Today can we meet?
Zhang Yuanqing perked up and said, “Is he in Place? Give me his contact information and address.”
Mother nodded. “We’ll send you a text message shortly. This gentleman is a very successful businessman abroad—my key business partner. When you meet him, pay close attention to your manners and behavior; you’re certainly adept at that.”
She was quite confident about her son’s social skills.
“I know,” Zhang Yuanqing replied. “My foreign language skills are decent.”
Mother today had unusually much time available and didn’t immediately end the call.
“From what I hear from your grandmother, you’ve been staying up late every night lately playing games with Yu-er? That’s starting to affect your studies.”
What good is studying if my teachers won’t teach me how to conquer the Spirit Realm… Zhang Yuanqing said. “Don’t listen to Grandma exaggerating—on weekends I just play games with Aunt.”
Otherwise, I spend all day alone.
Mother sighed:
“Grandmother means that you shouldn’t always hang out with Yu-er. She’s due for a boyfriend now—she can’t keep concentrating on you. You two are fairly close in age and both are at the stage of being courted, so it makes sense to start forming your own relationships.”
Zhang Yuanqing suddenly became frustrated: “If you have something to say, wait until we get back. I’ll hang up now—I’ve got an early class.”
He firmly ended the call.
“Grandmother, why do you keep telling Mom off again? Can this relationship still be maintained? I’m going to cut ties with you,” Zhang Yuanqing exclaimed while lying in bed.
The bedroom door opened and Grandmother stood there, holding a broom, her expression cold. “What did you say?”
“I love you more than my mother. You’re better than Mom. And I truly want to be your son.” Zhang Yuanqing showed flexibility.
Grandmother snorted and slammed the door shut.
Zhang Yuanqing rolled his eyes, glanced at his phone—no text from Mother yet—and then rose to sit at the desk. He opened the computer and logged into the official Archive to search for—the person named Chiji An.
Within seconds, Zhang Yuanqing’s screen displayed a clear and detailed profile of this individual.
With current permissions, he can access most of the Branch’s staff records—though not those of Fu Qingyang, the distinguished prodigy.
Originally a son-in-law of the Zhu family—a renowned music dynasty—Chiji An benefited from the music families’ expertise in nurturing life essence and producing biological fluids. Hence, these three music lineages are often called “The Three Families of Life.”
When Chiji An joined the Five Elements Alliance, he held only a level 2 Fire Master rank. Under Zhu family support, his proficiency grew steadily—his position rose from ordinary member to Captain, then to Officer.
His signature props are the Rain-Infused Inner Armor and the Crimson Flame Weapon—the former being an elite musician’s item, the latter a core fire master prop.
“Having become a Sage for over a year now, he must have completed at least four solo instances and over ten group instances. Even with mixed wins and losses, his experience has accumulated—nearly reaching level 5. Last night, when I didn’t press him hard and used enchantment magic to escape—it was a wise move.”
Regardless of props, there’s a significant gap between levels 4 and 4. The difference between Sage and Elevated Stage is even more profound.
Kou Beiyue—this guy must have several trump cards, otherwise he wouldn’t dare attack a Sage.
But still… he failed.
Zhang Yuanqing quietly resolved to privately investigate further and compile evidence to submit to Fu Qingyang, preferably without exposing himself. Otherwise, facing off against an Officer would be a long-term concern.
Behind that, there’s also the Zhu family.
“Ding!”
The phone emitted a short, clear chime. Zhang Yuanqing glanced away from his computer and picked up his phone to check the message.
Majesty of the Eye King: “Did you cleanse my mark?”
Oh no! Zhang Yuanqing felt his scalp tingle—his voice remained calm as he replied, “What’s wrong?”
I should have immediately instructed Wang Tai to track down his location.
Five elders surged in—all concerned he might have a hidden plan. Could it be that other Heavenly Kings from the School of the Commander had arrived?
Majesty of the Eye King: “The power of the Sun God is beyond the reach of an Elevated-stage Night Wandering Deity. I’ve checked on Yuan Ting—recently, he’s been summoned to the Capital City. On the official Taiyi Gate Forum, there are daily videos showing his suffering. You aren’t him!”
Zhang Yuanqing was startled—almost dropped his phone—and then thoughtfully responded:
“Who exactly are you? And why do your actions seem so odd?”
Majesty of the Eye King: “Hm. The disturbances I caused in Place a few days ago—you, as a Level 3 Night Wandering Deity, should have been aware. Yet you pretend not to know me. Indeed, there aren’t many Night Wandering Deities in Place who can command the power of the Sun God. It shouldn’t be difficult to identify your identity—unless you’ve never actually used that ability.”
“Just whatever,” Zhang Yuanqing replied firmly.
“Hm. Have they ever told you my Eye of Magic can locate Realm Walkers? Although Place is large, the Kangyang District isn’t vast—I’ll find you eventually. I suspect when I next see you, your expression will be quite amusing.”
Are you bored? You’re busy chasing Yuan Shi Tian Zun and the Master of Zhishake Palace while simultaneously pressuring the official Realm Walkers for entertainment… Zhang Yuanqing quietly closed his secondary phone line without replying.
He would like to delete the Majesty of the Eye King—but having a trusted friend present at least gives him indirect control over his tone and actions.
Perhaps one day, the location-tracing technique will prove useful.
“I’m not sure how many people know I can command the power of the Sun God. This is rather unfortunate—my trail through the Eye of Magic keeps growing longer. How much longer can I hide? The Master of Zhishake Palace is even more skilled at enduring.”
Just as he was pondering, Mother’s text arrived late.
It was a photo of a business card—names, contact details, and position clearly listed.
Mother had written the address for Place on it.
Bill Tarantino, Director, Marketing Department, Antech Pharmaceutical Company.
Antech Pharmaceutical… Zhang Yuanqing opened his computer to search online.
He was astonished—the company is internationally renowned—a top ten pharmaceutical giant globally.
“Mom’s career is more successful than I thought,” Zhang Yuanqing noted and saved the card in his phone. He then dialed the number on the card.
“Ding-ding…”
The call rang twice before connecting—on the other end, a woman began speaking with a rapid stream of foreign language.
Zhang Yuanqing understood most of it and replied in English:
“I am Chen Shu’s son—I’m looking for Mr. Tarantino.”
“Please wait—I’ll check your appointment…” A few seconds later, her voice responded: “Thank you. Mr. Tarantino has mentioned that he’s been expecting you. Could you please share your address—we’ll send a vehicle to pick you up?”
“No—thank you. I’d like to come personally,” Zhang Yuan.exe emphasized—he was particularly mindful of the confidentiality of his residential information.
“Excellent! Is there anything else we can assist with?”
Did Mr. Tarantino clean himself in anticipation of me? Zhang Yuanqing said, “No assistance needed—I’ll go now.”
After ending the call, he dressed and went to the wardrobe to retrieve the tailored suit that Li Dongze had custom-made for him.
The Chief, a proud man who insisted on elegance from his subordinates, had originally required him to wear formal attire to work—later, due to Li’s repeated accomplishments, the standards gradually relaxed.
From preparing drinks in the refrigerator to dressing casually—then even suspecting that he and Guan Ya were teaching one another in the restroom—he was only gently remarked upon: “There’s a hotel nearby; it seems less elegant for you to work within the office.”
Now dressed in his formal suit, Zhang Yuanqing quietly left the bedroom and stepped out of the house. He hailed a taxi on the sidewalk and headed toward the International Tower.
The International Tower is one of the most iconic buildings in the central business district—home to many renowned financial institutions. Foreign companies often open their Asian regional offices here.
As a bridgehead for foreign capital investment, such locations abound throughout Place—the International Tower stands out as particularly prominent.
It was peak morning rush hour—groups of well-dressed professionals crossed streets en masse and hurried toward various office towers.
The bustling crowds and dense traffic flow are a signature sight in the CBD area.
Most of these employees couldn’t afford housing within the CBD—they typically commuted by subway for over forty minutes. Their first action each morning was not to enjoy breakfast, but to leave early—often at dawn—and battle through crowded subways to arrive on time.
Their pace of life is swift—so fast that even Zhang Yuanqing, a rare handsome man in this world, seems to be overlooked by his sisters and aunties. Their attention remains fixed on traffic lights.
As soon as the green light appears, they move briskly across pedestrian crossings—never stopping or lingering.
Zhang Yuanqing joined these professionals, crossing the street, and arrived at the lobby of the International Tower. Then he dialed Bill Tarantino’s number.
“Entering requires a staff card—I can’t access it,” he said in somewhat awkward English.
“Please wait.”
Minutes later, a man dressed in a light blue suit with a white shirt stepped out of the building, surveyed the scene, and announced:
“Who is this Mr. Zhang?”
Zhang Yuanqing raised his hand. “Here.”
The man examined him, smiled warmly, and said, “I’m Tarantino’s assistant—she instructed me to come down and meet you.”
They waited a long time at the lobby before finally squeezing into an elevator—the man gently held Zhang Yuanqing open space, apologized:
“Sorry—it’s just so crowded at this hour.”
Zhang Yuanqing hadn’t yet reached the standard age for such an interview nor had he visited this kind of office—he remained composed, offering no comments.
The elevator stopped at floor 37. He followed the man out of the lift.
Entirely on Level 37 was Antech Pharmaceutical’s office space—the man guided him into the Marketing Department and said to the receptionist:
“Annie—our client has arrived—please let her know.”
The receptionist nodded, picked up the phone, and shortly after, a tall woman in a white blouse and skirt walked out from inside.
She was about thirty years old, with long golden hair and deep blue eyes that shimmered like a sea—her facial features were refined and elegant—a truly captivating woman.
As she approached, her presence felt warm and inviting—her gentle movements evoked a subtle warmth, making office male employees pause in admiration.
The foreign woman studied Zhang Yuanqing for several moments, smiled, and extended her hand—one fluent phrase of Chinese: “Hello. I’m Annie. You’re younger than I expected.”
“Hello! Hello!” Zhang Yuanqing responded, grasping her hands—his fingers slightly pressed against the soft, smooth texture—and complimented, “Your Chinese is better than I thought.”
Upon hearing this, Annie beamed with pride: “Chinese is hard—it took me just three years to master it.”
She didn’t withdraw her hand—letting this young man feel at ease, her smile grew even more charming.
“Wow—what a woman blessed by the gods! Your language talent truly astonishes me. Unlike me, who has spent half my life studying foreign languages—I still struggle with pronunciation, though I’m very committed. I swear it!”
Annie paused slightly and said: “I can hold normal conversations—you don’t need to speak formal Chinese.”
“Oh—God—that’s wonderful!” Zhang Yuanqing expressed his delight.
“…” Annie managed a forced smile. “Then follow me—I’ll take you to Mr. Tarantino.”
Only then did Zhang Yuanqing reluctantly release her hand, following the assistant into the interior—the entire journey, his gaze seemed magnetized, drawn irresistibly to her rear silhouette.
Her skirt revealed a perfectly rounded back—like a peach or a full moon—invoking a subtle hormonal excitement.
This woman…
Not long after, they paused at Mr. Tarantino’s office. Annie gently knocked on the brown wood door and said in English:
“Mr. Tarantino, your guest has arrived.”
A deep, resonant male voice responded from within: “Please come in!”
Annie opened the door and guided Zhang Yuanqing inside—the office was lavishly furnished. To the right stood a handcrafted wooden desk, with a small striped flag at its corner.
To the left was a lounge area—soft sofas, glass coffee tables, a wine cabinet, etc.
At the handcrafted desk sat a foreign man in a light casual suit—light brown hair, well-defined features, and fine lines of finer pattern running along his eyes—deep-set and serene eyes that radiated experience—an elegant, mature middle-aged gentleman.
Bill Tarantino slowly rose and walked toward the guest sofa, smiling:
“Good morning, Mr. Zhang. Would you like me to have my assistant prepare breakfast?”
“Thank you,” Zhang Yuanqing replied—shaking his head—and settled into the soft chair.
Bill Tarantino sat across from her, calmly saying:
“Mother and I have been close business partners—she’s a capable, strong-willed woman. I admire her, yet I also find her rather challenging, because at negotiations she’s always so assertive.
“But she has one key strength: exceptional efficiency. She never engages in empty formalities or tiresome small talk—this quality is something many of the mainland businesspeople I’ve met simply lack.”
Zhang Yuanqing thought to herself: Her mother just wants to make money as quickly as possible from us foreigners—after all, she’s a workaholic who even finds parent-teacher conferences too inefficient… Yet on her face, a smile appeared:
“Tarantino, thank you for the kind words. I share my mother’s distaste for slow, ineffective communication. Do you know what I came here to discuss?”
Bill Tarantino leaned back in his chair, one leg crossed over the other, hands folded comfortably across his abdomen, and replied:
“Yes—your headache medicine?”
Zhang Yuanqing nodded:
“I’m curious about this medicine—besides Anter Pharmaceuticals, I’ve been unable to purchase it elsewhere or find any information about it. My mother says it’s a new drug developed by your company. But frankly, that doesn’t convince me yet.
‘Developing a new drug requires enormous investment. And since the condition it treats is rare and not widely known, it won’t bring you substantial profits.’”
After pausing for several seconds, Bill Tarantino said:
“That’s correct—the medicine wasn’t developed specifically for your condition; rather, it simply helps ease your headaches. This drug is actually designed to address all kinds of soul-level concerns—repairing wounds sustained by the spirit itself.
I apologize—I’ve been a bit inaccurate in my explanation. Correctly speaking, it’s about the mind. In Chinese, the word ‘spirit’ (shen) better captures its essence.”
“Soul-level concerns…” Zhang Yuanqing remained silent.
…