Chapter 15

Qiao Qingshuang strode quickly to the gates of the estate, and the others naturally followed him out of the cars.

The rear door of the car parked at the entrance swung open once more, this time at Su Xuan’s hand. An Yu trailed after Qiao Qingshuang into the grounds, while Su Xuan stood guard by the vehicle.

Some of those present recognized Su Xuan. He was the one being groomed as Qiao Qingshuang’s successor—a heavenly master whom many longed to meet but rarely could. For such a figure to personally open the door and lean in with a smile to chat with the passenger inside… what sort of formidable person could be sitting there?

Su Xuan extended his hand to the person within, and to everyone’s surprise, a slender, youthful hand clasped it. A boy stepped out of the car.

Even amid the glittering stars of the entertainment world, the boy shone with exceptional brilliance. His youthfully unfinished features blended with flawless refinement to create an androgynous beauty that defied gender, his eyes holding a purity untouched by the world’s grime. He naturally evoked a desire to protect him, as if the moonlight itself favored him, casting a soft, ethereal glow around his form.

More strikingly, he bore a resemblance to Qiao Qingshuang.

“Brother,” he called the moment his feet touched the ground, dashing over to hug Qiao Qingshuang’s arm and gazing up at him adoringly.

“Let me introduce him,” Qiao Qingshuang said, suppressing the smile tugging at his lips to maintain the aloof demeanor befitting Celestial Master Qiao. “This is my younger brother, Qiao Qingli.”

That single word—”Brother”—had already clued them in to the boy’s identity, but Celestial Master Qiao had gone out of his way to confirm it. The crowd recovered from their shock at “Celestial Master Qiao has a brother?!” and chimed in with flattery.

“Celestial Master Qiao’s brother is so handsome.”

“I could tell at a glance he was Celestial Master Qiao’s brother—they look so much alike.”

“I’ve seen so many actors, but none of them hold a candle to young Master Qiao.”

Xiao Li had some intellectual impairments, but he wasn’t shy in crowds. He smiled at everyone who complimented him—until his gaze landed on one person. His smile froze, fear flickering in his eyes, his grip on Qiao Qingshuang’s hand beginning to tremble.

Qiao Qingshuang’s good mood soured at the crowd’s words, his brows darkening.

Half a year ago, Xiao Li had shown up on his doorstep shrouded in mysteries.

Qiao Qingshuang had never known he had a brother. By his calculations, Xiao Li had been born the same year their mother died. That year, he’d been deep in secluded cultivation at his sect, far from her side. Though he’d known her health had been poor, the idea of a sibling had seemed unlikely.

Yet Xiao Li undeniably resembled him, so he’d had their blood relation tested—and sure enough, Xiao Li was his brother.

How had his brother been lost? What ordeals had he endured outside to end up in such a pitiful state?

Xiao Li’s mind was impaired; he remembered nothing. The doctors suspected some past trauma, so Qiao Qingshuang had never pressed him to recall. Compared to Xiao Li’s health and happiness, the past didn’t matter—what counted was that his brother was back at his side now.

Of course, he’d quietly dispatched people to investigate.

In the half-year since, there had been almost no leads. Until now, when Xiao Li reacted with such terror to one person.

Qiao Qingshuang first patted Xiao Li’s head, pressing the still-warm cup of Chicken Head Rice into his hands before slowly lifting his gaze. His eyes, sharp as frost-edged swords, fixed on the man—the very Qi Ming who had been about to speak to him moments earlier.

Qi Ming steadied himself against the wall behind him, shaking like a leaf, sweat beading on his forehead and the tip of his nose. A pounding headache felt like it might split his skull.

He’d long heard from those around him just how formidable Qiao Qingshuang was, but it had always felt like some abstract legend from a book—something he knew of but couldn’t grasp. Now, he felt it viscerally. A single glance from Qiao Qingshuang, and his mind churned as if raked by blades.

Why?

Qiao Qingshuang steeled himself and asked, “Xiao Li, why are you afraid of this man?”

Xiao Li clutched the cup in both hands, head bowed, silent.

“Don’t be scared.” Qiao Qingshuang positioned himself to block Qi Ming from view, placing both hands on Xiao Li’s shoulders to lend him strength. “Brother will protect you. Trust Brother. Tell me—why are you afraid of him?”

Xiao Li finally spoke. “I wanted food. He hit me.”

“…”

Qi Ming: “?”

He should’ve checked his horoscope before heading out today. First that Bai Chen, whom they’d failed to blacklist, turning out to have some hidden connection to Qiao Qingshuang. Now this surprise brother of Qiao Qingshuang’s, accusing him of hitting him?

Hit him???

He’d never even seen the kid!

Heaven help him!

Amid the crowd’s skeptical stares and eager anticipation, under Qiao Qingshuang’s deathly glare, Qi Ming protested loudly, “I didn’t! I swear I didn’t!”

“Oh, President Qi, kids don’t lie. Look how Celestial Master Qiao’s brother is trembling—he’s clearly been hurt by you before.”

“Did you mistake Celestial Master Qiao’s brother for a beggar and kick him away without even looking at his face?”

“Even if so, that’s no excuse. So President Qi’s got such a nasty temper behind closed doors?”

Normally, these people treated Qi Ming with utmost respect, all smiles and deference. But forced to pick sides between him and Celestial Master Qiao? They’d choose blindfolded.

Everyone knew Starlight Entertainment was done for.

Nearly all were busy condemning Qi Ming, none noticing how the boy’s lips curved upward ever so slightly around the straw as he kept his head down. That smile looked eerie and alluring on his pristine, beautiful face.

Bai Chen slurped a Chicken Head Rice pearl into his mouth and chewed. Qi Ming hadn’t hit him—it was the other way around. He’d hit Qi Ming.

One day, cradled in Jiang Yuanmu’s arms, he’d passed the towering mall across from Everbright Street. Two girls there had pointed excitedly at a billboard featuring some star, chattering away. Bai Chen hadn’t caught much, but he’d heard that being a celebrity meant making tons of money and getting lots of love.

So, he’d decided to become a star.

It had been surprisingly easy. He’d just popped into a solo livestream on the street, shown his face, and gone viral overnight. Offers for ads and dramas poured in—one from Starlight Entertainment.

He’d turned down their agent. He couldn’t work on their schedule; he wasn’t suited to sign with any company.

Days later, Starlight Entertainment came knocking again—this time Qi Ming himself.

They’d been eating in a private room when Qi Ming edged closer, breathing heavily as his hand reached for Bai Chen’s face. Bai Chen had sensed a flicker of “love,” but it tasted foul, so he’d punched him.

With a bruised and swollen face, Qi Ming had snarled, “Bai Chen, you’ll come crawling back begging one day!”

Bai Chen got blacklisted. It was only after dragging Chu Xuzhou home that he returned to the industry.

He hated being banned. It was cold and isolating—no one could see him. His least favorite thing.

So he hated Qi Ming too.

He hadn’t run into Qi Ming since reclaiming his spot in showbiz. Perfect timing today—he had Brother to settle the score.

Watching Qiao Qingshuang advance on Qi Ming, Bai Chen sucked up another Chicken Head Rice pearl. Not as good as Old Liu’s, but edible.

“Celestial Master Qiao! Celestial Master Qiao! My grandfather is Qi Junfa—he sent me to find you! He has something urgent, probably involving the Strangeness King!” Qi Ming backed away, blurting desperately.

Qiao Qingshuang halted. “So you’re Elder Qi’s kin. What a coincidence.”

His tone mocked Elder Qi with no trace of respect, laced instead with pointed amusement. “He needs my help with something, does he?”

Qi Ming opened his mouth, but no words came. His stiff, ugly expression twisted into a forced grin.

Bai Chen glanced over. Who was Qi Junfa?

It wasn’t until they reached the hotel, with Qi Ming finally explaining why his grandfather sought Qiao Qingshuang, that Bai Chen learned who Qi Junfa was.

In the hotel room, several cups of Chicken Head Rice beverage dotted the table. Bai Chen refused another sip, claiming, “It’s not as good as Old Liu’s.” He said, “Brother, I want chicken legs.”

Qi Ming huddled cautiously in the corner of the opposite sofa, baffled as to why those words made Qiao Qingshuang laugh.

They said Celestial Master Qiao was impossible to please—money and people sent his way did nothing. Yet this boy made him smile with a single sentence? Over a chicken leg?

Qiao Qingshuang didn’t even look up. “Keep going.”

Qi Ming hurried on. “After my grandmother underwent Corpse Transformation and beat me senseless, the ancestors in our Qi Family Tomb Forest started rising one after another, doing… all sorts of bizarre things. My father couldn’t handle it. Grandpa tried too, but failed. He said it’s definitely tied to the Strangeness King.”

The Qi family had produced many legendary heavenly masters in the past, so Qi Ming had been born into a prestigious lineage. But that declined with his father’s generation. Rumor had it his father started drawing talismans daily at three and practicing swordplay at four—yet at forty, he was just a mediocre heavenly master.

Qi Ming himself was even less suited. He’d long accepted he wasn’t heavenly master material, instead leveraging the family’s clout and connections to thrive in entertainment.

Families like theirs didn’t cremate their dead. They selected prime feng shui sites for burial.

That site was the Qi Family Tomb Garden, chosen by one of their ancestors. All Qi dead were interred there.

It had started three months ago, on what should’ve been a delightful night. A fresh, pretty face from the industry lay beside him. He stroked that face contentedly and drifted off.

Half-asleep, he felt a chill. Opening his eyes, he saw his grandmother.

He thought it a dream. Especially right after her death, he’d often dreamed of her—she’d doted on him most in the family.

Even in college, when he’d chosen entertainment over the heavenly master path, Grandpa had grabbed his stick. Grandma had shielded him, insisting her good grandson should follow his dreams. From childhood, she’d spoiled him rotten, giving him anything he wanted—and ultimately, the resources to launch his entertainment company.

In the dream, he reached to hug her. But she struck first—that withered, purple-black hand slapping him hard across the face, sending him flying from the bed.

Qi Ming clutched his cheek, now streaked with bloody welts, in shock, confusion, agony.

That night, the grandmother who loved him so dearly (in corpse form) beat him mercilessly.

She said nothing—just battered him in a frenzy of rage.

The same night, the tomb keepers discovered the vast Qi Family Tomb Garden quaking. Coffin lids couldn’t contain the dead within; the ancestors clawed their way out. The horrific scene under the moonlight scared the keepers unconscious.

His father rushed over but couldn’t fend off the horde and took a beating too.

Father wasn’t up to it, so Grandpa went. Truth be told, his grandfather was a powerful heavenly master who could have subdued them. But dare he fight his own ancestors?

In the end, Grandpa—nearly eighty—still got pummeled by the mob.