Seventy-seven: Wine as Punishment

“Oh my, the mysterious Mr. Chen we’ve been discussing all this time was right here among us.” Chu Zilin, Zhou Fangming, and the others all looked rather embarrassed; after all, during their drinking earlier, their words had often been aimed at Chen Fengyun.

“Madman, you’re actually Mr. Chen?” Gao Xiaohua also asked in disbelief.

“In fact, you’ve all misunderstood,” Chen Fengyun replied calmly. “I’m not some great master, merely a qigong practitioner who can use qigong to treat certain illnesses. I just helped Old Master Qian regulate his health a bit. Of course, sometimes qigong can also be used to kill.”

As he spoke, Chen Fengyun picked up a wine glass and gently pressed it against the marble table. The entire porcelain cup sank into the surface without a crack, yet the cup remained perfectly intact.

The others, apart from Gao Xiaohua, were stunned, staring wide-eyed at the wine glass embedded in the marble. The thought of their own heads meeting the same fate made cold sweat break out on their backs.

“Mr. Chen, I apologize. I didn’t know it was you. We behaved wrongly earlier and owe you an apology,” Qian Qingping suddenly bowed respectfully to Chen Fengyun, then picked up a full decanter and drained it in one go.

“Mr. Chen, it was our ignorance that offended you. We’re sorry,” Chu Zilin, Zhou Fangming, and Fang Xu hastily echoed, each pouring themselves a large glass and drinking it down, their eyes fixed anxiously on Chen Fengyun.

“There’s no need for that,” Chen Fengyun said gently, shaking his head. “You’re all friends of Fatty. It’s not a problem.” The crowd instantly breathed a sigh of relief.

Soon after, they enthusiastically pulled Fatty Gao Xiaohua over, everyone raising their glasses to toast him. Even Qian Qingping set aside his pride to drink with Fatty, and from then on, no one called him “Dead Fatty”—instead, it was “Brother Xiaohua” and “Brother Gao.”

“Mr. Chen, this is for you,” Mao Yuqin nervously handed over a document envelope.

“Thank you,” Chen Fengyun nodded at her.

“Fatty, you all have fun a while longer. I have something to take care of and will leave first. I’ll call you later,” Chen Fengyun wiped his mouth, stood up, and told Gao Xiaohua, then nodded to the others and left.

“Mr. Chen, let us see you out,” Qian Qingping hurriedly led the group after him.

But just as they opened the private room’s door, a group of distinguished-looking middle-aged men appeared, all with glowing faces, clearly just finished with their own meal.

“Master Zhou, we look forward to your next visit to Rong City.”

“Second Master Feng, thank you for your generous hospitality. If you ever come to Kunming, you must look me up.”

“President Chu, let’s discuss that matter in detail another day.”

“Director Chen, thank you again for your help last time.”

Chatting as they walked, the group quickly ran into Chen Fengyun’s party. Both sides halted, looking each other over, while a faint smile played at Chen Fengyun’s lips.

“Dad.” Several voices sounded behind Chen Fengyun—it was Chu Zilin, Zhou Fangming, and Chen Yanyan. Who would have thought their fathers would be among the men ahead?

“Mr. Chen, are you dining here as well? Ah, if only you’d said so earlier—I would have come to toast you myself,” a voice called from the other side. The old Daoist, Zhou Fuhai, stepped forward briskly and greeted Chen Fengyun with both respect and a hint of flattery.

“Mr. Chen, I didn’t expect to see you here today. You’ve been back from Hangzhou for a while, and I’ve been wanting to invite you out, but worried you’d be too busy. Since you’re here, you must let me toast you,” said the next man, Second Master Feng, Feng Tianbao, a bit excited. Uncle Thirteen had already told him that Chen Fengyun had inherited their true lineage, and that he ought to be treated as an ancestor.

“Mr. Chen, if I’d known you’d be dining here, I would have sent someone to fetch you myself,” said another, this time An Jingru’s father, An Mingzhen. He wasn’t surprised by Zhou Fuhai’s respect, but was a bit puzzled by Feng Tianbao’s deference, so he simply followed suit in addressing him as Mr. Chen.

“President An, Second Master Feng, who is this Mr. Chen?” Seeing that three prominent men treated this young man with such respect, others stepped forward to ask curiously.

“Mr. Chen’s abilities far surpass my own,” sighed Zhou Fuhai. “I wish to take him as my master, but alas, my talents are insufficient to earn his favor.”

“Mr. Chen’s skills are extraordinary—he just saved my daughter’s life. He’s also her friend,” An Mingzhen added with a nod.

“Mr. Chen is a confidant of our Thirteenth Uncle. To me, he is as worthy of respect as Thirteenth Uncle himself,” Feng Tianbao’s words shocked even more people.

Everyone present held considerable status, and many knew of Uncle Thirteen of the Southern Sect. Hearing Feng Tianbao speak so, Chen Fengyun’s name was instantly seared into their memories.

“Gentlemen, Mr. Chen is the benefactor of our Qian family. My grandfather often speaks of him,” Qian Qingping stepped forward. He now worked at the headquarters of the Imperial Group—not yet high in rank, but a promising talent of the Qian family’s third generation, so many recognized him.

“So he’s that Mr. Chen,” many people realized at once. They had already heard that the Qian family had found a great master who cured Old Master Qian’s illness, extending his life by ten years and thereby changing the family’s fate—a debt as deep as creating them anew.

After all, who in this world wouldn’t want to live a few more years? If Mr. Chen truly possessed the means to prolong life, once word spread, countless affluent families would come seeking him—even the state might offer him special treatment.

Especially for those clans at the pinnacle of society, the longer their elders lived, the more their fortunes endured and their foundations deepened. Once the great families in the capital caught wind, none would be able to sit still.

Of course, prolonging life sounded rather mystical—few would believe it right away. But after a couple of years, once people saw the change in Old Master Qian, more and more would come to believe.

“Mr. Chen, hello, I’m Chu Guofu.”

“Hello, Mr. Chen. I’m Chen Tiangao.”

“Good evening, Mr. Chen. I’m Zhou Yougui.”

At once, these prominent figures came forward to greet Chen Fengyun. Whether they believed in his miraculous abilities or not, it was worth making his acquaintance—should the need for his help ever arise in the future, it would be good to be familiar.

“Thank you all for your kindness. I have some matters to attend to, so I’ll take my leave for now. Let’s keep in touch,” Chen Fengyun replied calmly, bidding farewell to everyone, then giving a special nod to Zhou Fuhai, Feng Tianbao, and An Mingzhen, before departing elegantly.