Chapter 218: Diminishing Blessings

Chapter 218: Severing Fortune

Zhu Rong wore a floral-print dress with a brown coat draped over it, dressed simply yet fashionably, possessing a mature woman's poise and elegance.

"Well, well, isn't this Chi Yue'an's ex-wife? Here to avenge your former husband, or to thank us Yuanshi for executing heaven's will, cleaning house for you?"

Perhaps it was this woman's scorching, covetous gaze that provoked Guan Ya—Old Driver Ji's words carried thorns, her smile hiding needles.

Zhu Rong reluctantly tore her gaze away, directing it toward Guan Ya, and said coolly:

"Who are you?"

Zhang Yuanqing hurriedly said: "She's my girlfriend."

Taking the opportunity to wrap his arm around Guan Ya's slender waist.

Guan Ya's body stiffened slightly, removing his hand without changing expression, letting out a hmph—like a girlfriend displeased that her man was being chatted up by another woman.

Girlfriend... Zhu Rong examined Guan Ya's exquisite, beautiful oval face, her heart stirring.

She had two great hobbies: one, keeping male concubines; two, seducing married men, then whipping and tormenting them before their wives' eyes, making them watch as their beloved husbands became her devoted simps.

The fallen husband, the wife suffering living death, beautiful love polluted, destroyed.

Zhu Rong could derive immense pleasure from this.

This woman was born so beautiful—one wondered what expression she would wear when she saw Yuanshi Tianzun humbly kneeling at another woman's feet, or laboring diligently atop another woman.

To tear apart such a beautiful woman's love—was that not also a delight?

Zhu Rong wore a smile, speaking gently: "Regarding Chi Yue'an's matter, my deepest apologies. Though he and I divorced long ago, the Zhu family did indeed support him from behind the scenes. But who would have thought, for his own selfish desires, he would actually do such a thing."

Huh, this woman actually speaks human language? Zhang Yuanqing was somewhat surprised—he had thought Zhu Rong came to demand an accounting.

He sized up Zhu Rong a few times, not the slightest bit lingering over the mature woman's beauty, gaze fixed toward the arena platform, saying blandly:

"So?"

No good, one look at her and I think of the Demon Lord's training audio... Zhang Yuanqing complained inwardly.

Just like if one day in reality you saw a teacher from the island nation, you'd definitely recall images of her kneeling or prone, or with knees pressed against shoulders.

Zhu Rong raised an eyebrow. Her words just now had contained the power of a Musician—no man could refuse her.

Yet this Yuanshi Tianzun was unexpectedly unmoved?

Taking a deep breath, Zhu Rong's expression softened, her tone carrying a thread of coquetry:

"To express my apology, I'd like to treat you to a meal, and let the Chi Yue'an matter be dropped."

At these words, Zhang Yuanqing's face cooled: "Inciting Chi Yue'an to violate laws and discipline, imprisoning innocent women, forcing them into prostitution—one meal and you want it dropped?"

Completely useless, my charm completely useless... Zhu Rong's expression stiffened slightly, silently withdrawing her Musician class skill, saying coolly:

"You need to understand two things. First, the Copper Sparrow Pavilion has existed for a full ten years, while ten years ago, I hadn't yet married Chi Yue'an. Second, Chi Yue'an's actions have nothing to do with me.

"Since you won't give face, then forget it."

Finished speaking, she turned and left.

Zhang Yuanqing watched her retreating figure depart, her waist slender and supple, beneath the long skirt hips full as the moon, her gait utterly beguiling.

Such a lush, exquisite figure, such a bewitching face—no wonder the Demon Lord had been loath to kill her back then.

"What on earth does she want?" Zhang Yuanqing asked the Old Siji beside him.

A Scout's Fiery Golden Eyes should be able to discern something.

Guan Ya replied with irritation, "She wants to sleep with you!"

Zhang Yuanqing said unhappily, "I'm trying to discuss serious business with you again, stop talking dirty all the time."

Guan Ya's willow brows shot up, she sneered, "I'm speaking the truth. This woman has a fierce desire to conquer you and mate with you. Don't believe me? Just go lie down on the bed, do absolutely nothing, and she'll climb on top and start moving herself."

"There's such a good thing?" Zhang Yuanqing was both startled and delighted.

Guan Ya let out a "hehe," smiling slyly:

"Know it's a good thing and you still refused? What method did you use just now, to actually withstand the Musician's charm?"

Zhang Yuanqing froze for a moment, his face suddenly turning pale, his heart turning to dead ashes.

"What's wrong?" Guan Ya asked, puzzled.

"No, nothing..." This topic was far too heavy; Zhang Yuanqing didn't want to dwell on it, so he changed the subject:

"Has no one ever tried to emulate Fu Qingyang, to master rule-type skills?"

Guan Ya gave an affirmative answer:

"Of course there have been. The Fu Clan, the White Tiger Soldiers—they once sparked a craze for specializing in Insight. Many clansmen of the Fu family even began practicing slashing strikes day after day. But no one succeeded. In all those years, only the Pawn Who Crossed the River reached the hall in the field of Insight, earning the title 'Little Qingyang'."

Pausing a moment, Guan Ya continued:

"My speculation is, when Insight specialization is cultivated to its zenith, every possible counter the opponent might have will be seen through by Fu Qingyang. At that point, he will, in some way, terminate those counters, and thus the rule of 'unavoidable' comes into being."

"How accurate is your speculation?" Zhang Yuanqing expressed doubt.

"Fu Qingyang himself said it is so." Guan Ya gave a cold snort.

Zhang Yuanqing suddenly found his assessment of Fu Qingyang deepening in agreement.

Guan Ya truly was a piece of trash; she clearly possessed formidable talent, yet chose to be a salted fish.

...

After Zhu Rong left, she did not continue watching the match, returning directly to reality.

She rose from the imperial concubine's couch, shed her outer coat, and walked to the bookshelf, lightly pressing a mechanism disguised as a light switch.

The bottom of the bookshelf ran on rails; upon pressing the switch, it slid silently to one side.

Behind the bookshelf lay a hidden chamber, illuminated only by two crystal lotus lamps, the light dim and gloomy.

In the dark room stood a table draped in yellow silk; on the table a candle stand held two red candles, beneath it a copper basin filled with glutinous rice, copper coins strung on red thread, yellow paper talismans drawn in cinnabar, a porcelain bowl filled with an unknown liquid, as well as incense, copper bells, an octagonal mirror, three leaves translucent as rubies...

And a wooden puppet the size of a palm.

This puppet had no features; it was the crudest of human shapes.

Zhu Rong walked to the desk draped in yellow silk, staring blankly at its surface. This table bore the name "Evil Dharma Desk"—yes, it was an artifact.

An artifact left to her by the Demon Lord.

Every item upon the desk was part of that artifact.

Zhu Rong raised her hand, fingertips brushing lightly along the desk's edge, and the man's voice seemed to echo once more at her ear:

"A month's time is up, Miss Zhu. You have pleased me greatly. As agreed, you may go. Ah, right—before you leave, I gift you an artifact."

"It is called the 'Evil Dharma Desk,' a witch-gu master's artifact of Saint-grade quality, possessing the functions of cursing and severing fortune. As the saying goes, a single night as husband and wife brings a hundred days of grace; this past month, we played husband and wife every day. Consider this artifact a keepsake."

"Besides, when the mood strikes me, I shall come to the Zhu household to find you."

That parting became the eternal farewell between Zhu Rong and the Demon Lord.

Later—just last month, in fact—Zhu Rong heard that the Demon Lord had perished.

"Demon Lord, you died too soon. How could you die so easily? You should have died by my own hand..." Zhu Rong murmured, her eyes holding a strange blend of sorrow and joy, hatred and resentment.

A faithless scoundrel.

Zhu Rong drew a deep breath, and her exquisite face bloomed into a sickly smile:

"But it matters not. I have found your replacement. I shall do to him as you once did to me—make him suffer agony, drown him in carnal desire, strip him of dignity, ensure he never forgets me..."

She picked up a leaf and tossed it into the bronze medicine cauldron, her jade hand lifting the pestle to gently crush it.

Next, she lifted a small porcelain bowl and poured the black liquid within into the cauldron, continuing to crush and stir.

Once the black liquid and leaf fragments were thoroughly blended, she spread open a yellow talisman paper, took up a fine brush, dipped it into the "ink" in the cauldron, and wrote four characters:

Yuan Shi Tian Zun!

Setting down the brush, Zhu Rong affixed the talisman to the wooden figurine. Moments later, features sprouted upon the puppet's face—unmistakably the likeness of Zhang Yuanqing.

Zhu Rong picked up the copper-coin sword nearby and pressed it gently against the effigy.

The severing of fortune was complete.

From this day forth, Yuan Shi Tian Zun would be haunted by ill luck—so wretched that even drinking cold water would stick between his teeth. In three days, his fortune would be exhausted, and he would die by some accident.

So long as he had not reached the Saint realm, he could not possibly escape.

Moreover, the severing of fortune did not inflict direct harm; it was soundless, traceless, undetectable.

The victim would only wonder why their luck had suddenly turned foul.

Zhu Rong did not intend to kill the boy—only to let him suffer a couple of days, then appear to coerce him.

She had originally planned to seduce him first, then coerce him; that was why she had deliberately invited Yuan Shi Tian Zun to dine earlier. Who would have thought the brat would ignore her charms entirely?

Then there was nothing more to say—she would simply force his submission through sorcery, then defile him.

...

The scene before him sharpened from blur to clarity. Zhang Yuanqing returned to reality, finding himself in his bedroom.

The time was seven-thirty in the evening.

He twisted open the bedroom door, and a rich medley of food aromas assaulted his nostrils.

By the dining table sat his aunt in a cartoon pajama set, along with his maternal grandparents.

Upon seeing him emerge, Grandmother launched into a tirade without preamble:

"What's with you locking your door these past few days? Don't think I won't take the lock off your bedroom door."

"Grandma, I need my private space..."

The moment the words left his mouth, Jiang Yuer laughed loudly: "Mom, go check his trash can right now."

No sooner had the words fallen than Grandmother smacked her on the head, scolding:

"A grown young lady, spouting such unsavory talk all day long."

Jiang Yuer rubbed her head, wrinkled her nose at her mother, then turned to her approaching nephew:

"Yuanzhi, Auntie's taking you shopping tomorrow."

Jiang Yuer had tomorrow off; a week's suppressed shopping urge was about to burst, and she decided to properly fleece her well-off nephew today.

"Not going. I have plans this afternoon."

Zhang Yuanqing refused with cold ruthlessness. He had found Mr. Bill in the Colosseum and arranged to meet tomorrow to discuss a deal.

He only said he was selling an artifact, not what it was, fearing Mr. Bill would refuse on the spot.

He no longer found Zhu Rong pretty. This was a very bad sign.

"Come on, come on."

His aunt twisted her waist a few times, acting coquettishly.

"Not going!"

Zhang Yuanqing was coldly ruthless once more. Just as the words left his mouth, he was walking toward the dining table when his foot suddenly slipped. His body lunged forward, his knee crashing onto the floor with a heavy *thud*, kneeling right before his aunt.

Jiang Yuer's beautiful eyes went wide, incredulous:

"Fine if you're not going, fine if you're not going—no need to kneel and apologize, is there?"