Chapter 52: Tonight, I’ll Seek You in Your Dreams

Tong Yunrou let out a mocking laugh. If her mother, Chen Meihua, knew what was happening from beyond the grave, would she regret having supported Bai Chu?

Uncle Li, having just parked the car, happened to overhear the conversation between Tong Yunrou and Tong Qingyan as he stepped out. He couldn’t help but frown and say, “Miss Yunrou, Miss Qingyan, when the old lady was still alive, I heard that the money sent to Miss Bai Chu wasn’t charity—it was meant as gratitude, wasn’t it?”

Tong Yunrou’s eyes were already red with anger. She sneered coldly, “My mother was a powerful woman in Haicheng. Why would she owe gratitude to an orphan with no parents? Uncle Li, you’re just a driver—what right do you have to speak here? Step back.”

Apart from helping an orphan, Tong Yunrou couldn’t think of any reason why her mother would transfer money every year.

A trace of embarrassment flashed across Uncle Li’s face. He said nothing more and left.

Tong Qingyan covered her mouth in astonishment. “Could it be that Bai Chu was competing with Aunt for Uncle Xiuqi’s affection?”

After all, Tong Qingyan was only eighteen. She only knew her aunt harbored feelings for the Third Master of the Duan family and nothing more.

Tong Yunrou’s expression was complicated. She replied solemnly, “Keep this matter to yourself, Qingyan. Only you and I know about it.”

She felt a chill spread through her. If Duan Xiuqi learned of Bai Chu’s return, even her father threatening death would no longer be of any use.

Staring at the bank statement, Tong Yunrou let out a soft laugh. Bai Chu must not be doing well if she had the nerve to ask the Tong family to keep supporting her.

Tong Yunrou took the statement and went to find the deliveryman who’d sent it; couriers now required real names, so she might be able to find some clues.

Tong Qingyan stood at the doorway, her graceful figure stretched long by the indoor lighting as she pondered. Lately, there seemed to be too many people with the surname Bai.

*

After her bath, Bai Chuwei left the bathroom and wandered into the storage room on the third floor. She breathed in the spiritual energy wafting from the pile of spiritual herbs and sighed, “What a refreshing, invigorating scent.”

The little white ball on her shoulder squeaked, “That’s the scent of money. Three hundred million!”

Thinking of how generous Duan Feihan had been, Bai Chuwei curled her lips into a smile. “If you’re that generous and good-looking, I’ll definitely cure your father.”

She climbed into bed and turned off the light.

Snowball, perched on the pillow, saw Bai Chuwei close her eyes and exclaimed with the surprise of discovering a new continent, “Ancestor, are you going to sleep?!”

In Snowball’s opinion, the most useless thing in this attic was the bed. After all, the Ancestor had lived for five thousand years. Other than not having ascended to immortality, she was hardly different from a celestial being. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have casually given it spiritual awareness just to keep herself company.

Sleep?

Only ordinary humans needed sleep; it made no difference to the Ancestor. The last time she’d slept was probably four or five centuries ago.

Bai Chuwei replied lazily, “Mm, I need to find Liu Zhen.”

The packet of medicine she had given Duan Feihan wasn’t enough to cure the old master’s stomach cancer. It needed a medicinal bath and the Thirteen Needles of the Spiritual Path as an adjunct. But she really didn’t want to go to the Duan family for a consultation herself. Instead, she’d send her apprentice to administer the needles.

Liu Zhen didn’t exactly impress her, but in the mortal world, he was considered a master of traditional medicine. It was best to have him deliver the treatment.

So, before leaving the spiritual pharmacy, she’d tossed a line to the nervous Liu Zhen: “Tonight, I’ll find you in your dreams.”

The art of entering dreams was simple for her, hardly a challenge.

But Liu Zhen seemed not to have gone to sleep. After waiting for a minute without seeing him, the Ancestor grew impatient.

Bai Chuwei propped her chin on her slender fingers, a trace of interest flickering in her beautiful eyes. Perhaps she should visit Duan Feihan’s dreams instead—to see what he was dreaming about.