[Chapter 3]

At this moment, Xiao Fan sensed a light spot appearing deep within his consciousness. As he focused on it, his mind touched the light spot, and a stream of information flowed into his awareness.

‘At midnight, go to the osmanthus tree 300 meters from the entrance of Osmanthus Village. Dig beneath the tree, and you will obtain the eighth-grade opportunity without any risk.’

Xiao Fan immediately understood. His destiny would grant him opportunities as long as he could survive calamities. These chances were safe, but the timing was specific—midnight.

Venturing out earlier could be dangerous; being discovered by other villagers might create unforeseen troubles. Even though he was eager to uncover this eighth-grade opportunity, Xiao Fan knew he had to wait until late at night.

As for the luck points? He hadn’t figured out their purpose yet.

‘Is this what they mean by "surviving a catastrophe leads to blessings?"’ Xiao Fan thought, taking a deep breath. He began to realize just how powerful this destiny was.

In this world, hard work alone didn’t guarantee success. Misfortune could strike endlessly—when it rains, it pours. His previous life had proven this; there seemed to be no limit to a person’s suffering.

But if calamities could bring rewards, perhaps he had a chance to turn things around. He couldn’t help but wonder:

‘What exactly is this eighth-grade opportunity? Can it help me change my fate?’

Before he could think further, a piercing scream shattered the night’s silence. It was followed by the sound of a fierce struggle and desperate cries for mercy. The chilling noise sent shivers down his spine.

"What’s happening?" Mu Qingyao whispered in terror, her face pale. She looked to Xiao Fan for reassurance—he was her only hope.

"Stay here. I’ll go see what’s going on," Xiao Fan said. He stepped outside, joining other villagers who had emerged from their homes, equally alarmed.

"Uncle Fugui, Uncle Ziqiang," Xiao Fan greeted his neighbors. "Do you know what happened?"

The villagers, all from Osmanthus Village, were familiar faces. Song Fugui, a weathered fisherman in his forties with dark skin and a lifetime of hardships etched on his face, spoke first.

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"It’s Lao Meng’s family," Song Fugui said grimly. "The Dragon King Gang raised the fees by 30%. Lao Meng didn’t refuse to pay but made a few complaints. Those beasts beat him half to death and robbed his house."

Hearing this, Xiao Fan felt a chill. He turned to see Meng Da’s home in the distance, its door wide open. Inside, chaos reigned.

Tables and chairs were shattered, pots and pans smashed, and the wooden door had been kicked to pieces.

Lao Meng, a man in his forties, lay on the ground, his face bloodied and swollen. He was curled up like a shrimp, moaning in pain. Nearby, his son Meng Tie, a young man of twenty, lay with a broken arm, his face contorted in agony.

Meng’s daughter-in-law sat weeping softly, a red handprint visible on her cheek—a mark of violence.

The villagers looked on with sympathy but did nothing.

"They complained a little, and look what happened," Song Fugui muttered, his voice heavy with sorrow. But his wife, Liu Zhuzhu, immediately silenced him.

"Quiet!" she hissed, pulling on his sleeve. "If the Dragon King Gang hears you, you’ll be next!"

Liu Zhuzhu was visibly anxious, glancing around nervously. Stories of villagers being beaten or robbed for speaking ill of the gang were all too common.

Realizing the danger, Song Fugui clammed up, relief washing over him when he saw no gang members nearby.

Xiao Fan clenched his fists. Beaten half to death for a complaint? The cruelty of the Dragon King Gang was beyond words.

He quickly pieced things together. Zheng Wenbing and his men had likely come to Guihua Village to establish dominance. The sudden fee hike had angered the villagers, and complaints were spreading. The gang needed to set an example.

Lao Meng, unfortunately, became their "chicken to scare the monkeys."

"If I hadn’t paid immediately," Xiao Fan thought grimly, "I might have been the one left lying in a pool of blood."

Looking back at Meng Da’s wrecked house, Xiao Fan felt both anger and helplessness. He wanted to help, but his family had nothing to spare—not even food for themselves.

Kindness is a luxury only the rich can afford.

In this dog-eat-dog world, merely refraining from evil was enough to make someone a "good person."

"Why would the Dragon King Gang raise the fees?" Xiao Fan asked aloud. "They’re already collecting so much. Isn’t this excessive?"

Zhao Ziqiang, a carpenter from the village, answered, "It’s because of the emperor’s elixir."

"Elixir?" Xiao Fan frowned.

"The emperor is trying to refine the elixir of immortality," Zhao Ziqiang explained. "He’s demanding medicinal herbs and raising taxes across the land. Officials are exploiting this to collect even more from the people."

"And the Dragon King Gang?"

"They’re taking advantage of the chaos to demand more as well. The burden is falling harder on us villagers," Zhao Ziqiang sighed.

Song Fugui added bitterly, "The northern regions have been plagued by drought for years. Crops have failed, and countless refugees are fleeing south. Instead of providing relief, the emperor’s raising taxes and draining us dry."

"I’ve heard rumors of rebellions in other provinces," he continued. "They’re attacking cities and trying to overthrow the court. Who knows how long it’ll be before they reach Yunmeng Lake?"

The weight of the villagers’ words hung heavy in the air.

‘It’s better to be a peaceful dog than a human in times of chaos.’

Xiao Fan understood. When the world descended into turmoil, ordinary people suffered the most.

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