Chapter 137: 137, Ancient and modern sunk in fame and profit

Qing Zhen never imagined that a mere late return would result in missing Xu Xianchu entirely.

Yet he was not one to grasp and then release; since the moment had passed, there was no point in lamenting.

"Enter the Bastion," Qing Zhen said calmly, though in truth, his greatest concern was not Xu Xianchu but how the old men of the Qing family would punish him.

Or rather, how they intended to strip him of his authority.

Many outsiders believed Qing Zhen wielded great power within the Qing family conglomerate, but he controlled only a fraction of the operational sequence.

For handling external affairs, it was always Qing Zhen who stepped forward, creating an illusion of his omnipotence.

Only Qing Zhen understood clearly that those old men had never truly trusted him.

The shadows within the conglomerate changed hands repeatedly, while only those "faces" remained the core the old men cared about.

According to the saying within the Qing family conglomerate: Violence is merely a means to maintain order, yet it can never become order itself.

In short, shadows are but shadows, unworthy of the stage.

Now, having exhausted his influence in opposing the Huozhong Company, the old men had long sought to curb his sharpness; thus, house arrest and division of power became inevitable.

Xu Man whispered, "Boss, tomorrow we report to the Combat Department. Likely, we'll all be dispersed into other units."

"Mhm," Qing Zhen nodded nonchalantly. "Go ahead."

"Is there anything else you need to attend to?" Xu Man asked. "Shall we step out to speak with the soldiers, or join you in the wilderness? With so many of us, some armed, we could manage anything."

Qing Zhen chuckled and shook his head. "How many are waiting to return home to their wives and children? Would you tell them to seek survival in the wilderness?"

"They're willing," Xu Man replied.

Qing Zhen opened the car door. Upon stepping out, the soldiers in the convoy all dismounted—thousands of them—filling the settlement to its brim, sending the refugees fleeing in panic.

"Gentlemen," Qing Zhen addressed the soldiers before him with calm. "Perform well in your new units. Don't shame me."

At his words, thousands stood at attention in unison. "Yes!"

In that moment, the soldiers grasped their fate.

"Board the vehicles!" Qing Zhen said, then casually climbed aboard. The garrison atop the Bastion watched with unease; the Qing family's combat commanders had never seen such influence wielded by Qing Zhen.

After entering the Bastion, Qing Zhen returned to his detached villa, washed, and donned a fresh white suit, burning his old clothes outright.

Upon their entry, certain figures within the Qing family had eagerly seized his command, taking the thousands of soldiers by name, dividing them completely.

Qing Zhen's soldiers were battle-hardened veterans; now given the chance to claim this force, none would let it slip.

Yet Qing Zhen seemed indifferent.

After washing up, Qing Zhen emerged to find the waiting car already gone. He smiled. "Even the car wasn't left behind."

He walked toward the exit, only to be halted by two guards who hesitated. "Boss Qing, you can't leave the house. Don't put us in a difficult position."

Qing Zhen raised an eyebrow. "The old men forbade leaving the Bastion, but when did they say I couldn't leave the house? Worry not—I merely wish to listen to a tune. Who in this Bastion doesn't know I, Qing Zhen, love music?"

The two guards exchanged glances; this renowned boss, indifferent to his plight, seemed unafraid. Yet they did not yield.

Qing Zhen remained silent. At that moment, a bullet erupted from an unseen direction, striking the stone path before the guards. Hidden gunmen were protecting Qing Zhen nearby!

The guards realized their lives were spared; even if the shooter had killed them, the Chairman's Council would not intensify Qing Zhen's punishment over such trifles.

During the unit's transition, no one wished to invite further trouble.

Qing Zhen remained composed, watching them. The guards retreated decisively. "Thank you, Boss Qing, for your mercy."

"Enough. No one will trouble you," Qing Zhen smiled and walked away.

Behind him, the guards pondered; earlier rumors spoke of Qing Zhen's hidden cards, and now they knew it was true.

Yet hadn't the Council stripped him of power? Why would anyone willingly follow a fallen man?

As Qing Zhen hummed cheerfully toward the city's bustle, one guard asked after he'd gone. "Boss Qing, what was that tune?"

"Not sure. We can't afford to hear music anyway..." the other replied uncertainly.

Night fell. Qing Zhen sat alone in a theater, others avoiding him as poison, leaving early upon his arrival. Only he remained, watching the stage's courtesans change in succession.

Supporting his head with one hand, the more wine he drank, the brighter his eyes grew.

Within the theater lingered only the mournful, winding melodies drifting through neon hues.

At the crossroads, where do the morning and evening winds blow?

Morning brings fluttering banners, evening sees silent carriages depart.

Names and profits sink into the past, streams by the short pavilion, trees by the long pavilion...

At that moment, someone approached from behind. "Qing Zhen, the Council wishes to discuss matters. They request your presence."

Qing Zhen smiled. "Tell them, I won't go."

...

Ren Xiaosu, returning from the goldsmith's, pondered his future plans. Selling gold was no longer viable—too risky. His vast gold reserves remained unsold, causing anxiety.

Originally, Ren Xiaosu had been indifferent to opening a shop due to his gold holdings. Now, he reconsidered the business, though he couldn't rely on school subsidies to survive...

Sell black medicine? Ren Xiaosu hesitated; obtaining gratitude coins was harder than money.

As he walked, he looked up and found himself at the shop entrance, only to see Wang Fugui, face mysterious, promoting something with a man.

Upon closer inspection, they were pushing black medicine...

Wang Fugui's expression suggested no genuine intent to explain its virtues, and the middle-aged man looked equally dubious.

Ren Xiaosu felt melancholic—was he destined to be a medicine seller?

...

Thanks to Qiang Yu and Deng Hongran for becoming the book's new allies!

First Sequence