UCS Chapter 135

Chapter 135

The Gao family had always been an unshakable titan in the business world.

Rising to prominence during the Republican era, the family had grown into a colossal entity within just a few decades.

There is a saying that wealth rarely lasts beyond three generations, yet the Gao family had already reached its fifth generation—and showed every sign of continued prosperity.

The current head of the family belonged to the third generation and was in the prime of his life; when he appeared on livestreams, he looked barely over thirty. His presence alone guaranteed the family’s expansion for another fifty years. Even if his descendants were utterly mediocre, as long as they knew how to preserve what had been built, the Gao family would remain standing for centuries.

Rival companies that had once competed with the Gao family had long since been left in the dust; they could only secretly pray that the fourth-generation heir would turn out to be a spendthrift who squandered the family fortune.

But life is often unfair. People had assumed that the mysterious fourth-generation heir—who had never made a public appearance—was a good-for-nothing playboy. Instead, he stunned everyone by acquiring a prime “king of land” plot at a bargain-basement price—a deal that saw the land’s value skyrocket dozens of times over.

He followed this up with another move—swift, ruthless, and precise—that elevated the Gao family’s status to an untouchable level. Only then did people realize he wasn’t an embarrassment at all; rather, he was a prodigy. Fearing he might be cut down in his prime, the family had kept him learning in the shadows for over a decade before finally unleashing him to make his spectacular debut.

As for the Gao family’s accumulated wealth—even if a truly incorrigible wastrel were to appear and exhaust every conceivable method to squander it, it would still take centuries to burn through it all.

The gap between the Gao family and the four major clans ranked immediately below them—while technically just the difference between first and second place—felt like an unbridgeable chasm.

When someone surpasses you by half a step, you look for ways to overtake them.

When someone surpasses you by a full step, you lament the fickleness of fate; you feel jealousy and resentment.

But when someone leaves you so far behind that you can no longer even see their shadow, you tend to simply look up in awe and admiration, unable to harbor any other thoughts.

The Gao family specialized in high-tech sectors and maintained a low profile; theoretically, they posed no direct threat to other enterprises. Yet, for some reason, a trend of coordinated attacks against the Gao family had begun to emerge over the past week.

Gao Shi studied the company’s recent status reports; the situation gave him a distinct sense of déjà vu—reminiscent of the “Eight Great Sects besieging Bright Peak.”

He rubbed the bridge of his nose. He didn’t feel particularly exhausted; he was simply puzzled.

Many of the companies involved wouldn’t even get a sip of broth if the Gao family were to collapse. What, then, was the reason for such actions?

If the Gao family had established a monopoly, the situation might be different. However, they understood that a technological monopoly leads only to stagnation; whenever they developed cutting-edge technology, they would release their older technologies to the public, thereby fostering the growth of smaller enterprises. Furthermore, the Gao family collaborated directly with the state; their innovations were submitted straight to the highest levels of government. Had they truly formed a monopoly, the state would have intervened directly—there would have been no room for these smaller companies to launch an offensive.

Business decisions are always driven by profit, yet no matter how Gao Shi turned the matter over in his mind, he could not fathom their motive.

This was the first time a business matter had truly stumped him.

Interesting. Where there is an anomaly, there is usually something fishy going on. Gao Shi reviewed the data compiled by Xingxing and cross-referenced it with personnel shifts across various levels of the business world; he quickly zeroed in on a company preparing for an IPO.

It was a small, inconspicuous company.

Yet, the crucial detail was that this tiny firm had accomplished in a mere two weeks what took other companies years to achieve.

Its founder was Zhang Xu.

The company dealt primarily in apparel. High-end luxury goods usually require extensive promotion by designers and corporations to gain a foothold in elite circles—after all, what is being sold is often the brand itself, not just the clothing design.

Yet, Zhang Xu had chosen the most arduous path.

The few clothing accessories he sold possessed a mesmerizing allure; the moment they hit the market, they sparked a buying frenzy. Men and women alike abandoned all decorum, even coming to blows, just to get their hands on the items they coveted.

Remarkably, no one questioned this bizarre phenomenon.

Gao Shi also examined the businesses that had recently targeted the Gao family; they spanned various sectors and appeared entirely unrelated. However, when the entire Gao family—save for Gao Gusheng, who was still in school—sat down to analyze and synthesize the information, they discovered a pattern. Among the hundreds of large and small enterprises involved, a small subset had ties to Zhang Xu’s company.

These connections were indirect—some were separated by five or six layers of separation. Without the full force of the Gao family mobilized, it would have been impossible to unearth the truth from among tens of thousands of possibilities.

Most of the companies linked to Zhang Xu in this way were those that stood in his path.

Or perhaps—just perhaps—even those seemingly unrelated companies were part of Zhang Xu’s grand design; his goal was not merely a small company, but the entire market.

A knock at the door announced the secretary, who handed the day’s summary report to Gao Shi.

Gao Shi began to review the documents. Lately, the probing actions directed at the Gao family by certain enterprises had become increasingly blatant; while the trouble wasn’t critical, it was certainly vexing.

These were merely small businesses—like ants challenging an elephant. They surely understood that if the head of the Gao family had a volatile temper, he could easily drive them all into bankruptcy.

Yet, they acted as if possessed, desperately trying to shake this insurmountable mountain.

After a moment’s reflection, Gao Shi decided to simply compile all the information and submit a formal report.

The Gao family’s contributions to the nation ensured that the finance authorities would take his submission seriously.

The state did not forbid business competition, but Zhang Xu—with his obscure origins and a rise to wealth that bordered on the uncanny—would be thrust into the state’s spotlight, especially when viewed through Gao Shi’s dispassionate, purely analytical market assessment.

With the state watching, he had no fear that Zhang Xu would attempt any underhanded schemes that belonged in the Underworld rather than the world of the living.

Once the interference of the Underworld was removed from the equation, he had never feared anyone in the business arena.

…

Compared to the challenges the Gao family faced in the corporate world, Gao Shi was far more concerned about the state of the Underworld in City B.

The number of ghosts was steadily rising.

For the first time, the smile vanished from Yin Ling’s face. He explained that big data indicated City B had become a vortex, ceaselessly drawing in ghosts and spirits from the surrounding areas.

Yin Ling hesitated before finally asking, “Brother Gao, does this have anything to do with Lele?”

Gao Shi shook his head. “It’s unrelated.”

Given the array personally set and the seal personally reinforced by Ying Bujie, Lele would not attract any Underworld creatures in daily life—unless, of course, Lele were to fully awaken.

Ying Bujie remained silent, gazing toward the horizon where gloomy, dark clouds were gathering, heavy with the promise of an impending storm. The rise in the number of ghosts and monsters meant an increased risk for the general public.

After a malevolent spirit attacked a person, Gao Shi was reminded of a case file he had once seen—

The one concerning those two homeless men who had died suddenly.

Whether it was a heart attack or freezing to death, both were common causes of death following an encounter with a spirit; yet, the paranormal police report indicated that the scene was completely clean—had a malevolent spirit attacked, it would inevitably have left behind traces of yin energy and ghostly aura.

While large numbers of police forces were being deployed to City B, life in the realm of the living remained undisturbed. The only change was that the duration of the window during which Ying Bujie opened the Gate of Reincarnation kept extending—shifting from the initial 5:00–7:00 slot to a 4:00–8:00 one.

Gao Shi watched Ying Bujie as he opened the Gate of Reincarnation; the latter was surrounded by a halo of silver light, his long, thick eyelashes lowered to veil his dark, lustrous eyes.

He felt an urge to gently brush those eyelashes and plant a kiss upon them—an action that, in his memories, he seemed to have performed a thousand times over, with tenderness and deep, passionate intimacy.

Who, exactly, was it?

He recalled that dream—and the name he had failed to call out within it; who could it possibly be…

***

Zhang Xu was becoming increasingly prominent.

He treated everyone with a mild, even-tempered demeanor—except, it seemed, for Gao Gusheng.

He consistently chose a seat near Gao Gusheng to attend lectures; he even applied to pursue a double major.

The students had all sorts of theories about this.

“Does the senior have a crush on Gao Gusheng? I heard Gao Gusheng was the first one to notice something was wrong back then—even though he didn’t manage to pull the guy up.”

“I heard that too. Gao Gusheng was the last person the senior remembered, so maybe he’s developed a sort of ‘imprinting’ or ‘baby bird’ attachment?”

“I’m totally shipping them!”

“Don’t just ship random people, you silly pig! I heard the senior wanted to meet Gao Gusheng—after all, Gao Gusheng was the only person he remembered—but Gao Gusheng refused every time. Maybe he’s holding a grudge.”

“Huh? They go to the same school, after all; it’s just a meeting. Refusing that seems a bit…”

“Look, stop guessing wildly. I think the senior is actually locking horns with Gao Gusheng. He’s not trying to woo him; it looks more like revenge.”

That last remark drifted straight into Gao Gusheng’s ears.

He looked at the ranking for the monthly finance quiz on his phone and felt a strange urge to laugh.

Revenge?

That didn’t seem quite right.

But it certainly did annoy him a little.

A month after Zhang Xu began his double major, the finance department held its first monthly quiz; the score for this subject would count toward the semester’s continuous assessment grade.

For the first time, someone stood shoulder-to-shoulder with Gao Gusheng—who was usually the unshakable first-place finisher in every exam.

Both Gao Gusheng and Zhang Xu achieved perfect scores, comfortably leading the runner-up by five points. But Gao Gusheng knew he had lost.

The minor monthly exams weren’t administered across every subject simultaneously; however, for both Finance and Political Philosophy, the results were factored into the continuous assessment grade. Consequently, scores for Political Philosophy were released alongside those for Finance.

Gao Gusheng scored a 97—losing only three points on the subjective questions—placing him at the very top of the department, where the average score was 78.

He was used to being number one; he always was.

Yet, Zhang Xu had achieved a perfect score.

How could anyone get a perfect score on a politics exam?

In politics exams, the score gap is usually determined by multiple-choice questions. Subjective questions are worth fifty points, but scores typically hover between twenty-five and thirty-five—rarely straying too high or too low. Gao Gusheng’s score of 47 had only been finalized after the teachers deliberated on it; how, then, had Zhang Xu managed a perfect score?

While the teacher was reviewing the exam papers, the students kept asking to see the perfect-scoring paper. After obtaining Zhang Xu’s consent, the teacher displayed it.

Gao Gusheng took one look and realized his defeat was well-deserved.

Gazing at that exam paper, his mind buzzed; it felt almost as if he were confronting the fundamental truths of the universe itself.

As for the Finance exam, they had tied.

But that wasn’t the real reason for his anger—or the sense of grievance he felt.

The real reason was that his friends—the people he truly cared about—seemed to be gradually gravitating toward Zhang Xu.

Zhou Jing and Sun Jun.

At first, he would only occasionally run into the two of them walking with Zhang Xu, but later, they stopped trying to hide it.

Their attitude toward him didn’t seem to have changed, yet Gao Gusheng always felt a subtle barrier had sprung up between them. Yun Zhiyi cursed furiously; she felt betrayed, and Gao Gusheng felt exactly the same way.

Fortunately, Yun Zhiyi and Mo Hua remained by his side.

Mo Hua even took leave from the AMB to rush back and see Gao Gusheng. When he arrived—despite the lingering chill of early spring—he was wearing short sleeves, having run so hard he was drenched in sweat.

Gao Gusheng felt a mix of heartache and gratitude; he tried to shoo Mo Hua back to the Bureau, but Mo Hua refused to budge.

He was like a wild beast; his instincts told him that Gao Gusheng was surrounded by threats.

He became inseparable from Gao Gusheng.

Then, one day, while Gao Gusheng had stepped away to use the restroom, Mo Hua punched Zhang Xu, knocking him flat onto the ground.

##