Chapter Twenty-Five: The Bureau for the Relief of Suffering and Disaster

The sliding Japanese door was gently opened, the wooden track emitting a faint creak. The newcomer’s hair was slicked back in a pompadour, his black suit immaculate, polished boots gleaming beneath him. He appeared to be just past thirty, every gesture exuding composure and confidence.

“My apologies for keeping you waiting, Miss Meng. There was a bit of traffic,” he said as he slipped off his shoes at the entrance and settled onto the tatami.

“It’s nothing, Mr. Li. Order whatever you like,” Meng Qing replied with a polite smile.

Li Long glanced casually over the menu. “I’ll have the Supreme Set.”

As for the price, he didn’t bother to look. There was a saying online that even a single radish carved into a flower could fetch 666 in Shanghai, and this was no exaggeration. As the preeminent international metropolis in the Xia Kingdom, Shanghai was home to an abundance of the wealthy. Spending tens of thousands on a single meal was a trifling matter. The pleasures of the rich were simply unimaginable to those without means.

Meng Qing nodded. “I’ll have a Supreme Set as well,” she told the waiter.

“Very well, please wait a moment,” the waiter replied, bowing at a perfect ninety degrees before retreating from the private room, quietly sliding the door shut behind him. The wooden track gave another soft creak before silence settled once more.

Seated opposite, Li Long wore a half-smile. “Miss Meng, you didn’t invite me here just to reminisce, did you?”

Meng Qing’s expression was earnest. “Mr. Li, you’re a man of intelligence. I won’t hide the truth. The International Development Agency has a recent operation that requires the Li family’s cooperation. We hope you can use your connections to bring certain items into Shanghai.”

“That’s not an easy task,” Li Long shrugged. “I’m sure you’re aware of the situation with the Treasure Pavilion. That mad dog Iron Hand is biting down hard on us. At a time like this, how could we dare make any sudden moves?”

“If we can help the Li family transfer your assets overseas, and let you choose any country for a peaceful new life, would that be enough to tempt you?” Meng Qing countered, a faint smile on her lips.

Li Long’s face betrayed a flicker of hesitation. The business with the Treasure Pavilion was just one of the many enterprises secretly controlled by the Li family. With the notorious Iron Hand watching their every move, it wasn’t just that business in jeopardy—every venture the family had a hand in could be exposed. The subtle warnings from partners over the phone, their evasiveness in person, and those abruptly terminated agreements all felt like daggers pressing against Li Long’s heart. It was clear—they wanted the Li family to take the fall for everything.

But who would willingly surrender their power and trade it for a prison cell?

The room fell silent, the scent of osmanthus lingering in the air. Suddenly, Li Long’s gaze turned sharp. “So it was your people who set up my family! Was that grass demon who leaked the whereabouts of our dragon relic, the one who deleted the transaction records in advance, both your agents?”

Meng Qing looked genuinely startled and shook her head. “No, Mr. Li, you misunderstand. It was only after you were targeted that we approached you, hoping to help you escape safely.”

A brief silence. Li Long nodded slowly. “We can work together,” he said coldly, “but you must promise me this: find that grass demon who framed us.” His knuckles cracked as he clenched his fist. “I want it torn to pieces!”

The Li family had operated on the streets for so long, yet to be outwitted by a grass demon and forced into such a passive state—of course, he was furious.

Outside, Bai Yujing, listening in, fell deep in thought. From what he’d heard, it seemed Zhu Ying's appearance at the auction was no accident, but part of a deliberate scheme. Was there an unseen conspiracy behind it all? He considered this, but quickly set the thought aside. Whatever the conspiracy, in time its hand would show itself. And when it did, the outcome was inevitable. He continued to eavesdrop.

Inside the private room, the conversation shifted to lighter topics—shared memories from their student days. Bai Yujing took careful note of every detail.

…

After the meeting, Meng Qing and Li Long parted ways at the entrance of the restaurant. She picked up her birdcage and left alone in a taxi. Bai Yujing followed at a distance, pulling out his phone to call Qi Xiang.

“Hello, I’ve made a major discovery. All this while, your surveillance target Meng Qing isn’t the key figure—the real focus is the budgerigar in her birdcage. It possesses eighth-level spiritual pressure. Just now at the teahouse, she and Mr. Li were discussing smuggling something into Shanghai. I don’t know Mr. Li’s real name, only that he’s the true boss behind the Treasure Pavilion. As for what they plan to smuggle, it wasn’t mentioned in their conversation.”

“What?!” Qi Xiang’s voice shot up in pitch, startling the goddess sitting across from him, who glanced over with curiosity. Today, she had taken extra care with her makeup, her Chanel suit lending her an air of refined elegance.

Qi Xiang quickly covered the phone and offered her an apologetic smile. “Sorry, something urgent came up at work. I can’t stay.”

He stood, pulling several bills from his wallet and leaving them on the table.

“I thought you said you had no work today?” she asked, frowning slightly.

“My apologies, it’s an emergency,” Qi Xiang replied through gritted teeth, before striding quickly away. Even though he had been pursuing this goddess since their days at the Shanghai Academy of Spiritual Arts—a pursuit spanning ten years—when duty called, he could harden his heart and leave.

Once outside the café, Qi Xiang spoke urgently into his phone. “Are you still following them?”

“I’m trailing them from a distance,” Bai Yujing replied.

“Good.” Qi Xiang’s brow furrowed with anxiety. He was only a sixth-level adept—how could he report to his superiors that he’d identified an eighth-level demon without being detected by the target? After a moment’s thought, Qi Xiang said quietly, “This is Qi Xiang. What’s your name?”

“Bai Yujing. Why do you ask?”

“From now on, we’re sworn brothers,” Qi Xiang said ingratiatingly. “You weren’t here on an assignment—I just suspected Meng Qing was up to something, so I called in a favor from you. You noticed the problem with the budgerigar, and after watching it and Meng Qing leave together, I asked you to keep an eye on them.”

“Oh, I see,” Bai Yujing understood his strategy. He was being written out of Qi Xiang’s abrupt departure.

Qi Xiang’s tone grew even more sycophantic. “I’m counting on you, Brother Bai.”

“Next time, don’t try to cut corners like this.”

“I won’t, I won’t,” Qi Xiang replied, nodding vigorously, though in his heart he thought, with such a powerful and resourceful friend, it would be a shame not to hold on tight.

After hanging up, Qi Xiang immediately called his superior, mixing fabricated details with the truth as he reported, sweat beading on his palm.

“An eighth-level demon, you say?” His superior’s tone was tinged with amusement. “You certainly happened to find yourself a good friend.”

He emphasized the word “friend.”

Qi Xiang wiped his brow, feeling uneasy. “Yes, just luck, sir.”

“For now, have your friend keep a close watch. I’ll send a team to investigate immediately,” the superior replied, not pressing further.

After all, men like Iron Hand—incorruptible, unyielding, rigidly bound by the law—were rare. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be so infamously detested in the field. Most people preferred flexible enforcement; so long as there was no major trouble, a little bending of the rules from subordinates could be tolerated.