Chapter 42: The Mischievous Chicken

“Senior brother, should we leave now?” Zhou Yan asked, her voice tinged with worry.

But Xiao Yang was caught up in his excitement, answering loudly, “Little lady, you should know just how impressive your brother is—even if the Marquis of War himself came, I’d have him eating out of my hand.”

“Oh!” Zhou Yan nodded in confusion. She didn’t quite understand what Xiao Yang was up to, but she chose to support him anyway.

Meanwhile, in the same remote mountains behind the Giant Spirit Sect, after a breathless gasp, Zhang Long stood up.

“Senior brother, those two wretches have gone to Northern Desert City. Should we…?” Gongsun Mei asked sweetly, her coquettish tone making Zhang Long’s blood stir again. Even as he moved, he replied, “Of course we can’t let them off the hook, but our own people can’t make a move. If that old man finds out, it’ll be trouble.”

Gongsun Mei batted her eyes seductively. “Alright, I’ll follow your lead.”

---

The Zhao Residence.

“Third son, you must acquire those shops, no matter what means you use,” Zhao Wude, the patriarch of the Zhao family, said coldly.

Almost immediately, a middle-aged man dropped to his knees. “Father, I understand. I’ll use more direct and effective methods.”

Sweat beaded on the speaker’s forehead. Any outsider witnessing this would have been shocked. The kneeling man was Zhao Shun’an, known beyond these walls as Third Master Zhao—a man whose reputation for ruthless killing was well deserved. Yet now, he trembled on the floor.

“Sometimes, the city’s laws are meant to be bent,” the family head remarked indifferently.

Zhao Shun’an nodded repeatedly. “Thank you for the reminder, Father. I understand.”

“Then go,” the patriarch dismissed him with a wave.

Zhao Shun’an had been eager to leave; if he could, he would never set foot in this place again. “Your son takes his leave,” he said, rising to go.

But just then, a panicked voice sounded. “Bad news! Terrible news!” The door had barely opened before someone rushed in and fell to their knees.

This, however, only provoked the patriarch’s ire. “What is it?”

“Master, the eldest young master has been gravely injured!”

At these words, a terrifying aura erupted, engulfing them both. Zhao Shun’an, being a Martial Grandmaster himself, could just barely withstand it. The servant who had delivered the message, however, collapsed under the pressure, a foul smell spreading as fear overcame him.

“Courting death!” the family head roared.

A pair of blood-red eyes appeared behind him. With a wave of his hand—bang!—the servant was reduced to a pile of mangled flesh.

Zhao Shun’an stood in shock, letting the blood splatter across his face.

“Outrageous,” the head of the Zhao family raged.

Seeing his father so furious, Zhao Shun’an asked in a whisper, “Father, should I go and take a look?”

“No need. I’ll handle this myself. I want to see which fool dared to lay a hand on a member of the Zhao family.” He dispersed his threatening aura. “When I return, I expect the deeds to those shops in your hands,” he said coldly, then strode out of the room.

It was several moments before Zhao Shun’an regained his composure. “Since you’re all seeking death, don’t blame me for what happens next.” Zhao Wude’s words were not empty threats. If this task wasn’t completed, even as Third Master of the family, he’d suffer dearly.

Time was short. Zhao Shun’an hurried out of the Zhao residence.

Two enormous tigers, each over ten feet long, padded into the room, devouring the remains on the floor, licking even the ground clean.

---

“Damn!” Xiao Yang was utterly bewildered.

The vast Fortune Hall was completely deserted. Only now did he understand why, when his shop was smashed up, no one had intervened—there simply hadn’t been any staff.

As for why everyone had left, Xiao Yang couldn’t be bothered to figure it out. He was sure of one thing: the shop needed to be renovated. Taking advantage of the situation, he decided he wouldn’t reopen as a gambling house. But he had no idea what to sell now.

Walking down the street, he’d seen shops selling almost everything—food, drink, entertainment—every kind of pleasure. If he wanted to succeed and stand out, he needed something unique.

The only real talent he could offer was his culinary skill. But he didn’t want to open a restaurant; he was afraid Zhou Yan would throw herself into being a chef without restraint. If that happened, Zhou Jingpeng would probably beat him to a pulp.

Suddenly, two figures bustled through the door, clucking merrily—it was Chicken Tyrant and the Shadow Panther Demon, back from their mischief.

“If you two run off again, I’ll beat you both to death,” Xiao Yang said irritably.

The Shadow Panther Demon was easy enough—it was a beast, and any beast wandering Northern Desert City probably had a master. Chicken Tyrant was also a demon beast, but it looked just like a regular speckled chicken—albeit a particularly striking one, full of vigor. For other demon beasts, such traits might be good, but Chicken Tyrant, being a speckled chicken, was in danger. Even Xiao Yang was tempted to stew him.

What Xiao Yang feared most was someone capturing the creature and cooking it, not realizing it was no ordinary chicken.

Chicken Tyrant sidled up to him, clucking ingratiatingly.

“Don’t try to butter me up—it won’t work. Run off again and I’ll stew you myself,” Xiao Yang warned coldly, leaving no room for negotiation.

Chicken Tyrant, no matter how gifted or clever, was still only a Demon Master-level beast. Northern Desert City was full of Martial Grandmasters; getting caught was only a matter of time.

Chicken Tyrant hung his head, looking wounded, which stirred Zhou Yan’s sympathy. “Senior brother, let it go. It’s still young; mistakes are inevitable.”

Xiao Yang nodded in agreement. The fellow wasn’t even ten days old. It was natural to be curious about the world, and his anger subsided.

“If there’s a next time, even if I don’t stew you, someone else will,” he warned.

At this, Chicken Tyrant lifted his head, eyes full of arrogance, as if to say: “Aside from you, who would dare stew me?”

“Damn, are you looking for a beating?” Xiao Yang snapped, annoyed that all his admonishments had been for nothing.

Just as he was about to take action, a shout came from outside, “Young master, that big rooster ran into this shop!”

Almost at once, a commotion erupted outside. Four young men strode in, each clearly a scion of a great family.

“Where’s the manager? Come out!” one of them bellowed.

Xiao Yang ignored them, glancing at Chicken Tyrant instead. He’d heard clearly—they were after the chicken.

“You’ve gotten me into trouble again, haven’t you?” he muttered.

Chicken Tyrant looked back at him, feigning innocence.

“Manager!” another angry shout.

Reluctantly, Xiao Yang stepped forward. The four young men immediately fixed their gaze, not on him, but on Chicken Tyrant.

“That chicken is mine—the rest of you, get lost.”

“Nonsense, I saw it first. You lot, have some shame!”

“I’m the eldest among the four of us—”

In an instant, chaos erupted between them, leaving Xiao Yang bewildered.

“Shut up, all of you!” he roared.

The four fell silent, turning hostile eyes on him.

“You dare shout at us?” sneered a young man in golden robes, glaring coldly at Xiao Yang.

Irritation flared within Xiao Yang. He was about to roll up his sleeves and teach them a lesson when Zhou Yan stopped him.

“Senior brother, these four are the young masters of the City Lord’s residence,” she whispered.

Xiao Yang sobered up at once. The City Lord’s mansion of Northern Desert City had enough power to go toe-to-toe with the Giant Spirit Sect. With the city’s other factions added in, even the sect would have to back down.

“So, are you the manager?” the golden-robed youth asked, glancing at Xiao Yang. “I want your chicken. Name your price,” he said coolly.

Xiao Yang stared blankly for a moment, then glared at Chicken Tyrant. Sure enough, trouble always followed this creature.