Chapter 126

Chapter 126

Everyone felt an inexplicable wave of relief upon seeing Chen Ji arrive—though none could quite articulate why. It was a strange, unsettling sensation: part serendipity, part lingering dread, the kind that clings after narrowly escaping death.

“Chen Ji!” Second Master Huang thrashed wildly. “They’re eating your food *and* planning to arrest you! They’re not trustworthy!”

Chen Ji gently grasped Second Master Huang by the base of his tail, cradling him securely in his arms. With polite, measured courtesy, he said, “Second Master Huang is something of a local internet celebrity—a sociable little creature. Please don’t take his antics personally.”

Most weren’t genuinely afraid, but the sight of a weasel inevitably conjured folk tales like *“the weasel seeking recognition,”* instantly triggering caution. Even if fear wasn’t present, people instinctively stepped back three paces—just in case. Bad luck, after all, needed no invitation.

The officers quickly assured him it was fine. Chen Ji gave a slight nod. “The meal is ready.”

Soon, Chen Ji and a young officer emerged from the kitchen bearing steaming dishes. The others glanced at the officer who’d accompanied Chen Ji inside—and he blinked rapidly, signaling everything was under control.

Chen Ji looked slightly embarrassed. “There are so many of you—I couldn’t manage alone. We’ll have to make do with pre-made meals.”

Every dish had been hand-selected by him, each sealed in multiple layers of plastic wrap. How on earth could anyone possibly poison *these*? He hadn’t even realized there were *so many* brands of pre-made meals!

After cooking, Chen Ji portioned out servings: some into small bowls, some into animal-sized bowls, and others arranged with quiet reverence as offerings to Grandfather Mountain. The little animals seemed to sense feeding time—lining up neatly outside the kitchen door, each collecting their bowl and departing. Chen Ji noticed one was missing and went to fetch Second Master Huang.

*Could this be poisoned?*

Reassured, the officers thanked him and began eating. It wasn’t that they suspected Chen Ji outright—but living alone deep in the mountains, intimately familiar with every trail and hollow, made him a plausible candidate for coercion by poachers.

Chen Ji joined them at the table, catching fragments of conversation. Perhaps because they’d just eaten his food, their guard softened, and their words flowed more freely. A young officer scoffed, “I think Wu Shang was spouting nonsense—all that demon trickery and people getting eaten. Sounds like a squabble over uneven profit shares!”

An older officer countered, “You can’t dismiss it so easily… Oh, right—Brother Chen, you might not know yet: one of the two men you rescued last time has gone completely mad. He told us someone was devoured by leeches—and that guns were abandoned in the leech cave. Since you live up here, if you ever find firearms, *don’t keep them*. Those things are no joke.”

Chen Ji, chopsticks still dangling from his mouth, nodded earnestly. “Of course—I’d hand them over immediately! …It’s not illegal to *touch* them a few times when I find them, right?”

Laughter erupted—some choking mid-chuckle. The senior officer grinned. “Touching’s fine. Just don’t pull the trigger.”

Chen Ji feigned innocence, smiling brightly and guilelessly.

Mid-meal, a sharp knock echoed at the door. Chen Ji set down his chopsticks and rose to answer. By day, the mountain temple’s gate usually stood open—though Chen Ji would leave it slightly ajar when the wind blew strong. Regular visitors simply pushed it open and entered.

He cracked the door—and there stood Zhao Fei, the development agent commissioned by the Yun, Xiao, and Zhou families to redevelop Little Green Mountain. Chen Ji’s brow furrowed. “Why are you here *again*?”

Zhao Fei wore an immaculate suit and gold-rimmed glasses—every inch the polished elite. Flanking him were several burly bodyguards radiating quiet menace. He offered a courteous nod. “Mr. Chen, my apologies for the intrusion. As per your earlier request, I’ve negotiated enhanced terms with several major corporations—highly favorable ones. I hope you’ll spare a moment to review them.”

Chen Ji refused flatly. “No need to review. Didn’t I make it clear before? I’m just an ordinary tenant leasing a plot of mountain land. If you want to develop anything, speak to the authorities—not me. Whether I agree or not is irrelevant.”

He sounded impatient. “As long as procedures are followed, I’ll consent—but this is excessive. Even if relocation is required, shouldn’t I only receive standard compensation? Why offer me such staggering sums?”

Logically sound—but Zhao Fei knew Chen Ji was the linchpin. Without his consent, the entire venture collapsed. Hadn’t the contract itself named Chen Ji as the *largest beneficiary*?

He didn’t know what hidden arrangements lay beneath that document—but nothing in this world came free. If everything proceeded through proper channels—relocation, compensation—then what, truly, did *he* have to do with it?

Just then, two officers stepped out from inside. Zhao Fei’s expression tightened instinctively—*police officers? How had they gotten involved again?*

The officers turned to Chen Ji. “What’s going on?”

Chen Ji turned back, a flicker of disgust crossing his face—though his voice remained calm. “This man has come twice now. He claims to represent three major corporations interested in developing Little Green Mountain. Says if I sign, I’ll receive a guaranteed annual income of ten million yuan—plus sixty percent of net profits. All I have to do is sign. Nothing else.”

Hearing this, the officers exchanged deeply suspicious glances. Everyone knew the rule: *no free lunches.* Combine “guaranteed income,” “contract,” “signature,” and “major corporations”—and the odds of fraud skyrocketed.

After all—why would massive corporations, with no pressing need, hand over sixty percent of their profits to someone like Chen Ji? Was he secretly the long-lost illegitimate heir of some CEO?

One officer couldn’t hold back. “Comrade—please show us your ID!”

Zhao Fei replied smoothly, “Officers, it’s not what you assume. I’m legitimately commissioned—”

The other officer cut in, sharp and firm: “Show us your ID! …And yours too!”

The bodyguards shifted uneasily—but then ten more officers emerged from inside. The young officer strode straight to the captain and spoke loudly enough for all to hear: “…These people climbed the mountain specifically to get Chen Ji to sign a contract—claiming big corporations want to develop Little Green Mountain… Looks like a classic pig-butchering scam!”

Chen Ji lived alone here, maintained the temple, and received constant deliveries—clearly well-off. This man had almost certainly targeted him for that reason, dangling a lucrative contract as bait.

Most likely, the contract contained buried clauses designed to bury Chen Ji in debt the moment he signed—a tactic they’d seen *far* too often.

After all, with nationwide anti-fraud campaigns in full swing, the first line of defense was training every officer in basic scam recognition—so *they* wouldn’t fall for it either.

Faced with so many officers, Zhao Fei abandoned further explanation. He produced his ID—and signaled his bodyguards to do the same. After verification, the officers still regarded them warily. One said, “Since he refuses, why are you pressuring him? Don’t let us catch you bothering him again.”

Zhao Fei paused. “It’s not—”

He meant to say it wasn’t harassment—but his actions bordered on it. With so many officers present, he had no choice but to retreat. He bid Chen Ji farewell and descended the mountain.

Chen Ji finally exhaled. “Thank you… This is his second visit. Everything about him feels off—but I didn’t dare say it to his face. With those bodyguards, I’d stand no chance if they rushed me.”

The young officer joked, “Didn’t you rescue a giant tiger? If they try anything, just have it block their path on the way down—and teach them a lesson.”

Chen Ji blinked. “I don’t have that kind of authority.”

Though Xiangxiang *might*—and not just her. Practically every resident of the temple could pull it off.

Well—except System Cat. Their chatty feline companion could talk, yes—but attempt anything beyond that, and lightning from the main system would likely strike it down.

“Officer—you *can’t* say that! I’m a law-abiding citizen!” Chen Ji added, deliberately adopting an exaggerated tone—sparking fresh laughter.

Once the mirth settled, they returned to their meal—and launched into an intensive, twelve-on-one crash course in fraud prevention. When the meal ended and Chen Ji began clearing the table, the officers prepared to depart.

They already knew the cave’s location—evident from their earlier trek to the back mountain. Chen Ji made no move to stop them. He let them go.

After they left, Chen Ji turned to Little Translator. “Go inform Fifth Master. These are government personnel—tell him to lift the mist… They’re allies. Ask him to keep watch over them.”

Little Translator tilted his head. “But earlier, they wanted to take you in for questioning!”

Chen Ji sighed. “That’s normal. In human society, a young man living alone in the mountains—despite modern conveniences—is considered highly unusual.”

Little Translator nodded—and immediately mounted a spectral spirit, racing toward the back mountain.

Chen Ji then addressed Second Master Huang. “Second Master Huang—keep an eye on those people from earlier…”

Second Master Huang perked up. “Got it, got it! I’ll make sure they vanish without a trace!”

“…” Chen Ji fell silent for a beat. “No. I mean—make sure *nothing happens* to them.”

Second Master Huang: “…Huh?”

“Chen Ji, let me tell you—those guys are clearly shady! If you’re worried they’ll have an accident on the mountain, I’ll handle it once they’re down!”

Chen Ji felt utterly drained. But with the Mountain Lord present, he couldn’t explain *why* their safety mattered. So he simply said, “No—that won’t work. Right now, *I’m* their target. If anything happens to them, I’ll be the prime suspect—even without evidence. Besides, we’re trying to attract pilgrims and tourists to Grandfather Mountain. Accidents following visits would devastate our reputation.”

Tourists traveled far to burn incense, hoping for auspicious blessings while enjoying the scenery. If word spread that misfortune struck visitors *after* descending the mountain, every positive impression would evaporate.

Unless… they promoted a shortcut—and branded the temple as a place where prayers for *others’ misfortunes* actually came true?

…Huh? Actually—*that* might work?