Chapter 38: Always Keep Smiling

Dark clouds obscured the moonlight. The air was stifling, hinting at an impending storm.

Mr. He leaned lightly against the windowsill, his slender fingers rubbing his chin as he softly asked a member of the Copper Bell gang, “What’s the situation with Little Li?”

“That online novelist, Li Feng, is just a shut-in,” replied a young man with a gruff voice as he arranged some takeout on the dining table. “No progress so far. Boss, could we be following the wrong lead?”

Mr. He turned to him, a flicker of anger flashing through his almond-shaped phoenix eyes.

The young man shivered instinctively. “…I misspoke. I should call you ‘Sir.’”

In this group, Mr. He detested rough colleagues calling him things like “Boss” or “Leader.” He saw himself as an artist, deserving of the refined title of “Sir.” Even Old Yin, when lounging on the sofa, referred to him as such:

“Sir, slow down.”

“Sir, you’re amazing.”

“Sir,” a female player munching on fried chicken cautiously asked, “since Li Feng is an important connection for Ren Daguo, and we’ve tracked him down, why hasn’t the Vigil Keeper done the same? Official organizations are official for a reason… it doesn’t make sense.”

Mr. He looked at her with approval. “You’re sharp.”

“Thank you for the compliment, Sir,” the woman said, awkwardly bowing while gripping her fried chicken.

“However, this situation does make sense,” Mr. He explained softly. “The information linking Li Feng to Ren Daguo was leaked in an underground player group and eventually bought by Cripple’s men. So it’s not that the Vigil Keeper couldn’t find it, but that someone else, like us, is secretly targeting Ren Ye. My guess is… there are other players working behind the scenes in Qingliang Prefecture’s Star Gate, possibly involving the inexplicably meddling Fraudulent Merchants Association.”

The woman thought carefully. “Could it be a trap? Maybe the Vigil Keeper is using Li Feng to lure us out because they can’t find us?”

Mr. He’s eyes gleamed. “That’s certainly possible. But we don’t have the luxury of time. Guo Cair and Xing Tao are about to make their move. We must take a chance—for the Bell Society.”

At that, silence fell over the room.

“Sir, would you like some spicy crawfish?” asked a burly man.

“I’m in a bad mood. I’ll take a walk,” Mr. He replied, sounding melancholic as he slipped his hands into his pockets and left the room.

Around the dining table, the Copper Bell players huddled together.

The cautious woman shivered unconsciously, her brow furrowing. “I don’t know why, but the back of my neck has been feeling chilly these past two days.”

“Should I warm it up with my tongue?” the burly man offered earnestly.

“Sure,” she agreed without hesitation. “It feels like I’ve come into contact with something dirty.”

…

Twenty minutes later, at the street corner below.

A pile of hell money burned in flickering flames, the eerie glow illuminating the night.

The address on the paper package was written in Old Yin’s name.

Mr. He, holding a tree branch, tended to the fire, his eyes brimming with faint sorrow. “We didn’t know each other for long, but you were a friend. You liked money, so I’ll send you plenty.”

Artists are emotional beings, not easily understood.

Upon hearing of Old Yin’s death, Mr. He felt genuinely saddened and thought it necessary to send him off.

Ironically, despite Old Yin’s reputation for having countless friends on Tongren Road, Mr. He was the only one burning paper for him. His former companions would forget him within days.

“Sigh.”

Mr. He couldn’t help but break into a line of opera: “Life and death, death and life… fleeting decades… Who will remember you, and who will you remember…!”

Creaaak.

Just then, a police car pulled up, and an officer stepped out. “Who gave you permission to burn paper here?”

“…!” Mr. He froze. “I’m mourning a friend.”

“You still can’t burn paper here. That’s a 500-yuan fine,” the officer said, frowning.

“This is part of our traditional culture!” Mr. He protested angrily.

“Do you want to pay here, or come back with me to pay?” The officer calmly pulled out a notepad.

“…Sigh. How much do we have left?” Mr. He muttered helplessly, then politely asked, “Can I burn a thousand yuan’s worth?”

…

In the city center.

In a stairwell, Ren Ye, wrapped up like a mummy, was intently watching a supermarket across the street.

After dealing with the Bull Terrier, he had gone to a suburban clinic to treat the small abrasions caused by gravel. Although the wounds had stopped bleeding, the pain and itchiness were unbearable.

Inside the supermarket was a middle-aged man in his forties, typing away on a computer.

This was Li Feng, one of the few good friends of Ren Ye’s father, Ren Daguo.

It was common knowledge that online novelists had narrow social circles, especially those who struggled to make it. They couldn’t connect with industry giants and spent their days writing at home, gradually developing social anxiety. Most of them preferred solitude.

The humid night air hinted at an impending downpour, with dark clouds obscuring the moonlight.

Ren Ye’s father and Li Feng might have been worlds apart in age, but their shared quirks made them kindred spirits. They both enjoyed niche hobbies—watching small-scale movies, collecting figurines—and, most importantly, they were both struggling writers. Their lack of success erased any sense of hierarchy, forming a bond of mutual understanding.

The convenience store belonged to Li Feng’s parents, and he would help out in the evenings. Having never married or had children, Li Feng lived a solitary but unburdened life.

After confirming Li Feng’s presence, Ren Ye slumped to the cold ground, his exhaustion evident.

He wasn’t sure why the Bell Society was tailing Li Feng. But since Bull Terrier had claimed this man could lead to Ren Daguo, Ren Ye couldn’t let the trail go cold.

As he sat there, an idea suddenly struck him. Focusing his attention, he activated his perception.

With a flash of light, a delicate, nine-layered miniature tower appeared in his hand.

Crafted from bronze, the tower was intricately detailed, about half the length of a human finger. Each layer’s outer windows bore tiny inscriptions of talismans.

Ren Ye examined it closely, activating his perception again.

[Unassuming Nine-Layered Buddha Pagoda: A chanting pagoda from a certain temple. Its exterior is damaged, leaking demonic energy. Rumor has it the pagoda seals a foolish demonic spirit. Unique Ability—Demonic Strike: In moments of crisis, release the foolish demon to deliver a powerful strike. Usage Limit: 1/3.]

The cold, mechanical notification faded, and Ren Ye toyed with the pagoda, a tinge of disappointment in his voice:

“This Bull Terrier’s broke too, huh? A single-use item, and he’s already used it twice. Well, better than nothing.”

Upon reflection, it made sense. Your opponents are usually at the same level as you.

Dreaming of a single battle to achieve wealth? Nonsense!

Those seasoned Star Gate veterans who’d survived countless near-death experiences weren’t clueless fools.

Thankfully, Bull Terrier had limited resources. Otherwise, the outcome of their fight might have been very different.

With a sigh, Ren Ye stored the pagoda away and leaned back in the stairwell, patiently awaiting his next move.

…

Capital Airport

“Delayed?” Yan Duoduo asked the airline attendant at the counter. “When will we be able to take off?”

“I’m sorry, sir,” the attendant replied politely. “A major storm is expected in Shanghai over the next two days. We’re currently unable to confirm a departure time. However, we’ve arranged for accommodations at the airport hotel, and a shuttle is available for your convenience.”

Hearing this, Yan Duoduo’s chest tightened.

His luck had been terrible lately. No, to be precise, everything had gone downhill since the name “Ren Ye” had entered his life.

First, the Bell Society started making moves offline. Then a young couple in his jurisdiction was found dead. Shortly after, a player skirmish broke out near the university town. Tonight, a mahjong parlor on Tongren Road ended in a gruesome massacre.

And now, after traveling all the way to the Capital, meticulously dressed in a sharp suit with neatly combed hair, hoping to present his progress to his superiors with pride, Ren Ye’s father had… vanished.

And to top it all off, his return flight was grounded.

What a string of disasters!

Dragging his suitcase, Yan Duoduo silently repeated to himself: Stay calm. Don’t lose your temper. This is what it’s like when you’ve got a talented player on your hands.

After taking several deep breaths, he forced a confident smile back onto his face. As he headed toward the airport exit, he called Shanghai headquarters.

“Two things. First, book me the next high-speed train back home. Second, get in touch with that monk player you mentioned earlier. The one who does fortune-changing rituals? Yeah, call him. … Mm-hmm, mm-hmm. Tell him it’s for my mom; she’s been having terrible luck lately.”

“Boss, I’ve got an urgent update.”

“What’s the matter?” Yan Duoduo asked, still smiling.

“…Ren Ye is missing.”

A deafening mental explosion erupted in Yan Duoduo’s mind. He froze on the spot, and his suitcase toppled to the ground with a thud.

Amid the bustling airport crowd, his lonely silhouette seemed utterly helpless and disheveled.

…

Shanghai – A Small Hospital’s Morgue

In a cramped security office, an elderly night guard enjoyed the dinner his wife had packed for him, sipping a small glass of liquor while listening to the news on his phone.

“Reports indicate that a male corpse recently went missing from a hospital in Suzhou-Hangzhou. Police are currently investigating and seeking public assistance with leads.”

“Hah!” The guard burst out laughing, shaking his head in disbelief. “Now I’ve seen it all! If it were a female body, I might understand. But a male? What’s the thief after, a dad?!”

Bang!

Before his laughter could fade, the morgue door swung open from the inside.

A nearly seventy-year-old man casually strolled past the security office, completely naked.

The guard’s laughter died abruptly. Stretching his neck, he rubbed his eyes. “Who… Who just walked out butt-naked? Huh?!”

Ten minutes later, after mustering his courage, the guard checked the morgue and quickly ran back to the office. His trembling hand dialed a number:

“Hello? Director? I’ve solved the case! … Yeah, I know who stole the body from the news! The culprit was stark naked…!”