761: Chapter 756 Is the Drunkard a Master?

As night deepened, most of the diners in the private kitchen had left.

Only the dim yellow chandelier in the corner stubbornly remained lit.

He Jingzhong was slumped over the greasy tabletop, his shoulders twitching.

He looked like an old dog whose spine had been removed.

The glass bottle containing half a bottle of white liquor swayed beside him, threatening to topple over at any moment.

The Shop Owner, A Hai, stood behind the counter, clutching a rag, his sigh so loud that even the back kitchen could hear it.

Shen Yan put down his chopsticks.

He slowly and deliberately wiped his mouth with a napkin.

His movements were so elegant, as if he were sitting in a Michelin three-star restaurant, not this small eatery where the average cost was only a few dozen yuan.

"Shop Owner."

Shen Yan beckoned.

A Hai quickly scurried over, wearing the humble smile characteristic of someone running a small business.

"Sir, are you finished? The total is one hundred and eighty."

Shen Yan didn't take out his phone to scan the code.

He pointed to He Jingzhong, who was still sobbing at the next table.

"Is that an elder of yours?"

A Hai paused for a moment, then gave a wry smile.

"Sort of. He's a neighbor uncle who watched me grow up, named He Jingzhong."

"He's also a man of misfortune. He used to be a prominent figure in Fragrance Prefecture in the early years, but later... sigh, he became obsessed over that worthless piece of land."

Shen Yan nodded.

He showed no surprise regarding this information he already knew.

"Get him a pot of hangover soup, and an extra plate of peanuts."

"Put it on my tab."

A Hai looked at the young stranger with some surprise.

"Sir, this... no need. Uncle He has a stubborn temper; he won't accept charity."

"Besides, he gets verbally abusive when he's drunk. You shouldn't provoke him."

Shen Yan smiled.

The smile was faint.

"I'm not doing charity."

"I have some business I want to discuss with him."

Saying that, he took out his phone and scanned the QR code on the counter.

A 'ding' sound followed.

Ten thousand yuan had been transferred.

A Hai's eyeballs nearly popped out.

"The extra amount is your tip and tonight's fee for booking the place."

"I don't like it too noisy."

A Hai was a smart person.

He immediately understood the weight of the young man before him.

Without another word, he turned and pulled the roller shutter halfway down, then went to the back kitchen to fetch a bowl of steaming hot hangover soup.

Shen Yan carried the bowl of soup and walked over to He Jingzhong's table.

The air was thick with alcohol vapor.

It mixed with the old man's stale tobacco smell, and a faint, almost imperceptible scent of aged agarwood.

That was the scent ingrained in the bones of someone who had dealt with spices for years.

Shen Yan heavily set the bowl down on the table with a clatter.

"Clang."

The sound wasn't loud, but it was exceptionally jarring in the quiet eatery.

He Jingzhong abruptly raised his head.

His cloudy old eyes were bloodshot, his eye bags swollen, and his stubble stuck out messily.

He looked at Shen Yan in a daze, his gaze focusing several times before he could see clearly.

"A Hai... I don't want soup... Give me liquor..."

He slurred his words, his hand fumbling around blindly.

Shen Yan reached out and placed a hand on the liquor bottle.

His fingers were long, his knuckles distinct, and his grip steady as Bedrock.

He Jingzhong yanked hard twice, but it didn't budge an inch.

"If you don't want your wife to die in the hospital, drink this."

Shen Yan's voice wasn't loud.

It was flat and direct.

Yet, it was like a thunderclap that exploded directly on He Jingzhong's forehead.

The old man's body froze.

The drunkenness from that instant seemed to be scared away by half by those words.

He stared fixedly at Shen Yan, a fierce glint emerging from his cloudy eyes.

Like an old beast guarding its food.

"Who... are you?"

"What do you want?"

"Are you a running dog for the Bank? Or one of those real estate developers who want to buy my land?"

He Jingzhong staggered to his feet, still gripping the liquor bottle as a weapon.

"Get lost!"

"My garden... won't be sold!"

"That is the root left by my ancestors! I won't sell it for any amount of money!"

Saliva flew everywhere.

Shen Yan shifted slightly to the side, avoiding the foul smell.

He wasn't angry.

He didn't even frown.

This reaction, however, made He Jingzhong somewhat at a loss.

The people who had come to negotiate the acquisition before had either been cursed away by him, or had their bodyguards drag him out.

No one had ever been like Shen Yan.

As calm as a deep pool of water.

Shen Yan pulled out the piece of "Yellow Ripe Incense" he had bought that afternoon at the spice shop from his pocket.

It was the size of a fist, dull gray, looking like a piece of rotten wood.

He casually tossed this piece of spice, worth tens of thousands of yuan, onto the greasy table.

"Thud."

The piece of wood rolled twice and stopped in front of He Jingzhong.

"I'm not buying land."

Shen Yan pulled out the chair opposite him and sat down.

He crossed his legs, his posture relaxed.

"I'm buying craftsmanship."

He Jingzhong froze.

His gaze instinctively fell upon that piece of wood.

It was professional instinct.

As long as it was something related to incense, even if he was completely drunk, he could smell it and wake up.

He squinted and leaned closer.

His nose twitched a couple of times.

His originally vigilant and angry expression suddenly solidified.

He extended a trembling hand, wanting to touch the wood, but stopped mid-air.

As if afraid it was an illusion.

"This is..."

He Jingzhong swallowed.

He snatched up the piece of wood, ignoring the grease stains on it, brought it close to his nose, and took a deep breath.

That faint milky fragrance, mixed with the earthy mustiness, and a hint of an almost imperceptible fruity sweetness,

exploded in his nasal cavity.

The old man's hands began to tremble violently.

Not because of Parkinson's, but because of excitement.

"Old material from Jianfeng Ridge in Hainan..."

"Buried in the earth for at least fifty years."

"But this scent is wrong... Why is there a coolness to it?"

He suddenly looked up, staring intently at Shen Yan, his voice trembling.

"Where did you get this incense?"

"This way of oil condensation, this is after ' Down' (dao jia, structural collapse/deterioration) and then being corroded by insect holes... This is 'Ghost Face Sinking' (Gui Lian Chen)!"

"This thing has been extinct for ages!"

Shen Yan raised an eyebrow.

Indeed, an expert.

For this piece of incense, the Shop Owner had only said it was good stock guarded by an old incense gatherer for three years, asking for eighty thousand.

Shen Yan had felt the scent was a bit special at the time; that kind of penetrating power didn't seem like ordinary Yellow Ripe Incense.

Although the system hadn't given a specific prompt, he trusted his intuition.

He hadn't expected it to be verified here by He Jingzhong.

"Bought it from a roadside stall."

Shen Yan said lightly.

"Spent eighty thousand."

He Jingzhong looked as if he had heard the biggest joke in the world, or as if he had been punched hard.

"Eighty thousand?"

"Those blind fools!"

"If this piece of material were taken to an auction, the starting bid would be at least eight hundred thousand!"

"If a Master were to carve it and burn it as an offering to Buddha, it would be a treasure capable of communicating with the divine!"

The old man lovingly stroked the piece of rotten wood.

Most of the cloudiness in his eyes dissipated, replaced by a fervor bordering on piety.

That was the undisguised obsession of an Artisan upon encountering top-tier material.

Shen Yan watched him.

In that moment, He Jingzhong was no longer a drunkard.

He was a Master.