expression darkened further.