Chapter 155: Soul Trauma

Chapter 155: Soul Trauma

We can meet today?

Zhang Yuanqing's spirits lifted. "He's in Songhai? Give me the contact details and address."

Mother Zhang hummed in agreement. "I'll send you a text later. That gentleman is a highly successful businessman overseas, a key partner of mine. Mind your manners when you meet; you're usually good at that."

She remained quite confident in her son's social aptitude.

"I know. My foreign languages are decent enough," Zhang Yuanqing replied.

Mother was unusually at leisure today; she didn't end the call right away. "Your grandmother tells me..."

"...that you've been staying up all night gaming with Yu'er lately. It'll affect your studies."

What good are studies? Teachers don't teach you how to clear the Spirit Realm... Zhang Yuanqing said, "Don't listen to Grandma's exaggerations. Little Aunt and I only game on weekends."

The rest of the time I play alone.

Mother Zhang sighed helplessly.

"Grandma means you shouldn't spend every weekend cooped up with Yu'er. She should be finding a boyfriend, not investing all her energy in you. You're close in age, both at the stage for dating—it doesn't look good, always tangled up together."

Zhang Yuanqing grew abruptly irritable. "If you're going to lecture, save it for when you're back. I'm hanging up—I have to head out for class."

He forcibly ended the call.

"Grandma, why'd you snitch to Mom again? Is this what family is for? I'm disowning you!" Zhang Yuanqing lay on his bed, wailing dramatically.

The bedroom door swung open. Grandma stood there, broom in hand, fixing him with a frigid stare. "What did you say?"

"I said I love you most, Grandma—you're better than Mom. I want to be your son instead." Zhang Yuanqing could bend and stretch with the best of them.

Grandma snorted coldly and slammed the door shut.

Zhang Yuanqing pursed his lips, glancing at his phone. Mother's text hadn't arrived yet. He rose, sat at his desk, booted his computer, logged into the official database, and queried—Chi Yue'an.

Seconds later, the man's dossier appeared before Zhang Yuanqing, clear and comprehensive.

With his current clearance, he could access the files of the vast majority of deacons in the Songhai branch.

Fu Qingyang, with his noble status as a Chosen One, was the exception.

Chi Yue'an had originally been the Zhu family's live-in son-in-law. The Zhus were a lineage of Musicians; because Musicians excelled at nurturing and producing Life Essence, the three Musician clans were often called the "Three Houses of Life."

When Chi Yue'an joined the Five Elements Alliance, he was merely a Rank 2 Pyromancer. Backed by the Zhu clan, his rank climbed steadily, his position rising from ordinary member to captain, then deacon.

His signature artifacts were the Sweet Dew Inner Armor and the Scarlet Flame Divine Weapon—the former a high-grade Musician relic, the latter a Pyromancer's tool.

"He's been a Saint for over a year. That means four or five solo dungeons, a dozen group runs. Even with wins and losses, the experience would have piled up—he's nearing Rank 5. Not engaging him last night and escaping via Charm Arts was the wise choice."

Regardless of artifacts, the gap between two Rank 4s can be vast. The chasm between a Saint and an Extraordinary is absurdly wider.

Kou Beiyue likely held a trump card or two; that was the only reason he'd dare assassinate a Saint.

He failed all the same.

Zhang Yuanqing resolved to investigate quietly, then hand the evidence to Fu Qingyang. Best not to expose himself—making an enemy of a deacon would bring endless trouble.

Behind him still loomed the Zhu family.

*Ding!*

A short, crisp notification chimed from his phone. Zhang Yuanqing's gaze left the monitor; he snatched up the device to check the message.

Demon Eye Heavenly King: "You purified my mark?"

*Fuck!* Zhang Yuanqing's scalp tingled. Feigning calm, he replied: "What's the problem?"

I should have Wang Tai lock onto his location immediately.

Five elders swarming him—surely he couldn't have any schemes up his sleeve, could he? Unless the War Bishop's other Heavenly Kings had arrived as well?

Demon Eye Heavenly King: "The Power of the Sun isn't something a Night Wanderer at the Transcendent stage can control. I had someone investigate Yuan Ting. Heard he was summoned to the capital recently. On the Taiyi Sect's official forum, there are videos of him being tortured every day. You're not him!"

Zhang Yuanqing's heart lurched; he nearly threw the phone away. After a moment's thought, he typed back:

"Who exactly are you? Why are you acting so strangely?"

Demon Eye Heavenly King: "Heh. The things I stirred up in Songhai a few days ago—as a Level 3 Night Wanderer, you shouldn't be completely unaware. Pretending not to know me? Hmm, there can't be many Night Walkers in Songhai capable of wielding the Power of the Sun. Digging up your identity wouldn't be hard, unless you've never once used abilities from that domain."

"Suit yourself." Zhang Yuanqing replied stiffly.

"Heh. Has no one told you my Demon Eye can track Spirit Realm Walkers? Songhai may be large, but Kangyang District isn't. Given time, I'll still find you. I imagine the look on your face next time will be quite interesting."

Are you that bored? Hunting for Yuanshi Tianzun and the Palace Master of Slaughter Halt on one hand, threatening an official Walker for kicks on the other... Zhang Yuanqing silently closed the burner account, refusing to reply further.

He wanted to delete Demon Eye Heavenly King, but felt keeping him as a contact might let him indirectly gauge the man's attitude and movements.

Perhaps phone tracking would come in handy someday.

"The fact that I can use the Power of the Sun—few should know. This is troublesome. Demon Eye's clues are piling up. How much longer can I hide? The Palace Master of Slaughter Halt is even better at lying low than me..."

Just then, a belated text from his mother arrived.

It was a photo of a business card, printed with a name, contact info, and company title.

His mother had also scribbled a Songhai address on the card.

Bill Talentino, Anthe Pharmaceuticals, Marketing Director.

Anthe Pharmaceuticals... Zhang Yuanqing opened his laptop and searched for the company's information.

He was stunned by what he found. Anthe Pharmaceuticals was a world-renowned foreign drug company, a pharmaceutical titan ranked in the global top ten.

"Mom's career is more flourishing than I imagined." Zhang Yuanqing memorized the number and dialed the one on the card.

*Beep beep~*

The phone rang twice before a woman answered, rattling off a string of foreign language.

Zhang Yuanqing roughly grasped the meaning and replied in the same tongue:

"I'm Chen Shu's son, looking for Mr. Talentino."

"One moment, let me check the appointments..." Seconds later, the woman's voice returned: "Very well. Mr. Talentino mentioned he's been expecting you. Sir, may I have your address? We'll send a car to pick you up."

"No need. I'll come myself." Zhang Yuanqing was currently very protective of his residential information.

"Very well! Is there anything else I can assist you with?"

Have Mr. Bill washed clean and waiting for me? Zhang Yuanqing replied, "No need for help. I'm on my way now."

Hanging up, he slipped on his shoes, rummaged through the wardrobe for the tailored suit Li Dongze had made for him, and dressed before the full-length mirror by the window.

The fastidious squad leader, a stickler for elegance, required his subordinates to wear formal attire to and from work, hence the bespoke suit. Later, as Zhang Yuanqing accumulated merit upon merit, his achievements so towering they threatened his superior, the squad leader's bottom line for him sank lower and lower.

From stocking happy water in the fridge to no longer requiring the suit.

And later still, when suspicions arose that he and Guan Ya were imparting wisdom in the restroom, the squad leader merely remarked: There are hotels nearby; conducting business in the workplace is most inelegant.

Clad in his formal suit, Zhang Yuanqing slipped quietly from the bedroom, stole out the front door, hailed a taxi on the roadside, and set off for the International Tower.

The International Tower stood as one of the landmark buildings in Songhai's most central CBD district. Numerous prestigious financial firms were headquartered here, and renowned foreign corporations favored this address for their mainland branches.

As a bridgehead for overseas capital, Songhai boasted many such places, but the International Tower was the most famous of them all.

It was precisely the morning rush hour. White-collar elites in suits and leather shoes crossed the streets in clusters, swarming toward the major office towers.

A sea of heads and congested traffic — this was a signature vista of Songhai's CBD.

The vast majority of these office workers could not afford housing in the CBD; their daily commute demanded forty minutes or more on the subway. The first task upon waking was not enjoying breakfast, but rushing headlong into the packed carriages, racing against the clock to avoid being late.

Their pace of life was frantic — so frantic that even a rare beauty like Zhang Yuanqing failed to earn a glance from the sisters and aunties; their attention was fixed entirely on the traffic lights.

The moment the light turned green, they hurried across the crosswalk as if whipped, not daring to pause for a single instant.

Zhang Yuanqing followed the throng of office workers across the street, arrived at the base of the International Tower, and dialed Bill Talentino's number.

"Entry requires an employee badge swipe. I can't get up," he said in less-than-fluent foreign tongue.

"One moment."

A few minutes later, a man in a cyan suit and white shirt emerged from the building, scanned the crowd, and called out loudly:

"Which one is Mr. Zhang?"

Zhang Yuanqing raised a hand: "Here."

The suited man sized him up, then broke into a warm smile: "Mr. Talentino's assistant sent me down to fetch you."

The two waited downstairs for quite some time before squeezing into an elevator. The suited man raised an arm to shield Zhang Yuanqing, carving out a space for him, and said apologetically:

"Sorry about this. At this hour, it's always this crowded."

Zhang Yuanqing was not yet of hiring age, had never been to a place like this; he nodded reservedly, offering no opinion.

The elevator stopped at the thirty-seventh floor. He followed the suited man out of the car.

The entire thirty-seventh floor belonged to Anta Pharmaceuticals. The suited man led him into the Marketing Department and said to the receptionist:

"The client Annie's been expecting has arrived. Notify her."

The receptionist inclined her head slightly, picked up the desk phone to report. Presently, a woman of tall, slender figure, wearing a white blouse and skirt suit, emerged from within.

She appeared to be around thirty, golden hair cascading loose, azure eyes like the ocean rippling with bewitching spring emotion, features exquisite and three-dimensional — a woman of exceptional allure.

As she approached, it was as if a spring breeze brushed one's face, carrying a temptation that ignited a restless heat in the lower abdomen, drawing the male staff of the office into rapt, unblinking stares.

The foreign woman looked Zhang Yuanqing up and down a few times, smiled, and extended her hand, speaking fluent Chinese: "Hello, I'm Annie. You're younger than I imagined."

"Hello, hello!" Zhang Yuanqing reached out and shook her hand, unconsciously squeezing her soft, smooth little hand a few times, praising, "Your Chinese is better than I imagined, too."

At this, Annie revealed a proud smile: "Chinese is hard to learn, but I mastered it in just three years."

She didn't pull her hand back, letting the young man take liberties, her smile growing ever more alluring.

"Oh my god, truly a woman blessed by God, your linguistic talent astonishes me, unlike me, I've studied foreign languages for half my life and my pronunciation still isn't standard, but I really studied hard, I swear." Zhang Yuanqing said.

Annie froze for a moment, then said: "I can converse normally, you don't need to speak Chinglish to me."

"Oh, god, that's just wonderful." Zhang Yuanqing said happily.

"..." Annie forced a smile: "Come with me, Mr. Tarantino is waiting for you."

Only then did Zhang Yuanqing reluctantly let go, following the female assistant inside. During this process, his gaze seemed to lose control, magnetically adhering to Annie's buttocks.

The round buttocks wrapped in the pencil skirt, like peaches, like a full moon, stirring hormonal restlessness.

This woman...

Before long, the two stopped at the minister's office. Annie lightly knocked on the brown wooden door and spoke in English:

"Mr. Tarantino, your guest has arrived."

A rich male voice came from inside the office: "Come in!"

Annie opened the office door and led Zhang Yuanqing inside. The office was decorated with extreme luxury. On the right stood a purely handcrafted solid wood desk, a small striped flag standing in the right corner.

On the left was the reception area, with soft sofas, a glass coffee table, a wine cabinet, and so on.

Behind the solid wood desk sat a foreign man in a light casual suit, short light brown hair, chiseled features, fine crow's feet at the corners of his eyes.

His eyes were deep and calm, bearing the weathered look of one who had seen too much, a mature middle-aged gentleman of immense charm.

Bill Tarantino slowly rose, walking toward the reception sofa while smiling: "Good morning, Mr. Zhang. Would you like my assistant to prepare breakfast?"

"Thank you." Zhang Yuanqing shook his head in refusal, sinking into the soft sofa.

Bill Tarantino sat opposite him, gently saying: "I was close business partners with your mother. She is a very capable, very domineering woman. I admire her, but she also gives me headaches, because at the negotiating table, she is always aggressive.

"But she has one virtue: extremely high efficiency. She never engages in false pleasantries or tedious socializing. This is a quality many mainland businessmen I've met lack."

She just wants to make money from you foreigners as fast as possible. After all, she's a workaholic who thinks even parent-teacher conferences for her son are inefficient... Zhang Yuanqing roasted his mother internally, but wore a smile: "Tarantino, thank you for the praise. Like my mother, I hate inefficient communication. Do you know the purpose of my visit today?"

Bill Tarantino leaned back on the sofa, legs crossed, hands folded over his lower abdomen: "You mean the pills that treat your headaches?"

Zhang Yuanqing nodded: "I'm very curious what this drug is. Besides Anta Pharmaceuticals, I can't buy it anywhere else, nor find any information about it. My mother said it's a new drug developed by your company. Frankly, that doesn't convince me."

“Developing a new drug demands astronomical costs. A rare, obscure ailment like yours could never yield the massive profits you require.”

Bill Talentino considered this for a few seconds, then said:

“You’re right. This drug wasn’t developed for your condition. It simply happens to alleviate your headache. The drug we’ve created applies to every affliction of the soul, mending the trauma the soul endures.

“My apologies, my phrasing was imprecise. Allow me to correct that: the psyche. In Chinese, the two characters for *jingshen* are far more fitting.”

Applicable to the trauma the soul endures... Zhang Yuanqing fell silent.

…