After a few rounds of drinks, Sun Fatty glanced at Xiao Heshang, then turned to Ma Xiaolin—who was still busy pouring drinks and serving dishes—and said, "Boss Ma, this kind of work really isn't for a bigshot like you. If you've got something to say, you'd better say it now while I'm still sober. Not gonna lie—once I'm drunk, whatever you say might just go in one ear and out the other."
Hearing that, Ma Xiaolin's expression grew a bit awkward. Before he could respond, Xiao Heshang downed a cup of baijiu, turned to Sun Fatty, and said, "Let me say it on his behalf. Dasheng, I'm thinking of letting Boss Ma buy into our little operation."
Sun Fatty acted as if he hadn't heard, toying silently with the wine glass in his hand. Ma Xiaolin tried to jump in with a few words, but Xiao Heshang shot him a look to hold back. After taking a bite of food, Xiao continued, "It's not easy out there trying to drum up business for you guys. You all look down on small deals, and I can't get into those circles of ultra-wealth. But Boss Ma has that kind of access, and he's no stranger to us. Bringing him in could actually benefit everyone."
"Yes, yes!" Ma Xiaolin got flustered and slipped back into his Cantonese-accented Mandarin. "I'm not bragging, but I know at least half of the wealthy tycoons across Southeast Asia, not just in Hong Kong. You know how it is—those people are the most superstitious. The richer they are, the more they believe in that stuff. And honestly, I've heard of more than twenty ghostly incidents among the upper crust. Director Sun, you're all experts in this field. If you blaze the trail, earning over RMB 100 million (≈ USD 14 million) a year wouldn't be impossible."
Sun Fatty squinted at him, then turned to me and said, "Lazi, what do you think about this?"
Glancing at Xiao Heshang—who was busy signaling me with his eyes—I shrugged and said, "I'm just the hired help. You're the one calling the shots."
Sun Deputy Director nodded, and his attitude toward Ma Xiaolin suddenly softened. He poured him a cup of baijiu, clinked glasses, and downed his drink in one go. "Boss Ma, not gonna lie—this isn't entirely up to me. We've got a few major stakeholders in this venture, so I'll need to run it by them. We'll see how we split your share. If they're not feeling generous, I can't force it."
Ma Xiaolin grinned from ear to ear. "I don't need any shares—really. I'd be happy just lending a hand."
"Oh? Not even one share? Boss Ma, what's this?" Sun Fatty narrowed his eyes again.
Worried about being misunderstood, Ma Xiaolin decided to lay it all out. He wasn't in it to make money from their operation—what he was eyeing were the commercial opportunities it could bring to his business group. If he could connect a few ultra-rich clients to these supernatural experts and actually solve their problems, it'd open up massive doors for future deals.
After hearing his explanation, Sun Fatty laughed heartily. "Boss Ma, since you're such a true friend, I won't say anything else. No need to talk it over—I'll make the decision myself. We're all old friends here. How could we not let you in on this?"
That one line from Sun Fatty finally gave Ma Xiaolin peace of mind. After a bit more small talk, he claimed he had other business to attend to and took his leave. Before leaving, he reminded the hotel staff that we could continue ordering food and drinks—the bill would be covered by his secretary tomorrow.
Once Ma Xiaolin left, the dinner really began. Xiao Heshang let loose all the words he'd been holding in for two years, and the feast turned into a raucous session of eating and drinking that didn't end until after 11 p.m.
Before we left, Sun Fatty called over the hotel manager and placed a new order—identical to tonight's menu, drinks and all—to be delivered to the Bureau of Paranormal Investigation at lunchtime the next day. Naturally, the bill would also go to Ma Xiaolin.
This meal alone, drinks included, cost RMB 58,000 (≈ USD 8,000). Of course, the restaurant wouldn't pass up that kind of business. But Xiao Heshang, oblivious to the scheme, stared with drunken red eyes and said to Sun Fatty, "If you're so happy, bring Old Ma along next time. You're really taking full advantage—aren't you worried people will laugh at you?"
"How do you know it's for me?" Sun Fatty, also tipsy, turned to me and added, "Lazi… I guess this time Guangren lucked out…"
Xiao Heshang, groggy and confused, misheard the name Guangren and blinked at the messy table. "Wuren? What about Wuren? No sweet dumplings for dessert?"
Neither of us bothered to correct him and just let it slide.
After dropping Xiao Heshang off at his place, Sun Fatty and I caught a cab back to the Bureau. We were both pretty hammered. Luckily, Sixth Office rarely had urgent work. I slept straight through to 11 a.m. the next day, only to be woken up by a phone call. It was Ximen, the big shot himself, saying the Wangfu Hotel had delivered food and asked specifically for Sun Fatty to receive it. But no one could find him. Ximen had asked Director Gao, and he told him to receive it and then contact me.
Could it be that Gao Liang had known about the food delivery all along? Or did Sun Fatty let something slip about Guangren? But now wasn't the time to overthink. I decided I'd just ask Sun Fatty directly when I saw him.
When I got to the Bureau's front gate, I saw Ximen Lian waiting for me with two large insulated food containers. "Lazi, everything's here. The delivery guy said the drinks are in the box on the left. From Wangfu Hotel, huh? Must've cost a pretty penny. What's the occasion? Someone's birthday? Should we chip in for a gift?"
"It's Director Wu's birthday. Er-Yang's throwing him a party. You want in?" I lied casually while taking the containers from Ximen Daguangren.
As soon as he heard Wu Rendi's name, Ximen lost all interest. He forced a smile and said, "Then I'll pass. Just send my regards to Director Wu—wish him a long life and all that."
Still, Ximen was a real bro. He helped carry the boxes all the way to the elevator before heading off.
Once I got down to the fourth basement level, I tried calling Sun Fatty again to see if he had any last-minute instructions, but the call went straight to "out of service." Who knows where that guy had run off to this time.
So, carrying the two large food boxes, I made my way once again to the fifth basement floor. Guangren looked the same as ever when I saw him again. He glanced at the boxes and gave a faint smile before turning his gaze to me. "Seems like there might be a surprise this time. Go ahead, let's see what you've prepared."
"Last time was too rushed, so I wasn't well prepared. But don't worry—this time, I guarantee you'll be satisfied." As I spoke, I began unpacking the food, laying each dish out in front of Guangren. The boxes were insulated, so everything was still steaming. The aroma of the dishes quickly filled the room.
Despite the gourmet spread in front of him, Guangren's face showed none of the delight you'd expect from a regular person. He remained still until I had unpacked every last item, and only then did he finally move. He took the chopsticks I handed him and sampled each dish—though "sample" might be too generous. He only took a full bite of the ones he found pleasing. The others he merely touched with the tip of his chopsticks or sniffed before ignoring them completely.
Gone was the man who had once chugged beer like a brute. Now he looked more like an aloof food critic.
I had even memorized the background of each dish—thanks to the waitress from the night before—but looking at him now, I realized there was no point in introducing anything.
After "tasting" all the dishes, Guangren set down his chopsticks and took a shot of Moutai. "The dishes are decent. But this wine—too young. If it hasn't been aged for at least thirty years, don't bring it next time."
Then he smiled faintly at me. "Alright, this will do. And don't say I never return a favor. Come on—punch me, bare-handed."
What the hell? I wasn't sure I'd heard him right. "What? You want me to punch you?"
Still wearing his enigmatic smile, Guangren replied, "Just do it. Even though my powers were stripped by Wu Rendi, I can still tell you've only just become immortal—you're still just a shell. Hit me so I can get a sense of your style, see what I should teach you."
Only then did I understand what he was getting at. Still, I felt uneasy. "You sure? Don't blame me if I hurt you."
He scoffed, clearly unimpressed. "Hit with everything you've got. Even with my powers gone, this body of mine isn't something you can break."
Well, since he put it that way, I didn't hold back. I threw a full-force punch with my right hand, aiming straight for his left cheek. The moment I swung, a sudden heat surged in my chest, traveling down my arm and into my fist—like the punch had become a conduit for something burning inside me. The force landed square on Guangren's face, and in that instant, I saw something I'd never expected—fear.
Bang!
Guangren was blown backward, crashing to the floor. If it weren't for the chains binding his limbs, he probably would've flown ten meters. He hit the ground hard and didn't move. White foam bubbled from his mouth. Alarmed, I rushed over to check for signs of life—no breath, no heartbeat. His body was already beginning to stiffen.
My heart started pounding wildly. Was this… suicide?
I stood frozen, mind blank. I'd killed before—double digits during my time in the military—but Guangren was something else entirely. Wu Rendi had kept him chained in this dungeon for years without laying a finger on him. Surely it wasn't so I could accidentally punch him to death. Just imagining Wu's reaction was enough to make me consider retracing Guangren's old escape route.
I was about to call Sun Fatty to borrow money and disappear when Guangren suddenly twitched. His eyes fluttered open and he began coughing violently. With one final heave, he spit out all the foam in his mouth.
He wasn't dead!
The weight on my chest vanished. I hurried to help him sit up.
After a while, Guangren finally looked at me. Dazed, he muttered, "What happened just now? Why am I on the ground?"
His gaze was unfocused—looked like that punch had shaken his brain enough to cause temporary memory loss.
Not daring to tell the truth, I hesitated and then pointed to the nearby bottle. "You had two shots and passed out. Probably haven't drunk in a while—it hit you harder than expected."
"I drank?" Guangren looked at the bottle, not saying anything. His expression was twisted, like he was trying hard to recall something. Gradually, his eyes regained focus. He tilted his head, gave me a cold, sidelong look, and said, "You hit me just now…"
That fast? He remembered already?
His memory recovery speed was downright terrifying. Still, I kept my calm. "You told me to. Think back—I even tried to talk you out of it."
Guangren stared me down for a long moment before finally speaking again. "Give me your left hand."
My left hand? Was he planning to chop it off for revenge? Instinctively, I tucked it behind my back and took a step away.