Bully 03

He cautiously pressed his eye against the peephole, only to see another bloodshot eye staring back.

With a terrified yelp, he stumbled backward and fell onto the floor.

Someone seemed to be speaking outside the door. Trembling, he pressed his ear against it but heard only eerie laughter.

That night, he didn’t dare use the bathroom or even open the curtains.

Meanwhile, Fang Zhiyi went straight home. Seeing the bowl of noodles Fang Yunhe had cooked for him—now soggy and bloated—he cursed under his breath but sat down and started eating anyway.

From his room, Fang Yunhe peeked out cautiously.

Had his father not gone gambling?

Fang Zhiyi suddenly turned and locked eyes with him. Fang Yunhe flinched, about to duck back, when his father called out.

"What’s wrong with you, acting so spineless?" Fang Zhiyi scolded between bites of the tasteless noodles. "People walk all over you, and you don’t even fight back?"

Fang Yunhe lowered his head in silence.

Fang Zhiyi sighed inwardly. Habits like this, built over years, weren’t easy to break. It would take time.

But first, the money problem needed solving. Quickly sifting through the plot details provided by Xiao Hei, Fang Zhiyi extracted some useful information.

The CEO of Jinrui Real Estate, Cheng Feifan, had been in a foul mood lately. The Bai family’s recent winning streak had left him scrambling in their rivalry. Was the rumor about the Bai heiress being a lucky charm actually true?

Lost in thought, his car suddenly braked hard, nearly slamming him into the front seat.

"What’s going on?" he snapped at the driver.

The driver pointed ahead. "A fortune-teller’s blocking the road."

"A fortune-teller?" Cheng Feifan frowned, spotting a man squatting with a sign that read "Half-Immortal." This was a gated community—how had he gotten in?

He was about to order the driver to call security when a thought struck him. He stepped out instead.

"Hey, who are you?"

Fang Zhiyi glanced at him. "Can’t you read?"

Cheng Feifan took a deep breath. "You’re in my way."

"Oh? Is it me blocking your path, or is it misfortune?" Fang Zhiyi countered.

Cheng Feifan stiffened. "What did you say?"

"Words mean little. You already know the truth. Pity, what a pity." Fang Zhiyi began packing up, counting silently in his head—one, two, three...

"Wait, sir!" Cheng Feifan hurried after him, tone now respectful. "Please, enlighten me."

Fang Zhiyi smirked. Successful men were always the most superstitious.

"My fee’s up to you. No pay if it doesn’t come true," Fang Zhiyi said. Cheng Feifan nodded eagerly—money was no object.

"Abandon whatever you’re doing today, or you’ll regret it." Fang Zhiyi turned to leave. "I’ll return tomorrow. Payment then."

Watching him go, Cheng Feifan hesitated. Today was the bid for the East District land—and this stranger was telling him to skip it?

"Boss, he’s probably a fraud," the driver muttered.

But Cheng Feifan stared at the retreating figure, then shook his head. "I’ll take the gamble."

Fang Zhiyi ducked into a quiet corner and changed into a repairman’s uniform. Xiao Hei teased, "You’ve got quite the resume."

"Versatility never hurts," Fang Zhiyi quipped, strutting out of the neighborhood. He had a school to visit.

At school, Wang Zihan dozed off repeatedly. Last night’s nightmares of that haunting face had left him jumpy—even Fang Yunhe unnerved him now. But with friends around, his courage returned.

By afternoon, he couldn’t resist. Time to teach Fang Yunhe a lesson—and show his dad he wasn’t to be messed with!

Just as he moved to act, he saw it again: Fang Zhiyi in a baseball cap, gripping a wrench, staring unnervingly through the window.

His bravado evaporated. The man had followed him to school!

Then Fang Zhiyi slowly drew a knife, licked the blade, and fixed him with a dead-eyed glare.

Wang Zihan scurried back to his seat. His gang, confused but leaderless without Murong Ke, settled down.

"Ah, Master Fang! There you are—the circuit breaker keeps tripping," a teacher called, leading Fang Zhiyi away.

Fang Yunhe spent the day on edge, yet the expected beating never came. Odd—but then, his father hadn’t picked him up either. Not that he’d expected him to.

Unbeknownst to him, Wang Zihan bolted from school in terror. Fang Yunhe’s father reappeared, trailing him, hand hidden ominously in his bag. Panicked, Wang Zihan spun and charged at Fang Zhiyi, screaming obscenities.

"I’ll kill you!"

To his shock, Fang Zhiyi turned and ran. Enraged, Wang Zihan gave chase, drawing baffled stares from passersby.

A motorcycle swerved—directly into him. As he flew through the air, the last thing he saw was that dreaded face.

Then darkness.

The next day, Fang Zhiyi arrived punctually. Cheng Feifan rushed to shake his hand.

"Master, thank you!" He’d attended the bid after all, distracted by Fang Zhiyi’s warning. Strangely, the Bai family withdrew, and another firm won.

But by evening, insider news broke: the East District plan was scrapped. The next decade’s development would focus west.

Rumor had it the winning CEO swallowed an entire box of heart pills that night.

Accepting Cheng Feifan’s thick stack of cash without hesitation (though inwardly wishing it were thicker), Fang Zhiyi declined further consultations. "The time isn’t right," he said—truthfully, he had no next move. Competing with destiny’s darling? Impossible.

Yet his mystique only cemented Cheng Feifan’s belief in his powers.

For Fang Yunhe, the air felt lighter. Murong Ke was on leave, and now Wang Zihan was hospitalized after a car crash. Still, unease lingered.

Wang Zihan’s parents were baffled. Their son had dashed into traffic—on a red light, no less. When questioned, he babbled incoherently about murderers.