52: Chapter 52 The Birth of the Thousand-Faced Conman

The rain was still falling.

The night rain in Brooklyn always carried a scent of mixed rust and machine oil, winding down the floor-to-ceiling windows like twisted faces.

The heating in the safe house was turned up high, yet it couldn't dispel the damp cold that seeped into one's bones.

Ava Rockefeller walked out of the bathroom, wearing an oversized white men's shirt that Chen Mo had thrown to her.

Her wet blonde hair clung to her neck, and the aura of a high-and-mighty chaebol heiress had been washed away by the hot water, leaving behind only raw exhaustion and the will to survive.

She glanced at Chen Mo sitting on the sofa, didn't say a word, walked straight to the liquor cabinet, poured herself a glass of strong liquor, downed it, and then curled up in the armchair, closing her eyes.

"She's overdrawn."

Old George held a rag stained with gun oil, slowly wiping the slide of the M1911, his movements methodical, as if caressing a lover's skin.

"After the adrenaline fades, fear will drown her like a tide. She'll have nightmares tonight."

"Having nightmares is better than never being able to dream again."

Chen Mo toyed with the black card reader he had gotten from Ava, his thumb rubbing against the rough plastic casing.

The laptop screen on the table suddenly lit up.

A black dialog box popped up, containing only a simple number:

$62,400,000.00

Following that was a line of small text:

Washed, transferred in batches to accounts in the Cayman Islands and Zurich, Switzerland. —— Jack

The corner of Chen Mo's mouth twitched slightly.

Jack Martin, this blade, was faster and sharper than expected.

These sixty-plus million dollars, plus the incriminating evidence in his hand capable of shaking Washington, and considering the limit-pushing operation on the edge of life and death at the museum just now...

A familiar sensation of dry heat suddenly rose from the back of Chen Mo's head, instantly spreading throughout his body along his spine.

That feeling was like an invisible pair of hands forcibly tearing open his cerebral cortex and pouring boiling mercury into it.

Chen Mo abruptly closed his eyes, his fingers clutching the card reader tightening suddenly, his knuckles turning white.

In the darkness of his field of vision, that semi-transparent blue panel popped out abruptly, and the previously calm data stream was now scrolling wildly like a waterfall.

[Event settlement in progress...]

[Killed "Ouroboros" C-Class Cleanup Squad (Museum), EXP +1500]

[Completed high-difficulty disguise and public opinion guidance (Hero's Back), EXP +800]

[Obtained core intelligence (Rockefeller incriminating evidence/Unit-734), EXP +1000]

[Commercial harvest successful (profit over 50 million), EXP +2000]

[Subjugated key plot character (Ava Rockefeller), EXP +1200]

The dense stream of notification messages almost filled his vision.

Finally, all the light converged into a line of bold golden text, accompanied by a crisp shattering sound that only he could hear—

[EXP full.]

[System upgrading... Lv3 > Lv4]

Chen Mo took a deep breath, his lungs aching slightly from the influx of air.

This wasn't just the jumping of numbers.

Every upgrade felt like an evolution of the species.

He could clearly feel that some kind of shackle deep in his brain had been broken.

The speed of his thinking was accelerating, his sensory acuity was improving, and even the mental energy bar, which had been recovering slowly, saw its limit jump directly from 50 to 80.

But that wasn't the main point.

Chen Mo's gaze was fixed on the very bottom of the panel. There, an icon that had originally been grayed out and locked was now slowly shedding its shell, revealing a scarlet core inside.

[Function Unlocked: Trait Fusion]

[Description: As a mature Corpse Collector, you should learn to turn those scattered, low-level "trash" into treasure.

Consuming EXP and mental energy, you can fuse two or more traits with compatible affinities, with a chance to produce mutations or upgrades.]

Fusion.

Chen Mo licked his somewhat chapped lips.

He had been waiting for this function for a long time.

From the initial [Basic Firearms] to the current [Sharpshooter], from the wild style of street fighting to the [Close Quarters Combat Mastery] stripped from a special forces soldier, his skill bar looked dazzling but was actually disorganized.

It was like a nouveau riche's warehouse, piled with various expensive but mismatched furniture.

If he encountered a true top-tier expert—like that high-level cleaner from Ouroboros—these single skills would reveal flaws in their integration.

"Kid, you look like you just took a big hit."

George's voice suddenly cut in. The old man was holding the assembled M1911, aiming through the sights at the rain curtain outside the window, "Don't tell me you're getting aroused over that sixty million dollars."

Chen Mo opened his eyes, a faint, not-yet-fully-faded ghostly blue light flashing in the depths of his eyes.

"Money is just ammunition."

He sat up straight, picked up the glass of bourbon on the table, but didn't drink it, instead looking at George through the amber liquid.

"I'm wondering, if you melt down two differently shaped knives, can you forge an axe that can cut through bone?"

George put down the gun, wrinkling his wrinkled face: "What are you trying to do? Modify weapons? I do have some welding torches and lathes in my basement..."

"Not that kind of knife."

Chen Mo put down the glass, closed his eyes again, and his consciousness sank into the system space.

The fusion interface was very simple.

On the left was a huge furnace-shaped icon, and on the right was a list of all the traits he currently possessed.

[Sharpshooter (Green)]

[Close Quarters Combat Mastery (Blue)]

[Tactical Evasion (White · Advanced)]

[Advanced Deception (Green)]

[Advanced Engineering (Green)]

[Law of Silence (Blue)]

...

Chen Mo's gaze swept over these traits.

His gaze finally rested on two traits.

[Advanced Deception (Green)]: Originates from a Ponzi scheme mastermind. Insight into human weaknesses, weaving lies, and using information asymmetry for psychological induction.

[Master of Disguise (Green)]: Originates from a professional killer. Altering temperament, fine-tuning facial features, mimicking voices, and perfectly blending into the environment.

These two skills, one focuses on psychology, the other on physiology.

Used separately, Chen Mo would either be a con artist or an actor.

But what if, while deceiving someone, his physiological features also completely turned into another person?

"Let's give it a try."

With a thought, Chen Mo dragged these two green light orbs into the furnace.

[Fusion materials detected: Advanced Deception (Green) + Master of Disguise (Green)]

[Affinity match: 92% (Extremely high)]

[Fusion cost: 1500 EXP, 20 mental energy points]

[Start?]

1500 points of EXP.

This was almost half of his gains from this museum operation.

Chen Mo did not hesitate.

In this world, the best investment is always investing in yourself.

"Confirm."

Boom!

In the consciousness space, that furnace instantly ignited with an eerie purple flame.

The two green light orbs rolled and twisted violently in the flames, like two drops of mercury desperately trying to fuse together.

In reality, Chen Mo's body stiffened abruptly, and a fine layer of cold sweat seeped out on his forehead.

A sharp, stinging pain came from his cerebral cortex, as if countless fine needles were simultaneously poking at his nerves.

That was memory being reorganized, instinct being rewritten.

George sensed something was wrong.

He put down the gun in his hand, looking at Chen Mo with furrowed brows.

The young man's face was somewhat pale, the veins on his neck throbbing slightly, but his eyes were terrifyingly bright.

What made George feel even more uneasy was that the aura around Chen Mo was undergoing some kind of eerie change.

One second, he was still like a cold-blooded killer.

The next second, that coldness suddenly dissolved, turning into a kind of gentle, harmless demeanor.

In another blink, he seemed to have turned into a worldly, greedy little citizen.

It was like a television with an unstable signal, the image constantly jumping.

"What the hell..." George instinctively gripped the gun handle, "What the hell is this kid?"

About ten seconds passed.

Chen Mo let out a long breath of stale air, his body relaxing again, slumping into the sofa.

In the consciousness space, the purple flames extinguished.

A brand new trait, emitting a deep blue ghostly light, floated quietly there.

[Ding! Fusion successful!]

[Congratulations on obtaining the new trait: Thousand-Faced Deceiver (Blue · Rare)]

[Thousand-Faced Deceiver (Blue)]:

You are no longer acting like someone; you *are* "him".

Effect 1 Persona Mask: Can instantly construct and switch between multiple virtual personalities. When switching, your micro-expressions, heart rate, tone, and even subconscious reactions will perfectly match the personality setting.

Effect 2 Group Intelligence Reduction: When you are in a disguised state, the people around you have their perception of your logical loopholes reduced by 30%, and their trust in your words increased by 40%.

Effect 3 Non-Existent Person: You can erase your presence at any time, moving through surveillance and crowds like a ghost (this effect is influenced by light and distance).

Chen Mo slowly opened his eyes.

He looked at George.

He didn't deliberately adjust his expression, and he didn't use a voice changer.

But in that instant, every hair on George's body stood up.

The person sitting opposite him no longer seemed to be the Chen Mo who had crawled out of a pile of dead bodies with him, but an entirely unfamiliar, middle-aged politician carrying some kind of authority of a superior. The arrogance and scrutiny in those eyes made George instinctively want to stand at attention and salute.

"George."

Chen Mo spoke.

It was still the same voice, but the cadence in his tone, the magnetism resonating from deep within his throat, was completely that of another person.

"If I walked out now and told you I was the Deputy Director of the FBI, would you believe me?"

George was stunned for two seconds, then cursed.

"Fuck, if you changed into a suit and got a fake ID, I'd probably really open the door for you."

The old man wiped the cold sweat from his forehead, "What did you just do? Plastic surgery? Or were you possessed by some devil?"

"Something like that."

The sense of unfamiliarity in Chen Mo's eyes instantly faded, and he turned back into that calm, indifferent Corpse Collector.

This feeling of switching effortlessly was simply wonderful.

Previous disguises were like wearing a mask on one's face.

Now, the disguise is wearing a mask on one's soul.

This is what a mastermind behind the scenes should look like.

In this country full of lies and surveillance, only by being better at lying than everyone else can one live the most truthfully.

"It seems the surgery was a success." Chen Mo stood up and stretched his slightly stiff neck, his joints making a cracking sound.

He walked to the floor-to-ceiling window, looking at the pitch-black rain curtain outside.

There was still quite a bit of EXP left.

Since he had started, he couldn't stop.

He still had two sharpest "knives" left to deal with.

[Sharpshooter (Green)].

[Close Quarters Combat Mastery (Blue)].

One was for long-range sniping, the other for close-quarters combat.

During the battle at the museum, he deeply realized the inconvenience caused by the separation of these two.

In confined spaces, firearms were limited by distance, and combat was limited by lethality.

What if he could fuse them together?

Just like that M1911 of George's, it could perform long-range headshots and was also the best close-quarters blunt weapon.

"George." Chen Mo looked at his reflection on the glass; the reflection was blurry, as if it could melt into the darkness at any moment.

"What?" George relit a cigar.

"Tell me, if you fired a bullet like a punch, or shot a fist like a bullet, which one would hurt more?"

George blew out a smoke ring and looked at him like he was a lunatic: "I suggest you go to sleep first. Your brain might be fried."

Chen Mo smiled and didn't explain.

He recalled the system panel, his gaze locked on those two traits full of violent aesthetics.

The furnace flames ignited once again in the depths of his pupils.

"Don't be so quick to jump to conclusions, old man." Chen Mo murmured, his fingers tapping lightly on the cold glass.

"You'll see. Very soon, all of New York will see it."

His finger traced a mark on the glass, a mark like a knife, cutting horizontally across the distant Rockefeller Center building.

"Since this knife is sharpened, it's time to find a whetstone to test its sharpness."

Chen Mo turned around, the purple flames in his eyes reflecting on Old George's bewildered face.

"Get the car ready. We're going somewhere."

"Now? At three in the morning?" George glanced at the wall clock, "Where to?"

Chen Mo picked up the trench coat from the back of the chair and draped it casually over himself, covering his left arm that was still bleeding.

"To meet our new friend, the person in charge of Ouroboros in New York."

Chen Mo's mouth curled into an arc. That smile carried the eeriness of the freshly minted [Thousand-Faced Deceiver], as well as the bloodiness of the new combat skill about to be born.

"I heard his mouth is very stubborn. Perfect; I want to test my new knife and see if it can pry open the toughest mouth in the world."