Returning after 10000 Years Cultivation - Chapter 51

“What happened tonight—keep it quiet.”

Jiang Tian’s gaze swept over Zheng Guangsha and the others, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Ghosts and sorcery were taboo. The last thing he wanted was rumors disrupting his peaceful life.

The tycoons and underworld bosses shuddered under that indifferent stare. Even Zheng Guangsha, a titan of Linzhou’s business world, felt an icy dread crawl down his spine.

Bowing deeply, Zheng clasped his fists. “Master Jiang, your word is law. Not a whisper of this will leave this room.”

Yang Guochang—a man who dined with Hong Kong’s richest and was revered by city officials—had been reduced to a groveling mess. And Jiang Tian had summoned lightning to annihilate a ghost king.

No amount of wealth or influence could shield Zheng from the chilling realization: Jiang Tian was beyond mortal reckoning.

The other elites nodded fervently, as if ready to swear blood oaths on the spot.

Jiang stood tall, his presence alone bending the room’s most powerful figures to his will. That unshakable dominance was something even high-ranking officials rarely possessed.

Zheng Li’s eyes widened.

“I thought he relied on Zhou Zhenghao’s connections to defy Hou Tianlai… But no. He is the power.”

The man before her—commanding thunder, unfazed by ghosts—bore no resemblance to the lazy college dropout she once knew.

“He could’ve been mine.” Regret twisted in her chest. “If only I’d seen past his façade back then—”

“Master Jiang, you’ve had a long night. Let’s retire to the tea room.” Tang Wannian’s smile was obsequious.

The current hall was a disaster—shattered artifacts, a dead disciple. Hardly fit for conversation.

Jiang gave a slight nod.

…

In the tea room, Zheng Li—under her uncle’s pointed glare—sidled up to Jiang Tian.

“Jiang Tian,” she purred, pouring tea with deliberate grace, “I’ve got membership at the equestrian club. Join me sometime?”

Zhao Xueqing’s grip tightened on her cup.

Zheng Li was all polished charm: designer dress, flawless makeup, the effortless poise of a woman who knew her worth.

Jiang didn’t even glance at her. “Busy.”

Lacing fingers with Zhao Xueqing, he added, “Meet my wife.”

In his past life, he’d bedded saints, sorceresses, even princesses. Now? Only Zhao Xueqing mattered.

Zheng Li’s cheeks flushed. “Ah. You’re… very lucky, Mrs. Jiang.”

The unspoken comparison hung in the air—Zhao’s ethereal beauty made Zheng Li feel dull in comparison.

Tang Wannian presented a check. “Two hundred million, as promised.”

Jiang waved it off like a bad smell. “Donate it. I don’t want your money.”

The room erupted in admiration.

“To disdain wealth so utterly… Master Jiang’s enlightenment is beyond us!”

Even the feng shui master, Qi, murmured, “I must meditate to cleanse my greed.”

Tang, however, was stunned. He’d assumed the charity demand was a ploy for payment. Now, he vowed to organize a grand fundraiser to please Jiang.

“Tang…” Jiang hesitated.

“Just ‘Xiao Tang’!” The tycoon bowed like a servant.

“Old Master Tang raised this spineless worm?” Jiang sighed internally. Aloud, he asked, “That ghost king was bred by someone. Who’d you piss off?”

Tang’s face darkened. “Wei Shuofeng. Jiangnan Real Estate tried muscling in on my Linzhou land deal. His lackeys threatened me.”

“Wei Shuofeng dares challenge Third Master?” Zhou Zhenghao blurted.

In Linzhou, Tang was untouchable—political dynasty, unshakable influence. Yet Wei had the gall to push back?

“Wei Shuofeng isn’t just rich,” Tang said grimly. “He’s the ‘Godfather of Jiangnan’—seven cities bow to him. Even provincial leaders heed his advice.”

Linzhou, Donghai, Jiangzhou—three northern power hubs—were fractured, their elites squabbling.

But the seven southern cities? Wei’s personal empire.

“Money? Power? Bah!” Zhou spat. “I’ll hire shooters to blow his brains out!”

“Fool.” Long Wu shook his head. “Every gangster from Hong Kong to Shanghai has tried. None succeeded.”

Tang added, “Half the Pearl River ports are his. Ships, warehouses, customs—all under his thumb.”

Then, bitterness seeped into his voice: “Six months ago, his men warned me: ‘Bid on that land, and your house burns.’ Next thing I knew—my father fell ill, and this villa…”

Jiang’s eyes narrowed. A true overlord.

Feng shui master Qi spoke up, pale-faced: “The Wei family… they’re not just businessmen.”

“Oh?” Tang frowned.

“They’re a sorcery dynasty. In our circles, their name carries weight.” Qi’s voice dropped. “No ‘Dao Body’ masters in a century, but several ‘Transcendent’ ones—ghost summoners, storm callers. Ordinary mystics flee from them.”

“Now it makes sense,” Jiang mused.

Power—real power—wasn’t wealth or connections. It was the ability to reshape reality itself.

No wonder Wei dominated the south while the north bickered like children.

Tang groaned. “Had I known, I’d have surrendered that land! Almost cost me billions!”

Qi’s gaze locked onto Jiang, fervent. “But now, we have Master Jiang.”

A man who crushed Yang Guochang, who merged martial and mystic arts.

Wei Shuofeng would kneel.

Zhou Zhenghao roared with laughter. “Exactly! Let Master Jiang kick that old bastard’s teeth in!”