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Even if there were truly time,
"I still couldn't save him."
Zhou Xuan had a clear understanding of his own capabilities.
He pocketed the notebook, pretending nothing had happened.
After waiting a few more minutes,
Yu Zhengyuan supported Mr. Dai, who was leaning on a cane, out of the Dai Mansion.
Mr. Dai wasn't that old, judging by his appearance, at most fifty, slender, wearing gold-rimmed glasses.
Yu Zhengyuan opened the backseat door and helped Mr. Dai into the car, lighting a cigar for him.
"Haha, Xiao Yu, in business, you have to know how to serve people. Many people serve me, but none please me as much as you do."
"Mr. Dai, you overpraise me."
After some commercial flattery, Yu Zhengyuan closed the door, got into the passenger seat, and apologized to Mr. Dai, "Mr. Dai, the driver today is our Young Master. He has stayed in the Zhou Family's Troupe for years, rarely goes out, and doesn't know his way well. I'll guide him."
"Oh, the Young Master is driving me? I'm quite fortunate." Mr. Dai never hesitated to praise people.
Praise was the cheapest thing,
it cost nothing, just a flick of the tongue.
Yet it yielded great returns—a reputation for kindness, self-satisfaction for subordinates, a good impression on strangers.
It was truly a profitable trade.
Zhou Xuan heard the praise but held no good impression of Mr. Dai. Instead, he frowned.
He smelled a scent,
the scent of blood.
The scent of blood emanated from Mr. Dai, even though he was covered in a strong tobacco scent, masking the blood smell almost completely.
But Zhou Xuan had experienced death once,
maintaining a unique sensitivity to the scent of blood.
...
The car started, heading towards the Pavilion Bridge.
The six death row convicts' shadow play today was to be performed by the Corridor River.
The location had been chosen by Mr. Dai.
In the car,
Mr. Dai and Yu Zhengyuan struck up a conversation.
"Xiao Yu, the policies have started shifting. Ping Shui Prefecture will greatly develop its industry this year. I'm planning to invest in an oil refinery. You're a capable person. Come work with me, and I'll make you the factory manager."
"I'm a simple man. I can't handle such big business, unlike you, Mr. Dai—a prominent figure in Ping Shui Prefecture. If you were to let go, just some crumbs of cookies would be enough to feed many."
"Haha, Xiao Yu, you're reprimanding me, accusing me of lacking generosity and not sharing wealth with the community."
"I wouldn't dare. Recently in the Mulin East District, there was disaster, and the victims flooded toward Taiping West Road. Wasn't it you and the Shande Society who organized the relief efforts and distributed food?
Now, among the victims, it's said that you're the reincarnation of Maitreya, delivering all beings."
"Far from it, quite far. Our Shande Society's strength is limited. We can only provide a bowl of thin porridge to the victims."
"Having thin porridge is already considered fortunate. A few years ago, during the Mingjiang Prefecture flood, if those refugees could have a bowl of thin porridge, not so many would have died of hunger. Oh, that sight, it brought tears to my eyes...."
"Amitabha." Mr. Dai's expression was compassionate, and he chanted the Buddha's name.
Zhou Xuan only felt that the scent of blood on Mr. Dai was stronger.
He casually asked, "Mr. Dai, do you also believe in Buddhism?"
"Not only do I believe, but I also build temples."
Yu Zhengyuan was more professional at flattery than doing business. He could flatter almost without pause.
"Xiao Xuan, in the East Suburb, there's a Mile Mountain, around which more than a dozen Maitreya Temples have been built, all funded by Mr. Dai. Tomorrow, I'll take you there to worship and see Mr. Dai's achievements."
Mr. Dai smiled, very satisfied with Yu Zhengyuan's flattery.
Yu Zhengyuan was a professional flatterer, but that wasn't all. He continued to chat with Zhou Xuan about Mr. Dai's home, "You haven't been to the Dai Mansion. There, the Buddhist aura is rich. In the courtyard, there's a large lake, half the size of our Zhou Family's Troupe, and it has an impressive name, called 'Water Central.'
In the lake, there's a house shaped like a lotus, called the 'Lotus Pond.'
Zhou Xuan felt his hair stand on end.
The sinister figure wrote in the notebook—the words were: 'He has acted, quickly, Water Central, Lotus Pond, Buddha!'
And that scent of blood on Mr. Dai...
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