Chapter 9: Aunt Zhang, the Ruthless Woman

That night, Chang Yu had a long and terrifying dream.

He dreamt of a female ghost from a horror movie, her face twisted in malice as she rushed toward him, demanding his life. The specter wore a blood-red dress, her skin deathly pale, and her eye sockets were hollow voids from which black and red blood oozed, reeking with a pungent, fetid stench. Even from a distance, Chang Yu could see her sharp nails and the curled, white flesh on the backs of her hands.

His face turned ashen with fear as he ran for his life, terrified she would catch up to him. The wind howled past his ears, the air he gulped down icy cold, as if he were stranded on the frozen plains of Siberia.

He had never run so fast in his life. Crying and begging for mercy, he pleaded every way he could, but the ghost was unmoved. At last, his strength was spent. He stumbled and fell hard to the ground, his body seized with cold and stiffness.

As the ghost closed in, claws outstretched, about to rip him open, Chang Yu jolted awake, gasping for breath.

“So it was just a dream!”

He wiped the sweat from his forehead, only to realize his back was drenched in cold perspiration—clearly, the nightmare had shaken him badly.

“When she lunged at me just now, it was so frightening—I really thought my life was over!” he muttered, still unsettled.

Glancing at the clock, he saw it was already after four in the morning. He wanted to go back to sleep, but the lingering terror kept him alert and restless. Every time he closed his eyes, the hideous image of the female ghost charging at him would reappear, causing him to open his eyes again, too afraid to drift off.

His mind spun with anxious thoughts he couldn’t dispel, and finally, he gave up on sleep altogether.

“It seems I’m destined not to see Master today,” he sighed heavily, sitting up in bed.

As the covers slipped from his chest, they revealed perfectly toned abs and a solid, muscular chest. Had any girls seen him like this, they would have shrieked with excitement and showered him with flirtatious glances.

No wonder—Chang Yu’s physique was sculpted so beautifully that any world-renowned artist would consider it a masterpiece.

The transformation brought by purging impurities and refining his body had yielded many benefits, the most obvious being the power and explosive strength now visible in every muscle. Once, he had been a skinny, frail youth, swaying with every step, liable to collapse in a stiff breeze.

“Well, since I have nothing else to do, I might as well practice the Poria Heart Sutra. At the very least, I promised Master I’d train diligently,” he thought.

Remembering Realman Haoer’s earnest instructions when he left Poria Valley, Chang Yu began to circulate the Poria Heart Sutra.

He had only just entered the Qi Condensation stage and was still a long way from the next major realm, Foundation Establishment. He needed to work hard if he hoped to break through.

As he worked the Poria Heart Sutra, streams of energy from all directions gathered around him, drawn by his cultivation. Wisps of spiritual energy in the air were absorbed into his body, and a gentle warmth began to flow within him.

This warmth, like a trickling stream, simultaneously drew in more spiritual energy, expanding itself, while coursing swiftly through his limbs and bones. Spiritual energy from the air was refined by his practice into true qi within his body. After several cycles, a faint spiritual presence began to emanate from him.

But then, a strange sense of oppression arose, pressing heavily on his chest as if a great stone was crushing him, making it hard to breathe.

The flow of spiritual energy became erratic, faltering and sputtering, unable to complete even a single minor cycle.

Sensing something was wrong, Chang Yu immediately halted his practice and touched his chest, puzzled and uneasy. “Strange, what’s happening?”

He carefully recalled the insights Realman Haoer had imparted to him about the Poria Heart Sutra and realized this stifling feeling was not a normal part of cultivation.

“Could this be qi deviation?” The thought startled him.

He remembered how heroes in TV dramas responded just like this when their cultivation went awry.

But he quickly dismissed the idea: “I’ve been following the Poria Heart Sutra to the letter—how could I possibly suffer qi deviation?”

Sitting up straighter, he licked his lips and, confident in his wealth of experience, stubbornly tried again.

The same oppressive sensation returned, this time with a faint prickling pain in his chest, as if someone were jabbing him repeatedly with a needle.

This time, Chang Yu dared not continue.

He had no desire to end up like some villain in a martial arts drama, dying from a botched cultivation attempt. He was still young and had yet to contribute his light and warmth to his country and people; dying an untimely death now would be truly regrettable.

“It seems I’ll have to stop training until this is resolved,” he murmured after a moment’s thought.

“Master would surely know the cause of this strange discomfort in my chest. His abilities are boundless—he should be able to see what’s wrong with my cultivation. I must find him as soon as possible.”

He lay back in bed, racking his brains for a solution, but nothing came to mind.

Next time he saw his master, he would be sure to ask the exact location of Poria Valley. That way, he could visit from time to time and receive further guidance in his cultivation.

Time slipped by unnoticed. When the morning sun streamed through the patterned window, filling the small room with light, Chang Yu was already dressed and ready for work.

As soon as he opened the door, he found a middle-aged woman with a big perm and a bright red jacket standing outside his apartment. From the way she craned her neck in anticipation, it was clear she had been waiting for him for some time.

“Auntie Zhang, why didn’t you let me know you were coming?” Chang Yu was momentarily surprised, then greeted her with a smile.

He knew her well—she was his landlady, Auntie Zhang.

Auntie Zhang had a reputation for being fierce and unreasonable, the sort who could go head-to-head with the boys on the basketball court and who led a mean square dance.

Seeing him about to leave, Auntie Zhang forced a strained smile. “Just had nothing better to do, thought I’d come by and check on you. Aren’t you going to invite your auntie in for a seat?”

Chang Yu quickly returned her smile. “What are you saying? You’re the landlady—this is your house, after all. Please, come in.”

With that, he opened the security door wide and stepped aside, making room for her to enter.

“Then I won’t stand on ceremony!” Taking advantage of his inattention, Auntie Zhang shot into the apartment at lightning speed, leaving Chang Yu dumbfounded.

Why was she in such a rush today, as if afraid he’d bar her from entering? The way she glanced around nervously seemed suspicious—utterly unlike her usual self.

After all, as the landlady, she had every right to enter her own house. Why act so furtive?

Something was definitely off.

“Auntie Zhang, why the hurry?” Chang Yu followed her inside, curious to see what she was up to.

He watched as Auntie Zhang glanced around with sharp eyes, inspecting every corner with the thoroughness of a detective straight out of a spy film.

When she finally pushed open the door to his bedroom, Chang Yu was suddenly seized by a sense of impending doom.

Only then did he remember the “evidence” he had left behind that morning—a telltale sign he absolutely couldn’t let someone as sharp-tongued as Auntie Zhang discover.

This was bad! His mouth went dry and his heart pounded in his chest, ready to leap out.

No one else might know the secrets hidden in his room, but Chang Yu was all too aware.

Sure enough, almost the instant Auntie Zhang entered, her sharp, shrill voice pierced the air:

“Heavens! What is this? Chang Yu, are you trying to demolish my house?”

Resigned, Chang Yu could only cover his forehead and walk into the bedroom.

The moment he entered, he saw Auntie Zhang glaring at him, fury written all over her face, as she pointed to the fist-sized dent in the wall, demanding an explanation.

Only now did he understand why the usually elusive Auntie Zhang would wait at his door and why she had rushed in as if afraid he’d stop her.

She had come to catch him red-handed.

“Auntie Zhang, let me explain!” Chang Yu said, his voice weak, like a schoolboy awaiting a teacher’s scolding.

But Auntie Zhang gave him no chance. Her words rattled out like machine-gun fire, fast and relentless:

“I don’t want to hear your explanations! I don’t care how you managed to wreck my wall like this—I just want you to pay for it!”

“To fix that hole, it’ll cost at least two thousand yuan. Just pay me two thousand and be done with it!”