Joining Tiandao Company: Starting by mending a zombie world

Chu Sheng pushed open the door to the ancestral hall, and Madam Qingling, carrying Su Xiaoyao, floated out from the memorial tablet and landed beside him, teasingly saying:

"Sir, how did that Miss Dai cause you any trouble this time?"

"Make things difficult for me?" Chu Sheng plopped down at the tea table, poured himself a cup of tea, and gulped down more than half of it. "She didn't make things difficult for me, she just scolded me."

"Scolding you?" Su Xiaoyao stuck her little feet up high, looking smug. "Master, you've finally met your match."

Chu Sheng glared at her and slammed his teacup on the table: "Go away, what does a little brat like you know?"

Despite saying that, the corners of his mouth unconsciously turned up.

Although Dai Ran's words were blunt, every word she uttered revealed her true feelings.

In this world, there aren't many people who will tell you the truth.

"What is the master thinking about?" Madam Qingling asked softly.

"Thinking about money." Chu Sheng opened his eyes and gave a bitter smile. "The million or so I have left is probably not even enough to qualify for a bidding position in a game of that level."

After pondering for a moment, Madam Qingling suddenly spoke up: "My lord, I have an idea."

"explain."

"Since you know how to refine pills, why not sell a few to get some cash before the treasure appraisal event begins?" said Madam Qingling.

"The ginseng spirit pill that Master just refined is a priceless treasure in the eyes of those in the Xuanmen sect."

Chu Sheng was taken aback, then his eyes lit up.

Lady Qingling is right. Although the Ginseng Spirit Pill is only a low-grade pill, its advantage lies in its clear efficacy—doubling the body's strength, without any side effects or drug resistance.

In the Dharma-ending Age, this elixir is rarer than gold.

That makes sense.

"I'll keep eight for myself, and exchange the remaining four for money. That should be enough to make a sum."

He sat up straight and, as he spoke, poured out the Ginseng Spirit Pills from the jade bottle, placing two pills into two small celadon medicine bottles, one for each bottle.

The bottle was sealed with a cork, and a yellow talisman was affixed to it to seal in the spiritual energy.

On the day of departure, Chu Sheng got up very early, and Dai Ran's car had already arrived just as he stepped out the door.

It wasn't her own BMW X7, but a more understated black Volvo.

As soon as I sat down, they handed me a paper bag.

"breakfast."

Chu Sheng opened the paper bag, inside was a steaming hot egg pancake and a cup of soy milk.

He was taken aback, then turned to look at Dai Ran: "You bought it?"

"Otherwise what?" Dai Ran started the car, looking straight ahead. "You definitely didn't eat."

Chu Sheng didn't say anything, but took a bite of the pancake. The crust was crispy, the egg was tender, and the sauce was just the right amount of salty.

He finished one in a few bites, then picked up the soy milk and drank more than half a cup before leaning back in his chair and letting out a long sigh.

"Comfortable."

Dai Ran's lips curled up slightly, but she didn't reply. She stepped on the gas, and as soon as the car started moving, her phone vibrated.

He took it out and saw it was a message from Fatty Yu:

"Hey bro, I heard something for you. Besides the regular auction at the Shanghai Treasure Appraisal Event, there's also a 'secret event' in the last two days."

Chu Sheng raised an eyebrow and typed back: "What dark area?"

Fatty Yu replied instantly: "It's just a private barter system. It doesn't go through an auction house; the buyer and seller negotiate directly. Some shady items circulate in the shadows."

Chu Sheng's heart skipped a beat: "How do we get in?"

"The dark screenings require separate tickets, which are even harder to get than the open screenings," Fatty Yu sent a wry smile emoji. "I don't know either."

Just as Chu Sheng was about to reply, Dai Ran glanced at him and said, "Who are you chatting with? You're laughing like you've stolen a chicken."

"Fatty Yu." Chu Sheng waved his phone screen at her. "He said there's a secret event two days after the appraisal meeting, specifically for private transactions, involving some items that can't be found on the market."

Dai Ran steered the car onto the elevated highway with one hand, her tone becoming more interested: "I've heard my grandfather mention the underground market before. Two years ago, a collector traded a fake Tang Bohu painting for a genuine Xuande incense burner at the underground market. Later, it was discovered that the burner was something that had come from the Old Summer Palace, which caused quite a stir."

"What else do you know?"

"The rules in the shadows are more numerous than in the open," Dai Ran recalled her grandfather's words. "You need an introduction to get in. An invitation alone isn't enough."

Chu Sheng recalled what Fatty Yu had said about how tickets for the dark screenings were even harder to get than those for the open screenings; it seemed that wasn't an exaggeration.

The roadside trees on both sides of the airport expressway rushed past. Dai Ran kept the car speed at 110 km/h, and Suzhou storytelling was playing on the radio, the soft Wu dialect flowing gently. Chu Sheng leaned back in his seat, closing his eyes to rest.

Two hours later, the plane landed at Hongqiao Airport.

After exiting the arrival gate, Chu Sheng dialed the number on the business card. It rang three times before being answered by a slightly aged male voice, full of energy: "Who is this?"

"Grandpa Dai Mingde told me to do it. My surname is Chu."

"Oh, Lao Dai mentioned it." The other person's tone immediately warmed up. "You've arrived in Shanghai?"

"Just arrived at Hongqiao."

"Wait, I'll send someone to pick you up."

About forty minutes later, a dark green, older model Mercedes pulled up outside the arrival gate.

The driver was a lean man in his fifties, wearing a gray cloth shirt with a Chinese knot button. He didn't talk much, only confirming "Mr. Chu and Ms. Dai" before opening the car door and inviting the two of them in.

The car traveled west along the Yan'an Elevated Road, passed Jing'an Temple, and turned onto a quiet road lined with plane trees.

On both sides of the road are old Western-style houses, one after another, with red bricks and gray tiles, and ivy covering the entire wall.

Some buildings have bronze plaques hanging at their entrances indicating that they are art galleries or private clubs, while most others have their doors tightly shut, with only a few clumps of bamboo or a corner of a rockery peeking out from the gaps in the iron fence.

"This area used to be the French Concession," Dai Ran said, peering out the car window. "My grandfather said he lived here for a few years when he was a child."

Chu Sheng had no concept of old-style houses; he just felt that this road was so quiet that it didn't seem like the center of Shanghai.

The wheels rolled over the fallen sycamore leaves, making a soft rustling sound.

The car stopped in front of a three-story red brick house. The iron gate was covered with roses, which were in full bloom, pink and white, hanging densely from the lintel.

The driver honked the horn twice, and the iron gate slowly opened.

In the small courtyard in front of the villa, an old man with white hair and beard was squatting by the flower bed, pruning roses.

He was wearing a gray cloth long gown with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and in his hand was an old-fashioned pair of garden shears, snip-sn ...

Hearing the car, he stood up, put the scissors in his apron pocket, patted the mud off his hands, and walked towards the door.

"Old Dai's granddaughter is so grown up now." The old man looked Dai Ran up and down, the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes squeezing into a chrysanthemum shape. "The last time I saw you, you were only this tall."

"Grandpa Duan," Dai Ran called out obediently, then nudged Chu Sheng with her elbow.

"Mr. Duan, I apologize for disturbing you." Chu Sheng clasped his hands in greeting.

"Don't call me 'old sir,' just call me Old Duan." Duan Henian waved his hand, not bothering with formalities, and turned to walk into the house.

"Come in, the rooms are all ready. There are two rooms on the east side of the second floor, one for each of you, separated by a wall. Feel free to visit each other if you like, but the old man is hard of hearing and can't hear anything."

Dai Ran's face flushed red.

Some buildings have bronze plaques hanging at their entrances indicating that they are art galleries or private clubs, while most others have their doors tightly shut, with only a few clumps of bamboo or a corner of a rockery peeking out from the gaps in the iron fence.

"This area used to be the French Concession," Dai Ran said, peering out the car window. "My grandfather said he lived here for a few years when he was a child."

Chu Sheng had no concept of old-style houses; he just felt that this road was so quiet that it didn't seem like the center of Shanghai.

The wheels rolled over the fallen sycamore leaves, making a soft rustling sound.

The car stopped in front of a three-story red brick house. The iron gate was covered with roses, which were in full bloom, pink and white, hanging densely from the lintel.

The driver honked the horn twice, and the iron gate slowly opened.

In the small courtyard in front of the villa, an old man with white hair and beard was squatting by the flower bed, pruning roses.

He was wearing a gray cloth long gown with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and in his hand was an old-fashioned pair of garden shears, snip-sn ...

Hearing the car, he stood up, put the scissors in his apron pocket, patted the mud off his hands, and walked towards the door.

"Old Dai's granddaughter is so grown up now." The old man looked Dai Ran up and down, the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes squeezing into a chrysanthemum shape. "The last time I saw you, you were only this tall."

"Grandpa Duan," Dai Ran called out obediently, then nudged Chu Sheng with her elbow.

"Mr. Duan, I apologize for disturbing you." Chu Sheng clasped his hands in greeting.

"Don't call me 'old sir,' just call me Old Duan." Duan Henian waved his hand, not bothering with formalities, and turned to walk into the house.

"Come in, the rooms are all ready. There are two rooms on the east side of the second floor, one for each of you, separated by a wall. Feel free to visit each other if you like, but the old man is hard of hearing and can't hear anything."

Dai Ran's face flushed red.

Some buildings have bronze plaques hanging at their entrances indicating that they are art galleries or private clubs, while most others have their doors tightly shut, with only a few clumps of bamboo or a corner of a rockery peeking out from the gaps in the iron fence.

"This area used to be the French Concession," Dai Ran said, peering out the car window. "My grandfather said he lived here for a few years when he was a child."

Chu Sheng had no concept of old-style houses; he just felt that this road was so quiet that it didn't seem like the center of Shanghai.

The wheels rolled over the fallen sycamore leaves, making a soft rustling sound.

The car stopped in front of a three-story red brick house. The iron gate was covered with roses, which were in full bloom, pink and white, hanging densely from the lintel.

The driver honked the horn twice, and the iron gate slowly opened.

In the small courtyard in front of the villa, an old man with white hair and beard was squatting by the flower bed, pruning roses.

He was wearing a gray cloth long gown with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and in his hand was an old-fashioned pair of garden shears, snip-sn ...

Hearing the car, he stood up, put the scissors in his apron pocket, patted the mud off his hands, and walked towards the door.

"Old Dai's granddaughter is so grown up now." The old man looked Dai Ran up and down, the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes squeezing into a chrysanthemum shape. "The last time I saw you, you were only this tall."

"Grandpa Duan," Dai Ran called out obediently, then nudged Chu Sheng with her elbow.

"Mr. Duan, I apologize for disturbing you." Chu Sheng clasped his hands in greeting.

"Don't call me 'old sir,' just call me Old Duan." Duan Henian waved his hand, not bothering with formalities, and turned to walk into the house.

"Come in, the rooms are all ready. There are two rooms on the east side of the second floor, one for each of you, separated by a wall. Feel free to visit each other if you like, but the old man is hard of hearing and can't hear anything."

Dai Ran's face flushed red.

Cola Novels, your portable library, contains more than ten thousand volumes.

On both sides of the road are old Western-style houses, one after another, with red bricks and gray tiles, and ivy covering the entire wall.

Some buildings have bronze plaques hanging at their entrances indicating that they are art galleries or private clubs, while most others have their doors tightly shut, with only a few clumps of bamboo or a corner of a rockery peeking out from the gaps in the iron fence.

"This area used to be the French Concession," Dai Ran said, peering out the car window. "My grandfather said he lived here for a few years when he was a child."

Chu Sheng had no concept of old-style houses; he just felt that this road was so quiet that it didn't seem like the center of Shanghai.

The wheels rolled over the fallen sycamore leaves, making a soft rustling sound.

The car stopped in front of a three-story red brick house. The iron gate was covered with roses, which were in full bloom, pink and white, hanging densely from the lintel.

The driver honked the horn twice, and the iron gate slowly opened.

In the small courtyard in front of the villa, an old man with white hair and beard was squatting by the flower bed, pruning roses.

He was wearing a gray cloth long gown with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and in his hand was an old-fashioned pair of garden shears, snip-sn ...

Hearing the car, he stood up, put the scissors in his apron pocket, patted the mud off his hands, and walked towards the door.

"Old Dai's granddaughter is so grown up now." The old man looked Dai Ran up and down, the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes squeezing into a chrysanthemum shape. "The last time I saw you, you were only this tall."

"Grandpa Duan," Dai Ran called out obediently, then nudged Chu Sheng with her elbow.

"Mr. Duan, I apologize for disturbing you." Chu Sheng clasped his hands in greeting.

"Don't call me 'old sir,' just call me Old Duan." Duan Henian waved his hand, not bothering with formalities, and turned to walk into the house.

"Come in, the rooms are all ready. There are two rooms on the east side of the second floor, one for each of you, separated by a wall. Feel free to visit each other if you like, but the old man is hard of hearing and can't hear anything."

Dai Ran's face flushed red.

Some buildings have bronze plaques hanging at their entrances indicating that they are art galleries or private clubs, while most others have their doors tightly shut, with only a few clumps of bamboo or a corner of a rockery peeking out from the gaps in the iron fence.

"This area used to be the French Concession," Dai Ran said, peering out the car window. "My grandfather said he lived here for a few years when he was a child."

Chu Sheng had no concept of old-style houses; he just felt that this road was so quiet that it didn't seem like the center of Shanghai.

The wheels rolled over the fallen sycamore leaves, making a soft rustling sound.

The car stopped in front of a three-story red brick house. The iron gate was covered with roses, which were in full bloom, pink and white, hanging densely from the lintel.

The driver honked the horn twice, and the iron gate slowly opened.

In the small courtyard in front of the villa, an old man with white hair and beard was squatting by the flower bed, pruning roses.

He was wearing a gray cloth long gown with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and in his hand was an old-fashioned pair of garden shears, snip-sn ...

Hearing the car, he stood up, put the scissors in his apron pocket, patted the mud off his hands, and walked towards the door.

"Old Dai's granddaughter is so grown up now." The old man looked Dai Ran up and down, the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes squeezing into a chrysanthemum shape. "The last time I saw you, you were only this tall."

"Grandpa Duan," Dai Ran called out obediently, then nudged Chu Sheng with her elbow.

"Mr. Duan, I apologize for disturbing you." Chu Sheng clasped his hands in greeting.

"Don't call me 'old sir,' just call me Old Duan." Duan Henian waved his hand, not bothering with formalities, and turned to walk into the house.

"Come in, the rooms are all ready. There are two rooms on the east side of the second floor, one for each of you, separated by a wall. Feel free to visit each other if you like, but the old man is hard of hearing and can't hear anything."

Dai Ran's face flushed red.

On both sides of the road are old Western-style houses, one after another, with red bricks and gray tiles, and ivy covering the entire wall.

Some buildings have bronze plaques hanging at their entrances indicating that they are art galleries or private clubs, while most others have their doors tightly shut, with only a few clumps of bamboo or a corner of a rockery peeking out from the gaps in the iron fence.

"This area used to be the French Concession," Dai Ran said, peering out the car window. "My grandfather said he lived here for a few years when he was a child."

Chu Sheng had no concept of old-style houses; he just felt that this road was so quiet that it didn't seem like the center of Shanghai.

The wheels rolled over the fallen sycamore leaves, making a soft rustling sound.

The car stopped in front of a three-story red brick house. The iron gate was covered with roses, which were in full bloom, pink and white, hanging densely from the lintel.

The driver honked the horn twice, and the iron gate slowly opened.

In the small courtyard in front of the villa, an old man with white hair and beard was squatting by the flower bed, pruning roses.

He was wearing a gray cloth long gown with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and in his hand was an old-fashioned pair of garden shears, snip-sn ...

Hearing the car, he stood up, put the scissors in his apron pocket, patted the mud off his hands, and walked towards the door.

"Old Dai's granddaughter is so grown up now." The old man looked Dai Ran up and down, the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes squeezing into a chrysanthemum shape. "The last time I saw you, you were only this tall."

"Grandpa Duan," Dai Ran called out obediently, then nudged Chu Sheng with her elbow.

"Mr. Duan, I apologize for disturbing you." Chu Sheng clasped his hands in greeting.

"Don't call me 'old sir,' just call me Old Duan." Duan Henian waved his hand, not bothering with formalities, and turned to walk into the house.

"Come in, the rooms are all ready. There are two rooms on the east side of the second floor, one for each of you, separated by a wall. Feel free to visit each other if you like, but the old man is hard of hearing and can't hear anything."

Dai Ran's face flushed red.