Beneath Laojun Temple: The Flood Dragon Keeper of Five Centuries

My name is Chen Mo, the eighteenth-generation Jiao Warden of the Chen family.

On my eighteenth birthday, the village chief shoved a junior high school admission letter into my hands.

Now I'm carrying a sack around while going to school in the city.

They call me a “god's second-generation heir,” but being one is a miserable business.

Before I turned eighteen, I wasn't allowed to leave the village. My education stopped at sixth grade, and my half-pack of spicy strips was the most valuable thing I owned.

My classmates laugh at my elementary school diploma. I take out an ancestral tortoiseshell, and a professor faints on the spot. It's a missing national treasure.

A rich kid starts a club to scam people with the occult. I pass by and scoff, “That formation of yours can attract cockroaches at best.”

That night, a cockroach army takes over the club, and the rich kid begs me to “get rid of the pests.”

The campus belle is being forced into an arranged marriage, so I give her a coin from the Temple of Laozi. “Have your father wear this when he meets his clients.”

The next day, the president of her father's rival company kneels down and confesses to his crimes.

Then one day, a black dragon looms over the entire city.

As the whole city panics, I calmly take out my phone and press play.

From the bottom of the well comes my ancestor's AI-generated voice: “Little Jiao, it's been five hundred years. Still haven't learned to knock?”

This novel and its characters are entirely fictional. Any resemblance to actual persons or events is purely coincidental. Do not imitate.