Eventually, they still found out about Fang Zhiyi's actions.
After all, children can’t keep secrets well, and bit by bit, they learned that their own child had been bullying Fang Yunhe—and that his father had been stalking him in return.
Wang Zihan’s parents were furious. It was just kids roughhousing—how could an adult stoop to something like this?
They went to the school, and the school summoned Fang Zhiyi.
Wang Zihan’s father slammed a medical report on the table. "My son’s leg is broken now. What do you have to say for yourself?"
Fang Zhiyi looked baffled. "What does that have to do with me?"
"How can you say that?" Wang Zihan’s mother sobbed, lunging forward. "If you hadn’t been stalking and threatening my child, he wouldn’t have gotten hit by a car!"
Fang Zhiyi took a step back. "You’d better have proof. I don’t even know your kid." He tugged at his clothes. "That day, I was on my way to fix something for someone when I saw a kid running at me, screaming about killing me. Of course I was scared—wouldn’t you run? Who knew he wouldn’t even look before crossing the road? He flew so high!" Fang Zhiyi clicked his tongue in mock amazement.
"You—!" Wang Zihan’s father moved to strike him but was stopped by the homeroom teacher.
"Mr. Fang, this matter does involve you to some extent," Teacher Chen said, after having a colleague escort the distraught parents out. He spoke with a tone of grave concern.
"Involves me? Teacher, what exactly did I do?"
"You..." Teacher Chen hesitated.
"Now that you mention it, I had no idea my son was being bullied every day at school." Fang Zhiyi’s tone turned sharp. "He’s here to learn, not to be a punching bag."
Teacher Chen shifted uncomfortably. "Well, that’s his own problem. Why do they only bully him and not others?"
Fang Zhiyi’s eyes gleamed. He stepped forward and delivered two hard slaps across the teacher’s face.
Teacher Chen saw stars, staggering before regaining his bearings. "Why did you hit me?"
"Good question. Why did I hit you and not someone else? Maybe you should look inward for the answer." In the original story, if either the father or the teacher had lifted a finger to help Fang Yunhe, things wouldn’t have ended the way they did.
"Fine! Just you wait!"
The police arrived quickly—and left just as fast. After their investigation, they confirmed Fang Zhiyi had indeed been on his way to a repair job that day, with street surveillance footage as proof. Wang Zihan had been the one charging at him, shouting about murder. By all accounts, Fang Zhiyi was completely innocent.
"And he slapped me twice!" Teacher Chen clutched his face, outraged.
Fang Zhiyi nodded. "Yes, I did." Denying it was pointless—the office had cameras.
But since he cooperated and offered compensation, the police let him off with a warning, leaving it to Teacher Chen to decide. Gritting his teeth, Teacher Chen accepted the two thousand yuan and reluctantly forgave Fang Zhiyi.
Still, in his heart, he swore Fang Yunhe would pay for this. He’d never liked the boy—poor, timid, just plain irritating.
With the police gone and the Wangs storming off in frustration, Fang Zhiyi lingered at the door, standing just out of camera view. He smirked at Teacher Chen. "We’ve got plenty of time, Mr. Chen."
A chill ran down Teacher Chen’s spine. For the first time, he wondered if the Wangs’ accusations were true. If so… this man was terrifying.
Wang Zihan woke in the middle of the night, the pain in his leg making sleep impossible. He’d already decided—once he got back to school, he’d beat Fang Yunhe to a pulp.
But then he saw Fang Zhiyi standing beside his hospital bed.
Fang Zhiyi pressed a finger to his lips, signaling silence, then grinned—wide and soundless.
"Take it slow, kid. This time it’s your leg. Next time, we’ll pick a different spot."
The icy tone, the cruel smile, the way his gaze seemed to pierce straight into Wang Zihan’s soul—it all brought back a long-forgotten terror.
"I’ve got a lot of debts. Life’s not much fun anymore. Tsk, tsk… Your parents don’t seem too reasonable either. And guess what? I just started a new job—as a butcher. The blood, oh, the blood…"
"No!" Wang Zihan whimpered.
But he had no choice. He could only listen as Fang Zhiyi gave him a detailed, horrifying anatomy lesson.
"You don’t get a say. We’ve got all the time in the world." Fang Zhiyi turned and left. To Wang Zihan, he was nothing but a deranged psychopath.
Yet when Fang Zhiyi returned later to torment him further, he learned the boy had been transferred to the psychiatric ward.
"Kids these days—so fragile. Can’t even handle a little scare?" Fang Zhiyi muttered, disappointed. He hadn’t even done anything yet.
"I never realized it before, but you’ve got a real talent for being a monster," Little Hei remarked. "That look, that voice—if you were the villain, I can’t even imagine how the hero would win."
"Thanks for the compliment."
"Wait, when did I compliment you?"
Fang Yunhe had been in high spirits lately. No one bullied him anymore, though Teacher Chen had become stricter—mistakes in writing meant extra copying assignments. Still, it beat getting beaten up.
And his father seemed to have found work, though he was secretive about it. The house was cleaner now, and Fang Zhiyi even cooked for him. Life felt bright again—except for the combat training class his father had enrolled him in.
Watching the others punch sandbags, Fang Yunhe’s stomach twisted with anxiety.
His father had changed… yet stayed the same. "Either hit the sandbag, or come home and let me hit you. Your choice." Naturally, the sandbag was the better option.
Murong Ke returned to school and immediately looked for his usual lackeys—only to learn Wang Zihan wouldn’t be back anytime soon. Not only was his leg broken, but his mind seemed… off.
When Murong Ke heard it was tied to Fang Yunhe’s father, he nearly laughed. Fang Yunhe’s dad was a nobody too. And Wang Zihan? Pathetic.
He strolled over and patted Fang Yunhe’s head. Fang Yunhe looked up nervously, meeting the face that haunted his nightmares.
"Long time no see. Heard you got your dad to fight your battles? Feeling tough now?" Murong Ke’s voice dripped with mockery.
Fang Yunhe winced as his hair was yanked. "N-no, it was just a coincidence…"
"Coincidence? Meet me in the bathroom after class. Got it?"
Fang Yunhe nodded, and Murong Ke finally let go, satisfied. It had been too long since he’d roughed this one up. Still, that new transfer student he’d seen this morning looked interesting. He’d have to track her down later.
Fingering the hundred-yuan bill in his pocket—given by his father that morning with instructions to "buy peace" if bullied—Fang Yunhe felt a pang of guilt. If not for him, his father wouldn’t have to waste hard-earned money like this.
Fang Yunhe still ended up taking a beating, though this time he made a point to shield his more vulnerable spots, so it didn’t hurt as much as before. He figured enduring the thrashing was better than spending the money—what if his father gambled it all away again someday?
s the Eldest Princess, renowned for her cold and aloof detachment, became the most docile of lambs, obeying his every command without question. But when the final move was played on the chessboard, as Gu Chenghan seized everything and ascended on the verge of apotheosis, that very Princess suddenly embraced him from behind, her tone carrying a dependence never heard before: "Wait... you haven't yet... commanded me to love you forever." Gu Chenghan froze abruptly. She... hadn't been hypnotized?! ... [The Eldest Princess's Diary] [When my soul was extracted, becoming the sole spectator outside my own shell] [At first, there was overwhelming fury, until I saw] [How he used my sword to effortlessly shatter my inescapable doom] [How he wielded my authority to eradicate fatal conspiracies I had never even detected] [Like a deity, he rescued me from the deep mire I was trapped in] [If not for those annoying vixens, he and I would be a match made in heaven] [I think I am ill, gravely ill] [My deity should belong to me alone] ... "Hypnosis? Oh, it succeeded, my dear Master." "Only this time, it's my turn to hypnotize you."
Cheng's father told him he was getting remarried—to a wealthy woman. Cao Cheng realized his time had finally come: he was about to become a second-generation rich kid. Sure, it might be a watered-down version, but hey, at least he'd have status now, right? The wealthy woman also had four daughters!! Which meant, starting today, Cao Cheng gained four stunning older sisters?? But that wasn't even the whole story... "My name is Cao Cheng—'Cheng' as in 'honest, smooth-talking gentleman'!"
nd fell into a coma while saving his younger sister from an out-of-control car. He became a vegetable. No one knew that his consciousness had crossed into a world of cultivation. Over the course of sixty years, he began as the lowest kind of mine slave, struggling to survive amid mountains of corpses and seas of blood. By sheer chance, he eventually obtained the complete memories of a fallen Immortal King. Alchemy, medicine, formations, feng shui, physiognomy, artifact forging… Every great inheritance of the cultivation world was now his. But when he opened his eyes again, he discovered that ten full years had passed in the modern world. To pay for his treatment, his father had sold the family’s shop and house, leaving himself covered in lasting injuries and illness. His mother had cared for him day and night, and more than half of her hair had already turned white. His younger sister, who had been only fifteen back then, was now twenty-five. To help repay the family’s debts, she had been forced to lower her head and put on a smiling face in places of glittering lights and endless revelry. Only then did Chen Xuan understand that what he had lost was not merely ten years. He had lost the life his entire family was meant to have. The good news was that he had brought back the memories of an Immortal King’s entire lifetime. The bad news was that his soul had returned alone—his cultivation had not come with him. Spiritual energy was scarce, resources were depleted, and the modern world still had firearms, surveillance, capital, and laws. If he wanted to protect his family, break free from everyone’s control, and become truly invincible beneath the heavens, he would have to start all over again.
e bizarre and supernatural had descended. The previous emperor was a thoroughgoing tyrant; no longer satisfied with human women, he had set his sights on a stunningly beautiful supernatural entity. He met his end in his bedchamber, drained of all his vital essence. As the legitimate eldest son and crown prince, Wang Hao was thus hastily enthroned, becoming the young emperor of the Great Zhou Dynasty. No sooner had he awakened the "Imperial Sign-In Intelligence System" than he was assassinated by a Son of Destiny—a classic villain's opening. The Great Zhou, ravaged by the former emperor's excesses, was in national decline. The great families within its borders harbored their own treacherous schemes, martial sects began to defy the imperial court's decrees, and border armies, their pay and provisions in arrears, grumbled incessantly against the central government. Fortunately, the central capital was still held secure by the half-million Imperial Guards and fifty thousand Imperial Forest Army who obeyed the court's orders, along with the royal family's hidden reserves of power, barely managing to suppress the realm. As the Great Zhou's finances worsened and supernatural activities grew ever more frequent, the court sat atop a volcano. Ambitious plotters everywhere dreamed of overthrowing the dynasty, and even some reclusive ancient powers emerged, attempting to sway the tides of the world. At the first grand court assembly, the civil and military officials nearly came to blows, fighting tooth and nail over the allocation of fifty million taels of silver from the summer tax revenues. The spectacle opened Wang Hao's eyes—the Great Zhou's bureaucracy was not only corrupt but also martially proficient, a cabinet of all-rounders. Some officials even had the audacity to suggest the emperor release funds from the imperial privy purse to address the emergency. Wang Hao suddenly felt weary. Let it all burn.
