Trafford's Trading Club

Chapter 1242: The Clan

Late at night, Leng Feng finally finished tending to his wounds. The cut on his arm hadn’t hit the bone—lucky enough—and though the arm he used to block Viper’s punch was swollen red and sore, it wasn’t visible under his long sleeves.

The pain was sharp at first, but once he got used to it, it barely hindered his movements. For an old soldier, this kind of injury was nothing he couldn’t bear.

Still, Leng Feng couldn’t stop thinking over everything that had happened that night.

Viper’s escape had been a total accident. Given the level of power he’d displayed, he must have been confident he could kill Leng Feng.

Viper had made his name over ten years ago—a true martial artist who had mastered ancient techniques, and who was also a terrifying expert in knife assassinations. He came prepared and well-rested, while Leng Feng had spent the evening drinking and even ran on the treadmill for over an hour, burning plenty of energy.

So when Viper attacked, it should’ve been like a dragon diving straight onto its prey. How could he possibly lose?

Yet somehow, that final punch broke Viper’s own wrist, crippling his strength and giving Leng Feng a chance to turn things around. But that didn’t mean Viper wouldn’t show up again.

Since he’d revealed that the Zhao family was behind all this, he’d obviously been ready for either outcome—Leng Feng’s compliance, or killing him if he refused.

Leng Feng wasn’t sure how deep the Zhao family’s ties ran within the upper ranks. Investigating him wasn’t difficult—anyone with some position could do that—but knowing he was on that classified mission list was another matter entirely.

There was too much to think about, especially when it involved the struggle for power.In a real fight, Leng Feng had never feared anyone. But when it came to those powerful families with influence that reached into the heavens, brute strength was useless. The games of politics and privilege were far deadlier than combat.

In the end, Leng Feng decided not to report what had happened. He couldn’t tell who in the army he could still trust—or how far the infiltration had gone.

If he were still alone, he might have confronted them head-on. But since marrying and having a child, his temper had cooled.

“Once I join the classified project, the organization will relocate my family into a special protected housing zone… Maybe after that, I can actually do something. For now, I just need to prepare for Viper’s next move.”

Still, given how badly injured Viper was, he probably wouldn’t strike again within the next few days. The next encounter would likely come once Leng Feng returned to the capital—before that classified mission began.

Thinking of his wife and child in Beijing, Leng Feng made a late-night call, telling them to stay with an old classmate for a few days. The classmate’s father was a retired general, and the Zhao family wouldn’t dare make a move there.

Only then did Leng Feng text Ren Ziling to confirm their meeting for the next day. Finally, he lay down on the bed, closing his eyes—not to sleep, but to rest his mind.

---

While Leng Feng pondered how to respond, Luo Qiu had already returned home.

Auntie Ren had just gotten back from dropping off the Ma couple and was in the shower, loudly singing off-key.

Luo Qiu poured himself a glass of water and took a slow sip. Just then, someone knocked at the door.

It was Nan Xiaonan.

Instead of letting her into his room, Luo Qiu met her in the living room. Obediently, she produced a USB drive and placed it solemnly in front of him.

“It’s all written,” she said.

“Good. I didn’t want to trouble you for too long,” Luo Qiu replied with a faint smile.

Nan Xiaonan’s face was calm, but her cheeks looked a little sunken—she seemed undernourished and pale.

“Thank you,” he said, snapping his fingers lightly.

“Thank you!” Her face lit up with delight.

Instantly, she felt her energy surge back; fatigue faded, and her complexion improved, though her power level hadn’t increased at all.

That recovery would still depend on her own cultivation later. Luo Qiu’s snap had merely saved her a few days of rest.

“Mr. Luo, if there’s nothing else, I’ll go back to my room,” she said politely. “Tomorrow morning I’ll let Miss Ren know that I’m moving out.”

Luo Qiu nodded. “I’ll take a look at these materials. If I have questions, may you teach me?”

“I wouldn’t dare call it teaching,” she replied quickly, waving her hands. “But I’ll answer everything I can.”

If Luo Qiu really did ask, she would respond in full detail.

Her little scheme was simple: if Luo Qiu became genuinely interested in the Star Creation Ritual and incorporated it into the sub-world, she could skip years—maybe decades—of work.

Only when the ritual was officially recognized by the world’s will would she be able to unleash its full potential.

Then, without any further words, Nan Xiaonan returned to her room quietly. Luo Qiu appreciated this kind of interaction. He picked up the USB drive, glanced at it, then conjured a parchment scroll from thin air.

It contained information about the Zhao family in the capital.

Reading as he walked back to his room, Luo Qiu knocked lightly on the bathroom door as he passed.

Ren Ziling’s off-key singing stopped instantly.

Luo Qiu smiled faintly and went to his room, where he began studying the intelligence report on the Zhao family.

The Zhao clan was one of the four great aristocratic families of Beijing—on par with the Zhong family. They were heavily involved in medicine, biotechnology, and new energy industries.

Back in the 1920s and 1930s, the Zhao family had risen in the Putian region of Fujian. When the war spread, the Zhao patriarch rallied the local healers to join the Red cause, saving lives on the battlefield. After the founding of the new nation, they grew steadily in power.

Many of today’s major families were built in the postwar years. Luo Qiu wasn’t especially interested in their history, though—what intrigued him was their bloodline.

It turned out that the Zhao family’s ancestors were directly descended from the imperial line of the Song Dynasty. Unlike the Song family, who had changed their surname to hide, the Zhao family had always considered themselves legitimate heirs.

That meant the Zhao and Song families shared the same roots—descendants of one clan.

“Hm…” Luo Qiu murmured.

---

Morning came. Ren Ziling, half-asleep, brushed her teeth messily, her hair like a bird’s nest.

Nan Xiaonan, already dressed and carrying her luggage, stepped out of her room.

“Sister Ren, thank you for letting me stay these past few days!”

Ren Ziling blinked, spat out her toothpaste foam, and asked, “You’re leaving? Why? You’ve been doing fine here!”

In truth, Auntie Ren had just decided it might be nice for Nan Xiaonan to stay longer—after all, her beloved son would soon be studying abroad for months, and she’d be left alone in an empty house.

“It’s not good to trouble you for too long,” Nan Xiaonan said with a small smile.

“But what if that creep bothers you again?”

“I already applied for a government dorm,” Nan Xiaonan replied smoothly. “It’s been approved, and the neighbors are all police officers. That guy won’t dare try anything again.”

Ren Ziling nodded. “Alright… If anything comes up, you can always come to me, you hear? Wait a sec—I’ll drop you off on my way to work. The station’s near my office anyway.”

“Sure.”

Nan Xiaonan didn’t refuse this time.

As she waited in the living room, she noticed breakfast laid out neatly on the table—and a note. The food was packed neatly in boxes, including one portion for her.

Beside it was a small gift box, also with a note addressed to her.

—Miss Nan, thank you for your spell.

—A small token of appreciation. I hope you like it.

Opening it, Nan Xiaonan found six beautifully crafted jars inside. She immediately realized what they contained.

These things, stored in her distant memories, were once so common and worthless… yet now, to her, they felt like priceless treasures.

They were the unique seasonings and jams from her childhood hometown.

No amount of money could buy them, and time could never bring them back—these were things long gone, forever lost.

Nan Xiaonan took a deep breath, slowly calming her emotions, then carefully placed the gifts into her suitcase… She thought to herself that these would last her for a very, very long time.

…

Early the next morning, Leng Feng brought Wang Yuegang to the hotel lobby, and together they went to meet with Ren Ziling at the arranged location.

Auntie Ren was different now—she was the head of a magazine company. With a wave of her hand, she had a reception room cleared out, looking quite pleased to show off in front of Er Lengzi.

“Strange things happen every year, but this year there seem to be especially many.”

That was Leng Feng’s comment—he knew Ren Ziling’s personality all too well. In his words from the army, she was a good soldier, one who could charge into battle, but definitely not someone suited to lead.

There was no doubt Auntie Ren had been hit hard; even the coffee she had someone bring for Leng Feng was cold.

“Alright, tell me. Why did you bring this Mr. Wang to see me?”

Auntie Ren sipped a cup of longan and red date tea while glancing at Wang Yuegang beside Leng Feng.

She remembered that name. Before leaving Mount Tai last time, Leng Feng had given her a number, and it had this man’s name written on it.

Though she hadn’t planned to contact Wang Yuegang, Auntie Ren was naturally curious. After returning, she looked into his background.

Thirty years old, a regimental-level combat staff officer—not a low rank at all…

This time, since they were asking for help through personal connections, Wang Yuegang couldn’t speak directly, so Leng Feng handled the arrangements.

Leng Feng smiled and said, “Here’s the thing. I’d like to ask you to help find someone in Hong Kong. This person might still be hiding in Hong Kong or Macau, or might’ve smuggled out by sea to somewhere in Southeast Asia. I know you have some contacts there…”

Ren Ziling almost choked, giving Leng Feng a strange look. “Well, Er Lengzi, you really don’t leave me any privacy, do you…”

But by then, she already understood what Leng Feng was really asking.

Ever since that person at home had passed away a few years ago, his brothers and sisters had been going out of their way to look after her, as if afraid she’d be mistreated—constantly sending favors and connections her way.

Her heart warmed slightly at the thought.

“Miss Ren, if you could help us with this, I’ll be deeply grateful,” said Wang Yuegang at just the right moment.

Rubbing her forehead, Ren Ziling said, “To be honest, I do like earning favors—but not all favors are worth earning. Frankly, the connections Leng Feng mentioned may not even be usable. I’ve only met them a few times; maybe exchanged a call or two during New Year’s. We don’t really keep in touch much.”

Still, that person had once funded her education—a benefactor from Hong Kong who probably didn’t think much of it, treating it as a small act of charity—but Ren Ziling would never forget it. Saying they had little contact wasn’t entirely true, but it was true they hadn’t met often. The last time was two years ago, when her benefactor returned to their hometown to honor their ancestors, and Ren Ziling only managed a brief meeting.

“This is my good brother. Please, help us out,” Leng Feng said sincerely.

“I’ll try, but don’t get your hopes too high,” Ren Ziling replied after biting her lip. “My benefactor has long since retired from the scene—washed his hands clean of that life.”

For someone from an old Hong Kong society, “washing one’s hands in a golden basin” meant complete retirement. Leng Feng and Wang Yuegang both understood that. Still, if an elder from such a group made a request, having someone find a person wasn’t exactly difficult—the key was whether the connection would still respond.

“Mr. Wang, could you give me the information of the person you’re looking for?” Ren Ziling asked.

Wang Yuegang hesitated for a moment, then nodded. He had prepared the file beforehand. The person they sought was Wang Yuechuan—now a wanted man. Handing the file over so easily wasn’t ideal; with a woman as sharp as her, she could probably deduce a lot from the name alone.

“Ziling won’t say anything she shouldn’t. Don’t worry,” Leng Feng said calmly.

“Then I’ll leave it to you, Miss Ren,” Wang Yuegang said, handing her the folder.

Ren Ziling casually flipped it open. Inside, there was also a photo. As her eyes fell on the image of Wang Yuechuan, her brows furrowed slightly—he looked familiar.

Though she could be careless in daily life, her memory was excellent—a necessary skill for a journalist. After thinking for a bit, she was certain she had seen this man before.

It was during a student suicide case at a tutoring center last year—he was the investigator sent by the provincial office. She’d asked around at the station and caught a quick glimpse of him back then.

“I remember this guy. Isn’t he a wanted man now?” Ren Ziling’s brow tightened as she looked at Wang Yuegang. “What’s your relationship with him?”

“He’s my younger brother,” Wang Yuegang answered honestly.

“Alright.” Ren Ziling didn’t hesitate much—she trusted Leng Feng. “By tonight at the latest, I’ll give you an answer.”

…

After the two men left, Ren Ziling returned to her office. She tapped her pen against her head a few times before decisively picking up the phone.

Her Cantonese accent wasn’t very authentic.

“Hello, Godfather? It’s me, Ziling… Yes, yes, long time no see… Thank you for your concern. So, Godfather, what are you up to right now? I hope I’m not disturbing you?”

“No worries! Just having morning tea with a few old uncles! What’s this, you wouldn’t call me if it wasn’t something important, you sly girl!”

“It’s like this, Godfather—I want to ask you to help me find someone…”

(End of Chapter)