GRMFBS CH28

Gu Jiancheng was noticeably more relaxed than when he had first arrived, his patience visibly improved.  

But this had little to do with the chuuni gathering—well, maybe a little. Zhan Yan had enjoyed himself here.  

Zhan Yan—  

Gu Jiancheng’s fingers brushed the small bottle of essential oil in his pocket. The reason he’d first noticed Zhan Yan was because he’d discovered that being near him made the aftereffects from the Infinite fade away.  

Later, Gu Jiancheng realized it was because Zhan Yan’s soul carried an aura of auspiciousness. This meant Zhan Yan was a good person who had done something extraordinary. Normally, good people only accumulated merit, but auspiciousness was usually tied to great vows—something that could shelter an entire region.  

At first, Gu Jiancheng had planned to treat Zhan Yan as a passive healing buff—nothing more. He assumed he wouldn’t get along with someone so selflessly benevolent.  

But then he discovered Zhan Yan was nothing like that. Anyone who tried to take advantage of him as some naive pushover would regret it.  

The Magician studied him, but Gu Jiancheng’s expression gave nothing away.  

“I need to borrow your Ouija board,” he said.  

A Ouija board was a traditional Western spiritual tool, similar to the “pencil fairy” or “plate fairy” popular in China. It bore letters and numbers, allowing summoned spirits to communicate.  

But the Magician’s Ouija board was nothing like the common versions. It had far more peculiar functions.  

“What do you need it for?” the Magician asked. “It’s not a docile tool. If your needs aren’t too specific, I’d recommend contacting the Craftsman instead. I can give you his details.”  

The Magician’s tools weren’t as obedient as the Craftsman’s. Each had its own temperament, along with unique abilities. The Craftsman’s creations aligned more with conventional expectations—tools were just tools. Predictable, safe, but lacking personality.  

“No, he’s not one of us,” Gu Jiancheng said.  

“Oh.” The Magician’s demeanor sobered.  

She understood what Gu Jiancheng meant by “us”—those who had escaped the Infinite. His concern implied this matter was related to the Infinite.  

The term, which should have been firmly in the past, still made her uneasy when brought up.  

Most importantly, if Gu Jiancheng was mentioning it now, did that mean something? She wanted the past to stay buried.  

“I hope I’m overthinking it.”  

“Maybe I’m overthinking it,” Gu Jiancheng said calmly. “But right now, I need to check if someone is alive or dead.”  

Monster Doctor.  

Ranked fourth on the Infinite leaderboard at his peak. After the second and third died, he rose to second.  

“He wasn’t…” The Magician trailed off, fishing a tangled bracelet from her embroidered purse. From its jumble of charms, she plucked a small triangular wooden piece.  

She flicked it like a spinning top. The fingernail-sized wood chip whirled into a blur, expanding mid-spin until it thudded onto the table as a thick, basketball-sized plank, scattering its letters and numbers everywhere.  

“Seems it’s in a bad mood today,” the Magician remarked.  

She swept the letters and numbers onto the Ouija board.  

They squirmed into the word:  

DIE

And trembled aggressively.  

The Ouija board was a tool that liked to mirror its user’s state. Since traditional Ouija boards consulted the dead, this one insisted it, too, was dead.  

Gu Jiancheng pressed a finger to the board. The letters froze. Numbers leaped up, forming ½ after DIE. Moments later, it shifted to 1/3, then 1/4, tauntingly shaking.  

Just 1/4 death! For the answer you want! What a bargain!

Gu Jiancheng remained unmoved.  

The denominator grew—1/5, 1/6—until it hit 1/9. The Ouija board had no higher numbers to offer. It deemed this concession generous. DIE and 1/9 quivered indignantly.  

Gu Jiancheng simply imprinted Monster Doctor’s name onto the board with a wisp of shadow. The triangular plank spun before flinging the name to the corner marked for death.  

He had his answer.  

Withdrawing his finger, he politely said, “Thanks.” That was all. The Ouija board’s preferences? Irrelevant.  

The Magician pocketed the board. Only the weak bargained with tools. The strong wielded them.  

She patted the still-jittery letters. Behave. A ‘thank you’ is more than you deserve.  

The answer also eased her mind: “I thought you killed Monster Doctor.”  

Gu Jiancheng: “I watched his corpse fall into the Black Nest.”  

Normally, that meant certain death. But he also knew the world occasionally defied normal.  

The Abnormal Affairs Management Bureau was hunting someone capable of creating anomalies. Gu Jiancheng’s first thought was him—the “doctor” who dissected anomalies and experimented with fusing or separating them from humans.  

In the Infinite, Monster Doctor hadn’t been the strongest, but he was easily the most horrifying.  

If anyone in this post-Infinite world could manufacture anomalies, the doctor—with his intimate knowledge of them—was the likeliest candidate.  

But since that freak was confirmed dead…  

Gu Jiancheng stood, bidding the Magician farewell.  

He’d keep an eye out, but as a fugitive with limited intel, this was the Bureau’s problem now.  

—  

Zhan Yan had just escorted the still-buzzed Matthias back to his hotel.  

The foreigner stood steadily, but his gray-green eyes were still hazy with alcohol. He stared blankly at the flower-adorned lobby entrance, silent.  

The staff were starting to eye them. Soon, someone would approach.  

Zhan Yan tugged him inside: “We’re back, Matthias. Remember your room number? Where’s your key?”  

“Back…” Matthias glanced around. “Ah… yes. Back. The magic’s gone…”  

That impactful, huh?  

Zhan Yan was about to steer him to the front desk when two men intercepted them.  

Both wore suits. The older one had a crisp haircut and cologne, the picture of a corporate elite. The younger wore glasses, less polished.  

“Mr. Matthias! Hello, I’m Ban Weidong, project lead at Dajun Group.” The man smiled professionally.  

Matthias stared without responding. Still tipsy, his sharp features masked it well—he just looked pensive.  

Zhan Yan vaguely recognized Dajun Group but couldn’t place it.  

The glasses-wearing aide translated into Spanish. This was a prepared, deliberate approach.  

Even drunk, Matthias’s mind worked fine. He smoothly invited them to an empty tea room, his demeanor giving no hint of impairment.  

Had Zhan Yan not seen through the Gossip System that Matthias desperately wanted to soak in a bubble bath and recreate “magic” with foam balls, he’d have assumed the man was sober.  

The half-drunk foreigner naturally brought Zhan Yan along. Ban Weidong likely mistook him for an assistant or translator and didn’t object.  

So Zhan Yan listened while pulling up Ban Weidong’s gossip entries.  

Ban Weidong was enthusiastically pitching a collaboration that would inevitably undercut Ji Yueming’s company, Shoude—though this went unstated.  

Zhan Yan’s search revealed:  

[Ban Weidong demoted from Regional Senior Investment Manager to Senior Investment Manager.]  

[Ban Weidong demoted from Senior Investment Manager to Project Manager.]  

[Ban Weidong demoted from Project Manager to Special Project Lead.]  

Then it clicked.  

This was a pre-Gossip System scandal.  

Three or four years ago, someone had approached Ji Yueming for investment—a botanist, if Zhan Yan recalled. He hadn’t paid much attention; business never interested him.

Small research labs like this usually struggled to secure funding—they lacked reputation, and experiments were costly with uncertain outcomes. Losses were expected.  

But Ji Yueming agreed to invest.  

A year or two later, though the lab’s primary goal remained unfulfilled, they stumbled upon a byproduct with remarkable skincare benefits.  

When this discovery emerged, Ban Weidong—somehow catching wind of it—approached Shoude, proposing a collaboration.  

Ji Yueming refused. Ban Weidong then tried underhanded tactics, which backfired.  

This was how Zhan Yan first noticed Ban Weidong and later enjoyed the gossip about his continuous downfall.  

Now, revisiting the Gossip System, he pieced together the full story:  

Oh—so that’s why Mom refused.  

The decision had largely hinged on the researcher, Ruan Xi. When Ruan Xi initially sought investors, Ban Weidong was his first choice. But Ban Weidong rejected him—with a condescending attitude.  

Ruan Xi, prideful as scholars often were, thought: You turned me down back then, and now you want a slice of the pie? Dream on!!  

If not for Ji Yueming’s investment, this lab wouldn’t even exist! My work only profits her!!!  

Ruan Xi had been desperate. Fundraising was grueling—endless rejections, swallowing pride until he nearly gave up. Then Ji Yueming said yes, treating him with respect.  

So after securing the funds, Ruan Xi worked like a man possessed, determined to deliver results.  

Ban Weidong’s later dirty tricks failed, and his career spiraled. He was competent—a straight-A graduate from a top business school—so his company kept him, albeit in diminishing roles.  

Zhan Yan’s gossip dive revealed Ban Weidong had been quietly obsessing over Shoude and Ji Yueming ever since.  

A minor misstep here, a failed project there, some office politics—each chipped away at his standing. The skincare breakthrough at Shoude became the final straw.  

Ban Weidong was convinced that had Shoude just let him invest, he wouldn’t have fallen so far. At least he’d have had a chance to recover!  

So he couldn’t help tracking Shoude’s moves.  

And then Shoude’s investment portfolio blinded him with rage.  

Shoude didn’t develop its own projects—it only invested in others. From obscure opera tours to high-risk biotech ventures that might never yield returns. Ji Yueming threw money at everything, appearing utterly unprofessional.  

Reading the reports, Ban Weidong muttered: What kind of joke is this?!  

Does Shoude even have an evaluation team? How do they assess these? How is this company not bankrupt yet?!  

Then he discovered Ji Yueming handpicked every project.  

Ah. Of course. A clueless woman CEO. Let’s see how long before she crashes and burns.  

Except… Shoude’s investments kept succeeding. Even that niche opera tour turned a profit, launching a performer into the entertainment industry.  

Over the next two years, Ban Weidong—elite, straight-A Ban Weidong—kept stumbling. His chosen projects flopped or barely broke even. Meanwhile, Ji Yueming’s random bets flourished without a single loss.  

The more he watched, the more it gnawed at him.  

How?! How does this blind luck keep paying off?!  

Is the God of Wealth personally dumping money into Shoude’s vaults?!  

Oh— Zhan Yan understood. This guy’s completely lost it.  

Now he was here for Matthias—to poach the deal?  

Zhan Yan glanced at the foreigner.  

Matthias was now fully sober.  

He firmly refused Ban Weidong: “I can’t work with you. I’ve already partnered with Shoude.”  

Ban Weidong hinted they could force Shoude to back out.  

Zhan Yan silently listened while skimming gossip entries.  

Still playing dirty, huh? No wonder he’s failing.  

Matthias shot a panicked look at Zhan Yan and doubled down: “No. I’m a man of my word. I prefer doing business properly.”  

Properly? Ban Weidong scoffed internally. What billionaire got rich playing fair? This was just about insufficient incentives.  

He made his offer explicit.  

Shoude was small, unlisted. Dajun Group could offer far more.  

“We’re all businessmen. This is normal,” he said.  

But Matthias knew which “profits” truly mattered.  

Shoude’s boss’s son sat beside him—a genuine supernatural talent!  

No amount of wealth could buy that ticket. And who knew if he’d ever encounter another Tian Youcheng-like situation?  

Matthias firmly showed Ban Weidong the door.  

Zhan Yan saw Ban Weidong’s frustration, though the man masked it professionally. Before leaving, he “kindly” warned Matthias:  

The Shoude project involved a third party whose CEO was currently embroiled in scandal. If Matthias insisted on sticking with Ji Yueming, he might end up empty-handed.  

Matthias repeated: Leave.  

Ban Weidong didn’t get it. Why was this foreigner so stubborn? His translator didn’t spell it out, but the Spanish phrasing had turned outright impolite.  

Once they were gone, Matthias exhaled.  

“Yan, honestly, I’m not entirely sure what’s happening. But I’m a man of my word! A deal’s a deal!” He looked earnestly at Zhan Yan.  

Even if this deal collapsed, he’d cling to this friendship!  

“I never doubted you. We’re friends,” Zhan Yan reassured him—though he’d still mention this to his mom later. He wasn’t clear on the details either (business bored him), but he knew the third party had issues.  

Matthias paced, then suddenly headed for the door: “Perhaps our contract needs adjustments. To the company, Yan?”  

Minutes later, they arrived at Shoude—only to find Ji Yueming absent (at some meeting) and, unexpectedly, Zhan Jinli there instead.  

Ji Yueming had tried grooming all three siblings for the business. All attempts failed.  

Zhan Jinli’s social anxiety ruled out management. Zhan Suiru loathed corporate hassles. Zhan Yan shared their disinterest.  

Ji Yueming gave up, letting them pursue their passions. Still, they occasionally served as “boss’s kids” for PR—like hosting Matthias.  

Zhan Yan handed the agitated foreigner to Luo Luoluo. Before parting, Matthias clasped his hand, gray-green eyes brimming with sincerity:  

“Trust me, we’re in this together. Whatever the problem, we’ll solve it. I won’t let you suffer losses. Yan, we’re friends.”  

His fervor was excessive. Even Luo Luoluo, who didn’t speak Spanish, eyed Zhan Yan curiously.  

Since when did the young boss charm people this fast?  

Zhan Jinli watched too. After Matthias left, his dark eyes lingered, probing whether the foreigner had ulterior motives toward his brother.  

Zhan Yan waved a hand: “Don’t mind him. Foreigners are just like this—overly friendly. This morning, he was already arm-in-arm with strangers.” (Priests, vampires, even mummies and Frankensteins on the dance floor.)  

Zhan Jinli accepted this.  

Zhan Yan sighed in relief. Thank goodness for cultural stereotypes.  

He knew why Matthias was so effusive—after a Tian Youcheng-style ordeal, anyone would cling to their savior.  

But he didn’t want his family knowing. Supernatural dealings might sound cool to outsiders, but loved ones would worry. And Zhan Yan was painfully aware of how unqualified he was—he couldn’t even see Tian Youcheng without the Gossip System. His family were ordinary people. Why frighten them?  

“Bro, why’re you at the company?” Zhan Yan typed.  

“Passing by,” Zhan Jinli replied.  

Zhan Yan shrugged. His brother was always like this. Regarding the company:  

– Zhan Suiru only came if summoned, visibly disinterested.  

– Zhan Jinli? Every few weeks, he’d drop by unannounced—stroll around like it was a park, then vanish without a word.  

Initially, Ji Yueming thought he was taking an interest. But the moment she suggested hands-on work, he bolted back to his bakery. Yet he kept visiting. Why?  

Zhan Yan and Zhan Suiru had theorized it was just one of his inexplicable quirks—like his lethal sweet tooth.  

“Like a game character trait: Sugar Fiend. Warning: Never accept his desserts.”  

(Zhan Suiru had “kindly” sampled Zhan Jinli’s first bakery product. Once.)

After seeing his sister’s reaction, Zhan Yan wisely declined the pastry his brother offered.  

Zhan Jinli had finished his “tour” and was about to leave. He asked if Zhan Yan wanted to go with him.  

“You go ahead. I need to ask Luoluo something,” Zhan Yan said.  

“OK,” Zhan Jinli replied, accepting the “retrieve package from the parcel locker” task Ji Yueming had posted in the family group chat.  

This chore required no human interaction—perfect for him.  

Luo Luoluo wasn’t involved in the business discussions with Matthias. After handing him off to the relevant team, she stepped out.  

Zhan Yan found her and asked, “Luoluo-jie, what’s the project Matthias is collaborating with us on?”  

Luo Luoluo looked surprised—Zhan Yan had never shown interest in these matters before.  

“A gaming project,” she said.  

They moved to an empty room, where Luo Luoluo briefed him.  

A talented game developer lacked funding. Shoude invested in him but needed technical equipment support, hence the partnership with Matthias and another domestic company.  

“Earlier, someone from Dajun Group tried poaching Matthias,” Zhan Yan said. “They mentioned the third-party company’s boss is in trouble. Know anything about that?”  

Luo Luoluo paused, her expression turning serious. “I’ll look into it.”  

Zhan Yan pulled out his phone to report Ban Weidong to his mom.  

What kind of creep secretly obsesses over someone for years?  

Absolutely reporting this!  

No matter how resentful Ban Weidong was, Ji Yueming’s little company kept thriving.  

Even Ji Yueming found it odd. Initially, she’d started the business purely as cover for her work at the Abnormal Affairs Management Bureau.  

Back then, on a whim, she’d discussed with Luo Luoluo what the company should do. Luo Luoluo listed countless options, leaving Ji Yueming paralyzed by choice.  

Finally, Ji Yueming decided: Investing.  

If I can’t earn money, I can at least spend it, right?  

She resolved to back projects she believed in, regardless of profitability. She’d even budgeted to subsidize the company with her Bureau salary. A few thunder talismans could cover a year’s operating costs—money wasn’t an issue. Why stress over profits? Better to fund things she liked.  

At home, Ji Yueming was curled up on the couch, waiting for Zhan Yunkai to return with groceries. She opened Zhan Yan’s message.  

“Ban Weidong? Who’s that?” she muttered.  

Zhan Suiru, lounging beside her while watching their dad’s drama, thought for a moment. “That guy who tried snatching our project before. What about him?”  

She only remembered the name because she and Zhan Yan had gossiped about him.  

“Don’t recall,” Ji Yueming said, stealing a handful of chips from Zhan Suiru’s bag. “He tried poaching our partner this time. Yan caught him red-handed.”  

Zhan Suiru perked up, leaning over to read the messages.  

Zhan Yan described Ban Weidong as a greasy, balding middle-aged man with a beer belly who’d failed to recognize him and spilled his scheme right in front of him.  

What luck!  

Mourn for him, light a candle, LOL!  

Satisfied after tattling, Zhan Yan glanced at his dad’s updated gossip entry:  

[Zhan Yunkai was recognized by fans while grocery shopping without a mask and got mobbed.]  

MOM! HELP!! DAD’S BEEN AMBUSHED!!!