Zhang Minghao halted mid-stride, pivoting sharply to confront Chen Liang.
The dispersing crowd crystallised into stillness.
Each visage etched with identical wonder:
*Had fortune revealed itself?
With deliberate ceremony, Chen Liang unfurled the scroll before the assembled onlookers. Even street vendors recognised the work as a crude modern reproduction—scarcely worth ten yuan. As Zhang Minghao had scoffed derisively earlier, "In the realm of antiquities, there exist no trivial objects—only undiscerning eyes." He had dismissed the painting's clumsy brushwork as worthless.
Elder Ma exhaled wearily. "Shelve this folly. Let ten thousand yuan serve as your tutelage."
"Master Ma, I implore you—observe more closely. There lies peculiarity within," Chen Liang countered, his voice quivering with restrained fervour.
Zhang Minghao chuckled mirthlessly, clapping Chen Liang's shoulder with mock camaraderie. "Heed the master's wisdom. Ten thousand for chamber pot parchment? Costly pedagogy, yet instructive!" His barbed wit provoked titters through the assembly.
Unyielding, Chen Liang fixed Zhang Minghao with a piercing glare before entreating the elder anew. "I beg your re-examination."
Reluctantly, Master Ma produced his jeweller's loupe. The shopkeeper shook his head—he'd personally authenticated the painting's mediocrity before gifting it. Yet as derisive whispers swirled ("Should this be genuine, my stall overflows with Ming treasures!"), the elder's brow abruptly furrowed.
"Hold... The mounting technique bears uncommon artistry," he murmured, demanding specialised tools.
The crowd suspended its breath as Master Ma meticulously peeled back a corner of the mounting with surgical precision. When revelation dawned hours later, gasps rippled like thunder: beneath the shoddy replica glimmered a **concealed masterpiece**—an authentic work by Tang Bohu!
"**A palimpsest of paintings!**" Master Ma exclaimed, mopping his glistening brow. "Young Chen, your perception eclipses even mine!"
Zhang Minghao's cigarette tumbled from slack lips. He surged forward, devouring every brushstroke and seal with desperate scrutiny. As scion of the esteemed *Boya Zhai Antique Emporium*, he recognised Tang Bohu's hallmarks—the ethereal ink washes, the lyrical composition. His countenance contorted with venomous envy. "You...!" he spat venomously.
Chen Liang shrugged. "The merchant first proffered it to *you*."
Master Ma's aged fingers traced the fragile rice paper. "A magnum opus... yet marred here," he lamented, indicating a spectral tear.
Fuming to the Brink of Collapse
The air grew palpably taut with tension.
Bystanders stood motionless, their gazes riveted upon Master Ma.
With a furrowed brow, Master Ma gave a solemn nod. "Authentic, yet fragmented—stratified into triple laminae. This is the basal layer."
"Elaborate, if you would," Chen Liang enquired, perplexed.
Master Ma elucidated with scholarly precision: in eras past, virtuoso brushmasters could imbue their ink through multiple sheets. Profit-driven opportunists now dissect genuine works into stratified simulacra. The seller's kin, foreseeing their prodigal son's recklessness, devised this ruse to safeguard Tang Bohu's magnum opus. Tragic irony ordained its discard as mere refuse, gifted to this very shopkeeper.
Oblivious to this labyrinthine history, Chen Liang had initially braced for a reprise of the "cloisonné vase" debacle—where patina-cloaked artifice once duped him. Relief washed over him as authenticity was affirmed.
"Intact, its worth would transcend mortal measure," Master Ma lamented, voice tinged with reverence.
"Authenticity suffices," Chen Liang countered with a grin.
The shopkeeper crumpled to his knees before the scroll, trembling as if poisoned by gall. This masterpiece—acquired gratis, dismissed as dross, bartered for a paltry ten thousand! Anguish of regret consumed him.
"I shall reclaim it! Name your price!" the shopkeeper entreated.
Chen Liang deferred to Master Ma, who stroked his beard contemplatively. "Heed my counsel: retain it. If compelled to sell, let ten million be your threshold."
"Ten million?!" Chen Liang exclaimed in breathless astonishment, having anticipated mere millions.
"The upper strata would redouble its value. A complete work? A celestial sum," Master Ma intoned, each syllable hammering like a gavel.
The shopkeeper and Zhang Minghao stood as men condemned, their chests constricting under the weight of opportunity squandered. The crowd—earlier mockers of Chen Liang—slunk away, faces aflame with chagrin.
Zhang Minghao's bloodshot eyes blazed. "Two million! I demand it!"
"Two million? Reserve such trifles for privy paper!" Chen Liang retorted with icy disdain.
"Cease this insolence! That painting is my birthright!" Zhang roared, veins throbbing.
Chen Liang turned a deaf ear.
"Three million!" the shopkeeper interposed desperately.
These bids withered beneath Master Ma's valuation. Chen Liang addressed the venerable connoisseur: "Does this work stir your passion, Master Ma?"
"What connoisseur would spurn Tang Bohu's genius? Yet liquidity fails me—assets lie bound in dormant inventories."
"Then accept it for three million. The initial capital flowed from your coffers, after all."
After protracted negotiation steeped in mutual deference, they settled at five million—halving the appraisal, sharing both risk and honour.
As Chen Liang secured his fortune in cash and gilt-edged cards, Zhang Minghao choked on vitriol. Humiliation scalded him twofold: the "dross" he'd scorned now glittered with seven-figure allure, and worse—this "worthless son-in-law" had outmanoeuvred him. Darkness encroached on his vision; a guttural rasp escaped his throat as he crumpled to the ground.
Tidings of Zhang's dual disgrace—outwitted and felled by his fury—rippled through West Street Antique Market like wildfire, etching itself into legend.
Uninvited Intrusions
Xu Jiaying's varnished nails hovered in midair, her alabaster visage blanched as syllables crystallised in the boutique's perfumed atmosphere. "Might I enquire", she murmured with aristocratic astonishment, "whether that observation was intended for my personage?"
"Unless the sales adjunct warrants such distinction more acutely," Chen Liang countered, his fingers caressing shirt cuffs with calculated nonchalance.
A glacial pallor descended upon Xu Jiaying's porcelain countenance. "Insolent mongrel!" she hissed, vermilion-tipped digit trembling near his sternum. "Does this parasitic leech dare spew such impertinence?"
Zhao Wan'er materialised between them like a silk-clad arbitrator, fingertips massaging temporal contours. "Must your encounters perpetually emulate sparring raptors?"
"Inevitably!" their synchronised retort reverberated off Corinthian columns, compelling the sales associate's palm to stifle mirth.
Hauling her obstinate companion through the labyrinth of tailored suiting displays, Zhao Wan'er's murmur carried tempered steel beneath velvet cadence. "He remains my lawfully wedded counterpart, Jianyng. This immutable reality necessitates your accommodation."
"Bedlam incarnate!" Xu Jiaying's sibilant protest accompanied an imperious gesture toward Chen Liang's faux-casual fabric appraisal. "This indolent sponge subsisting on your coffers? Escorted into haute couture sanctums?"
Their sartorial odyssey unfolded beneath a tenuous armistice. While the women indulged in textile alchemy, Chen Liang's gaze remained anchored to Zhao Wan'er's luminosity – her crystalline laughter while donning a Savile Row-inspired blazer softening his angularity in ways that confounded Xu Jiaying's preconceptions.
Undeterred by his apparent indifference to her peony-adorned catwalk procession, the socialite escalated hostilities. Emerging from fitting chambers swathed in crimson décolletage, she executed a calculated pirouette. "Does this scarlet confection enchant?"
"Passably adequate." His ocular focus never deviated from Zhao Wan'er's meticulous Windsor knot rectification.
The fragile détente shattered with the boutique portals' violent parting. A garishly bedizened entourage flanked by security phalanxes breached the sanctum; their ringleader – a human peacock in Versace excess – commandeered Zhao Wan'er's selected gown mid-extension. "Expel these plebeian interlopers! My couture experience shall not endure proletarian miasmas!"
Twin declarations detonated in harmonic fury:
"That textile claims matrimonial prerogative!"
"Primogeniture of selection demands recognition!"
In their inaugural instance of shared animus, Xu Jiaying and Chen Liang exchanged terse nods – provisional allies against vulgar encroachment.
Who Declared Their Desire to Depart?
The pair obstructed the woman's trajectory. Tipping her chin at Xu Jialing and Chen Liang with imperious disdain, she drawled, "What of my coveting? When I fixate upon an object, it becomes inviolable to lesser hands."
Her lacquered nails plucked at the garment wrested from Zhao Wan'er before flinging it toward the attendant with fastidious disdain. "Ensure thorough sanitisation precedes delivery. These trial remnants reek of plebeian residue."
"Mind your tongue!" Xu snapped, brows converging thunderously. "Garments demand fitting – must we gamble fortunes on ill-suited silks?"
"Discard misfits," the woman purred, sliding her sunglasses to peer over their rims like a duchess inspecting vermin. "True women of means purchase solely for the exhilaration of acquisition. Though I suppose..." Her lips curled like spoilt cream, "...such nuances elude your... sensibilities."
Zhao's glacial gaze impaled the tormentor, yet wisdom anchored her tongue. Guiding Xu aside, she sought sanctuary among other racks – until the swish of silk betrayed their shadow. Each curated piece Zhao caressed became prey for the harpy's talons until at last her fingers closed about an alabaster lace confection.
"Mine," the woman decreed, clawing toward the prize. Zhao's knuckles whitened on the bodice.
"Enough!" Zhao's voice cracked whip-sharp through the boutique.
The predator smirked. "Let the peddler arbitrate." A jewelled finger flicked toward the clerk. "Yield this rag to her, and witness my patronage evaporate."
Zhao's throat constricted. "This gown is _mine_."
The attendant's simper crystallised into glassy dismissal. "The lady's precedence stands. Select another."
"'Precedence'?" Zhao's laugh held shards of broken pride. "Our earlier selections—"
"—remain unpurchased," the clerk interrupted, saccharine malice dripping from each syllable. "Certain clientele... radiate incomparable _lustre_."
Zhao's cheeks burnt as Chen materialised like vengeance personified. "Does commercial volume dictate privilege?"
The woman's porcine consort exhaled a carcinogenic halo. "Presumptuous whelp! Know your—"
Zhao's fingers brushed Chen's sleeve. "This theatre merits no audience."
But Chen's hands, gentle yet inexorable, restored the gown to Zhao's embrace. "What your heart desires, your hands shall clasp eternally."
The woman's laughter tinkled like shattered crystal. "Braggadocio cloaks empty coffers."
"Clear this wing," Chen commanded, his baritone resonating with tectonic finality. "Every thread. Every button."
Stunned silence descended before the clerk's nasal challenge pierced it: "Five hundred seventeen thousand six hundred. Tender or retreat?"
Chen's onyx card gleamed like an obsidian blade. As Zhao mechanically entered their matrimonial anniversary date – the designated cypher – the terminal emitted an approving chime.
Xu's gasp fractured the stillness. "How—?"
"Our celestial alignment," Zhao whispered, wonder tempering fury.
Chen's gaze pinned the spluttering adversaries. "The exit beckons."
The woman's shriek shattered like cheap porcelain. "Expel these paupers!" Her talons flailed toward hulking shadows.
Yet her consort trembled, cigar ash snowing on his lapels. Recognition dawned in his bloodshot eyes, visceral terror eroding bluster. "Cease—!" The plea emerged strangled, a condemned man's final rasp.
Chen Liang, I Desire Your Demise
The crowd stood agape, their gazes riveted upon the portly gentleman's abrupt metamorphosis in demeanor. Zhao Wan'er had steeled her resolve to forcibly remove Chen Liang from this imbroglio, yet the unfolding spectacle left even this stoic observer confounded.
With volcanic fury distorting his rubicund countenance, the corpulent figure stormed toward his retinue, delivering thunderous smacks that echoed through the boutique's marbled vaults. The percussive *cracks* of palm meeting cheekbone elicited reflexive winces from onlookers. Then, as though manipulated by celestial marionette strings, he executed an obsequious about-face, his features dissolving into unctuous deference. "M-My most profound contrition... This humble servant committed egregious miscalculations. We shall retreat—with utmost expedition!"
His talon-like grip descended upon his paramour's forearm, intent upon fleeing this amphitheater of humiliation. The vixen who moments prior had sneered at Chen Liang's impending disgrace now writhed like a captured serpent. "Have celestial bodies stolen your wits? Why cower before this gutter-born vermin?"
The plutocrat's corpulent frame stiffened before his jeweled hand executed a whip-like backhand strike that snapped her coiffured head sideways. "*Hold your venomous tongue!*" he thundered, spittle glinting like malignant dew. "This adder-tongued harlot nearly signed my mortal decree!"
Zhao Wan'er and Xu Jialing stood transfixed, their cognitive faculties rebelling against this surreal inversion of social hierarchies. That this silk-clad Croesus should tremble before Chen Liang—a man society derided as "the parasitic consort"—defied terrestrial logic's very architecture.
As the scarlet-faced magnate dragged his weeping concubine into the colonnaded corridor, the sales associate who had earlier mocked Chen Liang executed a servile ninety-degree obeisance. "Master Chen, this unworthy creature implores celestial clemency..."
Chen Liang dismissed her with an imperial wave, his attention refocusing upon Zhao Wan'er with eyes softened by sepia-toned memories. "These sartorial treasures now grace your dominion. Does this arrangement please your sensibilities?"
Her lips quivered as tempests of unanswered questions raged within her consciousness: From which shadowed coffers had he conjured such opulence? Why this sudden munificence directed at her? The password—*their ill-starred matrimonial anniversary*—persisted as a psychic scar she'd laboriously cauterized.
Having selected three couture masterpieces, Zhao Wan'er hovered like a sparrow at a phoenix's banquet. "Such profligacy... Might we restore surplus garments?"
The sales maiden's smile congealed into a mortuary rictus. "As milady commands. Our septennial return covenant remains inviolate."
Meanwhile, within the armored Bentley fleeing the commercial colossus, the plutocrat drew tremulous breaths through his Havana cigar's trembling ember. His concubine, nursing a cheek blossoming with peony-hued contusions, ventured tremulously, "What eldritch puissance does that cur command?"
"*Silence!*" he roared, cerebral projectors replaying Chen Liang's Dionysian rampage through the Golden Phoenix Casino—the splintered femurs of enforcer Badao, the balletic kick that propelled a 200-pound brute *skidding ten meters* across sanguine-slicked tiles. Such netherworld demons wore mortal flesh but answered to stygian overlords.
In his private sanatorium suite, Zhang Minghao hurled his Vertu handset against Carrara marble walls. Tang Mengru's hysterical entreaty—imploring him to "liberate" Zhao Wan'er from Chen Liang's "indigent shackles"—had reignited the phoenix fire in his veins.
"*Chen Liang...*" he hissed through a gladiator's grin, onyx eyes mirroring fractured touchscreens. "*I shall compose your requiem note by exquisite note.*"
The Pediluvian Ultimatum
While the ladies excused themselves during their retail interlude, Chen Liang lingered near the boutique entrance, his thumbs scrolling League of Legends updates with feigned nonchalance.
Upon their return, Zhao Wan'er noted her companion Xu Jialing's humming vibrato as she blotted her lips – an incandescence transcending mere retail euphoria.
"What celestial conjunction illuminates your countenance?" Zhao Wan'er enquired, her arched eyebrow telegraphing suspicion.
"Let us simply say..." Xu's cheeks bloomed peony pink as she twirled a silken tendril. "The Summoner's Rift has revealed an epiphanic kindred spirit."
Zhao Wan'er's brow furrowed like monsoon clouds. "Digital paramours? While Chen fritters eternity upon-"
"Tsk! This transcends gaming!" Xu's pupils dilated with mystic fervour. "A wraith-like jungler carried seven consecutive victories! His alias – WE0830 – evades even pro-circuit reconnaissance. Though I spurn friend requests, cosmic algorithms paired us thrice! The celestial spheres conspired!"
Zhao Wan'er's consciousness flickered to Chen's nocturnal keyboard staccato. She banished the parallel as absurd. Nearby, Chen stood petrified, his silence Sphinx-like. Xu's gaze sheared through him.
"True virtuosos engrave legacies. Not like obsolescent players clinging to phantom laurels."
Chen's knuckles blanched, yet his voice remained entombed. The phantom of abandoned esports glory haunted still – yet Promethean embers glowed beneath.
---
Later, within Chen's Patrilineal Quarters:
The tenement exhaled decay – mildew and despair coalescing in every crevice. Chen's father shuffled forward, proffering the apartment's sole intact stool to his daughter-in-law. Zhao Wan'er's heart constricted at the fresco of desolation – walls exuding plaster like weeping sores, a lone bulb flickering its death throes.
"Father, Xiaomeng," she murmured, extending ginseng tonics, "We shall render filial devotion more frequently."
Chen's sister wept soundlessly, clutching her inaugural Burberry trench coat – luxury's first benediction. As they departed, the patriarch's tremulous entreaty pursued: "When shall ancestral continuity grace our lineage?"
The couple exchanged hieroglyphic glances.
---
**Returning to the Zhao Demesne:
The parlour resembled Versailles post-sansculottes rampage. Zhao Wan'er's mother, Tang Mengru, preened before gilded glass, Dior's peplum cascading like liquid mercury, while sister Zhao Bao'er pirouetted in Gucci's vernal collection.
"These tributes flow from Chen's coffers," Zhao Wan'er declared.
Tang's sneer could glaciate champagne. "Your layabout consort? Theatrics! These clearly hail from Zhang Minghao!"
Chen reclined insouciant upon the chaise longue, ankles crossed with regal disregard:
"Kindly prepare my pediluvium, Madame."
The atmosphere congealed.
Tang's countenance ripened to aubergine fury. "Insolent mongrel! These treasures belong to Mingh-"
"Biometric ledgers proclaim otherwise," Chen ice-daggered, brandishing crimson transaction scrolls – ¥387,650 glowing infernal.
Zhao Bao'er gasped as her Gucci blouse slid downward like a disgraced serpent.
The Matriarch's Downfall
The proclamation hung suspended in the electric air like the Sword of Damocles, its razor edge trembling above the assembly. Every ocular orb swivelled toward Chen Liang with unified intensity.
Tang Mengru's countenance underwent a violent metamorphosis, as though electrified by a live current. Her manicured talons convulsed around a couture blouse raised in punitive wrath, the garment's six-digit price tag exerting gravitational resistance like gilded fetters. "Insolent cur!" she spat, vermilion nails quivering with apoplectic rage. "How dare you entertain fantasies of my subjugation?"
"He foments rebellion! Has forgotten his humble origins!" Zhao Bao'er trilled nearby, fluttering like an agitated hummingbird.
The family patriarch's fist descended upon the mahogany table with seismic force, ancient grievances over omitted tributes erupting in Vesuvian proportions. "You'd degrade your matriarch to servile labour? Have you no reverence for celestial hierarchy?"
"He practically begs for castigation!" Zhao Bao'er fanned the conflagration.
"Parasite! Today, you'll be schooled in deference!" Tang brandished a bamboo besom like a sceptre of divine retribution.
Zhao Wan'er stood petrified as her husband's thoughtful gesture metastasised into a domestic Armageddon. Interposing herself between combatants, she grappled with her progenitor's wrath.
"Unhand me!" Tang roared, her complexion mirroring the crimson threads of her haute couture robe. Five millennia of Confucian precedence dictated matriarchal supremacy – this indignity would render her the laughingstock of Jianghuai's elite circles.
Amidst the pandemonium, Chen maintained regal composure upon the Chesterfield. "Your covenant forged these shackles, Madam Tang."
The atmospheric pressure intensified as mercury approached critical mass.
"Cease this provocation!" Zhao Wan'er implored.
Chen countered with a Gallic shrug. "Veritas require no embellishment."
"When did I ever articulate such obscenity?" Tang's expectorations sprayed like an enraged dromedary.
From his breast pocket, Chen produced a vellum scroll of condemnation. "Your sacred vow to perform ablutionary rites should these acquisitions prove authentically mine."
Recognition dawned upon Tang's apoplexy-tinged visage. Snatching the parchment, her ocular scrutiny revealed damning particulars: maison insignias, chronological imprints, and biometric sigils authenticating Chen's claim.
Zhao Bao'er peered over the quivering manuscript. "Mother... it appears you're consigned to podiatric ministrations."
Chen suppressed a smirk at his sister-in-law's inadvertent betrayal.
The patriarch dematerialised like morning mist. Chen liberated his feet from their leather confines, phalanges undulating with theatrical emphasis.
Tang's mandible produced audible crepitation. "You... you..."
As Zhao Wan'er mobilised for intervention, Tang abruptly committed the evidence to oral obliteration, masticating cellulose fibres with bovine determination.
"Now, varlet, substantiate your calumny!" Tang panted, parchment particulates adhering to her carmine lips.
Chen arched an eyebrow while brandishing his smartphone. "The digital epoch preserves all transactions, Madam. Shall I project holographic verification?"
"Serpentine schemer!" Tang launched herself panther-like, talons extended. Zhao Wan'er restrained the Fury with Herculean effort.
"Whence came 300,000 yuan to a mendicant?" Tang's decibel level shattered crystalware. "My missing jade cuspidor! You squander my ancestral legacy!"
Chen's vertical ascent transformed him into an obelisk of defiance. "This constitutes mere decimal dust of my worth. Soon I shall command decuples – nay, centuples!"
Zhao Wan'er's respiration suspended. His conviction resonated within her thoracic cavity like a struck temple bell.
As fresh recriminations detonated, she marshalled her mother upstairs through tactical redirection.
Left confronting Zhao Bao'er, Chen pivoted to witness her pillaging luxury spoils. "Mediocre acquisitions!" she sniffed, securing her chamber with triple-cylinder deadbolts.
Chen's chuckle reverberated through the battlefield. The ingested receipt had surpassed strategic expectations. Enforcing podiatric servitude would be suicidal – but witnessing Tang's Humpty-Dumpty disintegration? That constituted poetic justice.
Later, within their sanctum:
"Wan'er?" Chen's baritone flowed like obsidian honey.
"Yes?"
"I desire..."
The proposition dissolved into the electrified interstitial silence.
Chen Liang, You Have Only Yourself to Blame!
Zhao Wan'er stood motionless, her cheeks still flushed from the lingering heat of their confrontation. A tempest of conflicting emotions raged within her—the ceaseless demands from her father-in-law and sister-in-law for an heir clashed violently with her reluctance to dismantle the intangible barrier between them. Moments earlier, she had steeled herself for *that* inevitable conversation, only to be met with his impassioned vow:
"**I will reclaim my rightful place in the professional league!**" His eyes had burnt with a zeal bordering on obsession.
Enraged, she had thrust him out of the room. "Go! Lose yourself in that absurd game of yours!"
—
Chen Liang logged into his account, *we0830*, and queued for a match. The system's glacial monotone echoed through his mind: *"Anivia guides me."* Empowered by his newly ascended **Level 3 Clairvoyance**, the mental burden had lessened, yet its revelations grew razor-sharp. This time, he could even decipher the enemy team's pre-game banter and summoner names. A wolfish grin spread across his face as he spotted a hauntingly familiar ID: *"Unlucky Sona"*—the hapless support who had unwittingly become his prey the previous night.
Without hesitation, he locked in **Rengar**, the Pridestalker.
—
In her dimly lit streaming studio, Xu Jialing defiantly locked in Sona amidst the derisive cacophony of her chat. "Just wait—I'll prove you all wrong!" she retorted, though her bravado faltered. When the loading screen materialised, her breath hitched. There it was: the Rengar's ID that had stalked her nightmares.
**Fifteen minutes later**, her screen darkened for the twentieth time. Her keyboard bore fresh scars, her tear-streaked face illuminated by the ghostly glow of a 0/20/1 scoreline. Yet perversely, her live stream's viewership skyrocketed to 100,000—spectators flocking to witness the Rengar prodigy's ruthless artistry.
"**He... he foresees my every move!**" she stammered, equal parts humiliated and awestruck. To her, this was not mere defeat—it was fate's cruel design. When *we* finally accepted her friend request, her cheeks burnt crimson as she typed with trembling fingers: "Might I... perhaps have your contact information?" Only to watch his status vanish into offline oblivion.
—
Meanwhile, Chen Liang's father-in-law prowled the **West Street Antique Market**, enticed by hushed tales of a Tang Bohu masterpiece fetching ten million. At **Boya Zhai**, he encountered Zhang Minghao—hospital-bound yet venomous.
"**Uncle Zhao**," Zhang purred, veiling malice with saccharine courtesy, "care to venture into antiques? Invest five hundred thousand, and I'll transform you into a man of fortune." Beneath the facade, he seethed: *Chen Liang ruined me. Now I'll dismantle his family.
—
By dawn, a video titled *"Phantom Rengar Obliterates Pros in Solo Queue!"* Ignited the League of Legends community. Unbeknownst to Chen Liang, ascending toward redemption, or his father-in-law, teetering on the precipice of ruin, their destinies raced toward a cataclysmic collision.
Zhang Minghao's Scheming
The telephone's predatory insistence shredded Dawn's fragile silence.
Xu Jialing, eyelids still gummed with restless slumber, seized the receiver with sandpaper-dry fingers. "This disturbance demands justification," she croaked, "or prepare to reap whirlwinds."
"Jialing! How dare you hibernate while cyberspace coronates its new sovereign?" The voice crackled with performative astonishment.
"Vanish." The handset met its cradle before her sleep-numbed consciousness deciphered the message. A galvanic shudder traversed her spine as she clawed for her smartphone - its screen pulsating with notifications chronicling her transmutation from streaming pariah to viral deity. "This... this is fame's poisoned chalice?"
—
Across the metropolis, Zhao Wan'er's meticulous inventory check at Lotus Pavilion Auction House fractured mid-motion as her device detonated. Xu Jialing's euphoric warble resolved into coherence: "The Lion King resurrects! Destiny's algorithm smiles upon me!"
The accompanying live stream revealed spectral virtuoso *we0830* - a Rengar maestro who'd alchemized Jialing's 0/20 Sona debacle into performance art. By nightfall, 100,000 digital acolytes thronged her channel, their collective will shimmering through bandwidth: "Unveil the Lion King!"
For seven celestial cycles, we *we0830* ascended China's server echelons, his silence roaring louder than any commentator's hyperbole. Jialing's unanswered missives accumulated like digital votives; her broadcasts morphed into devotional streams worshiping this cryptographic enigma.
—
Unobserved by either, Chen Liang's father-in-law navigated West Street Antique Market's arterial shadows. Under Zhang Minghao's tutelage, the retired accountant's timidity had molted into rapacity - beginning with jade trifles, now staking 500,000 yuan on a "Ming-dynasty cloisonné relic" exhumed from Boya Zhai's innermost sanctum.
"Uncle Zhao, this artifice scarcely merits tea money!" Zhang's protest rang hollow as the elder clutched the cobalt-gilt forgery.
"Silence! Draft another promissory note!" The collector's tremor betrayed the addict's fervor as he dissolved into twilight, blind to the appraisal ledger's damning "¥0" valuation concealed beneath lacquered rosewood.
Zhang observed the retreat, lips curving like an arachnid savoring ensnared prey. *First, the patriarch's financial exsanguination... then the bloodline's systematic dismantlement.
—
In their modest apartment, Chen Liang's mother-in-law monitored her husband's nocturnal chuckles with jaded forbearance. Moonlight revealed him petting trinkets like Gollum with Precious, murmuring about "retirement châteaux." She sighed - what harm in middle-aged delusions?
Neither perceived how Zhang's "random" vault reorganization had strategically exposed the gilded counterfeit. Nor comprehended how the forged provenance papers' chemical patina precisely aligned with Uncle Zhao's nostalgic imperial fantasies. The chessboard now hosted checkmate in three moves.
The Plunge of Chen Liguo
Chen Liang adhered to his disciplined daily regimen, intermittently summoned by Elder Ma for porcelain appraisal sessions steeped in ceremonial tea rituals.
"Anovasa illuminates my path!"
A synthetic baritone resonated through Chen Liang's consciousness, its digital timbre permeating his clairvoyant senses. His third-tier extrasensory perception now discerned with crystalline clarity – distinguishing residual Yin energies from chronological imprints within artefacts. Having identified the counterfeit vase through arcane discernment, he orchestrated an elaborate pantomime of scholarly scrutiny before divulging his verdict to the antiquarian master.
As the porcelain settled on velvet cushions, his peripheral vision captured a wraith-like silhouette bearing a haunting resemblance to his father-in-law amidst the curio market's labyrinthine alleys. A mirthless chuckle escaped him – this spectre had haunted these corridors of jade and bronze through countless lunar cycles.
_None comprehended his mother-in-law's draconian domestic governance more acutely.
The patriarch could scarcely retain fifty renminbi without confiscation, let alone trespass in these hallowed halls of material obsession. Yet unbeknownst to the clairvoyant, this phantom manifested corporeal truth. Since commandeering the Ming-dynasty cloisonné gu from Zhang Minghao through coercive artifice, the desperate patriarch had become a market fixture, obsessively peddling the artefact before his spouse uncovered the fiscal haemorrhage.
When usurers bearing fifty-tenfold demands stormed their threshold and Tang Mengru unravelled the deception, a domestic cataclysm ensued. Her rolling pin became an instrument of retribution, its wooden fury ceasing only when their progeny Zhao Bao'er mused before her mirror:
"Who presumed Sister's inept consort could commission haute couture? Facades prove treacherous!"
This epiphany ignited Machiavellian scheming within Tang Mengru's psyche.
---
**Parallel Chronicle**
Chen Liguo's redemption arc commenced when blade-scarred hands abandoned dice and cards, having witnessed his progeny's martyrdom under matrimonial tyranny. Clad in a borrowed sentry's greatcoat, he sustained himself on street vendor congee while guarding corporate citadels – a penitent seeking absolution through nocturnal vigilance.
His ascetic atonement shattered when the vindictive couple breached his spartan abode, brandishing fabricated promissory notes for seven-figure restitution.
"Liquidate your debts!" Tang Mengru's gavel-like declaration echoed through the meagre quarters, her vulpine eyes inventorying furnishings that whispered of Chen Liang's clandestine patronage.
The septuagenarian's protestations – "I've renounced the vice for moons..." – dissolved into cacophony until Chen Meng's tearful summons compelled her brother to abandon his digital coliseum trials. When Chen Liang arrived breathless at the tenement threshold, the gathered multitude foreshadowed inexorable calamity.
Chen Liguo's Descent
"Xiao Liang, I never borrowed a million! By all that's sacred, I swear it!" Chen Liguo clutched at his disheveled hair, his voice fracturing like autumn leaves crumbling beneath a storm's fury.
"Cease your mendacious theater!" Tang Mengru's venom crystallized the air between them. "Had I glimpsed this moral bankruptcy, not a single copper coin would've crossed my palm!"
"Shameless reprobate! To think we once extended our trust!" The father-in-law's condemnation tolled like a sepulchral bell.
The maelstrom of vitriol and the crowd's murmurous judgment beyond the walls pulsed against Chen Liang's temples like war drums.
"**SILENCE!**" His fist struck the mahogany table with seismic finality, fracturing chaos into crystalline stillness.
Turning glacial eyes toward his mother-in-law, he commanded, "Illuminate this grotesquerie."
Tang Mengru's lips contorted as she slid an ivory parchment across the lacquered surface. "Your progenitor's debt of one million matures tonight."
Chen Liang traced the sepia-stained characters - paternal script undeniably etched, yet...
"Why this sudden munificence?" His voice was honed to a Damascus edge. "You denied me winter's paltry thousand."
"Choice?" Her laughter shattered like Ming porcelain. "He pressed cold steel to my throat! Will you now dispute Ink's immutable testimony?"
"This is perfidy incarnate!" Chen Liguo's bloodshot eyes mirrored a stag encircled by wolves.
Chen Liang's eyelids descended like portcullises. "Every tael shall be restored... given time's mercies."
"**Never!**" the elder roared, seizing and devouring the damning manuscript. "Let oblivion consume your poisoned evidence!"
Tang Mengru's features twisted grotesquely. "A dozen witnesses stand testament! This pantomime changes naught!"
"Father, how?" Chen Meng's tears fell like condemned pearls from heaven's ledger.
"**Enough!**" Chen Liang's cryogenic tone flash-frosted the chamber. "Should dice ever clatter in your palm again... consider kinship severed."
As Chen Liang pivoted toward egress, Chen Liguo suddenly became a comet arcing toward the casement.
"Must I paint these cobbles crimson to purge your doubts?" He teetered on the precipice, night's talons tearing at his sleeves.
Tang Mengru sneered. "Three stories? Seek celestial heights for proper obliteration."
"Father, descend!" Chen Meng's plea dissolved in darkness's hungry maw.
Chen Liang shook his head, weariness etching his features like acid on a copper plate. "Cease this histrionic—"
The universe shattered as Chen Liguo's final roar erupted: "Tang Mengru! I shall haunt you through hell's seven courts! Our reckoning awaits in Yama's—"
His anathema merged with the void's rushing breath as his silhouette dissolved into the abyss below.
The Pantomime of Mortality
The crowd stood petrified, a collective breath held midair. Chen Liguo—notorious wastrel, perennial debtor spared only by his children's interventions—had defied expectation. Where cowardice once reigned, resolve now manifested: he had plummeted from the rooftop without flinching.
"Father!" Chen Meng's heartrending scream cleaved the stillness as she lunged toward the window. Below, her brother Chen Liang shouldered through gawking neighbours, pallor draining from his face like ink from a broken quill.
The in-laws exchanged panicked glances. "This... spiralled beyond reckoning," stammered the father-in-law, his earlier bluster dissolving. Tang Mengru seized her husband's arm, knuckles whitening. "Retreat now? We crossed that bridge aflame," she hissed, though her trembling hands betrayed her. Descending the stairs, she prayed the corpse below might bury their fabricated debt scheme beneath forensic oblivion.
At ground zero, Chen Liguo lay supine yet eerily intact—a broken marionette with limbs akimbo. Tang's laughter dripped venom. "Who are you performing this death charade for?" Her spouse parroted: "A leap absolves guilt? Your son already pledged repayment!"
The onlookers' whispers metastasised into a swarm:
"Pathetic—devouring promissory notes, then staging suicide theatrics?"
"Never trust a bloodsucker's kin!"
"Should've embraced gravity years ago!"
Chen Liang's roar shattered the cacophony: "SILENCE, VILE CARRION!" His crimson-veined eyes pinned Tang. "The debt shall be honoured," he growled, "but should this prove artifice..." Her sneer cut sharper than glass. "What evidence could gutter trash muster?"
A new voice pierced the fray—Zhao Wan'er, Chen Liang's wife, tear-streaked and breathless. "An ambulance! He needs—" Chen Liang halted her. "No contact! Shattered ribs pierce lungs; internal tides of blood pool unseen." His vision, sharpened by desperation, mapped the ruin beneath skin: splintered bone spearing vital organs.
As Chen Liguo convulsed, blood-flecked words escaped: "Guard your sister... Let grandsons... bear my name..." Zhao clasped his hand, tears salting vows: "We'll christen them beneath your ancestral tablet!"
In extremis, Chen Liang invoked Soraka's W skill—"Astral Infusion". Emerald luminescence haloed his palms as he pressed them to his father's sternum. Gasps rippled through the crowd. Tang watched, venom and hope entwined: let death seal their secret, let soil silence testimony.
To be continuous…