63: Chapter 63 Handover, Potential Crisis

He understood the implication in Old Ma's words.

Qi Deviation? More likely, someone played dirty tricks on him.

"Uncle Ma, please sit down." Chen Mo pointed to the stool opposite.

Old Ma didn't stand on ceremony, sitting down with only the edge of the stool touching him, and sighed: "My Lord is young and promising, personally selected by Chief Ye. Your future is limitless. However, this old man dares to offer a word of caution: this post in West City is not easy to handle. And..."

His cloudy eyes fixed on Chen Mo, "You need to be careful with your martial arts practice as well."

"Oh? How so?" Chen Mo became interested.

"Those of us on duty, in order to intimidate petty criminals, practice external martial arts with our lives on the line. Things like Iron Shirt and Thirteen Taibao Hardening. They look imposing, impervious to blades and spears, but in reality, they are drawing down their lifespan."

Old Ma patted his lame leg. "When you are young, you don't feel it; your vitality is strong, and you can suppress any injury. But once you pass forty, when your Qi and blood decline, all those hidden injuries come knocking. This leg of mine is a root ailment left over from practicing 'Stone Shattering Leg' back then. Whenever it's overcast and rainy, the pain makes me want to saw the leg off."

Old Ma pointed to his chest. "My predecessor was too hasty. He wanted to push for Bone Forging, but his physical foundation was too weak to withstand that potent medicine. It directly ruptured his heart meridian."

Chen Mo nodded slightly, putting on an expression of someone who had learned a lesson, but his heart was perfectly clear.

This was the tragedy of ordinary martial artists.

If you want power, you must exchange your life for it. The body is like a container; if you desperately stuff gunpowder inside, either it explodes to kill the enemy, or it explodes to kill yourself.

But he was different.

The System was his greatest backing. His improvement was lossless, an all-around evolution, with no concept of overdraft.

"Thank you for the guidance, Uncle Ma." Chen Mo thanked him sincerely.

"Alright, this old man should pack up and leave now." Old Ma stood up unsteadily, pulled out a string of keys from his In my arms, and placed them on the table. "These are the keys to the storeroom and the archives. My Lord, take care of yourself."

Old Ma left, his figure looking desolate.

Chen Mo picked up the heavy string of keys.

This was power.

From today onward, he had the final say over this small territory of West City.

...

Not long after, a noisy sound of footsteps was heard outside the door.

"Chief, everyone is gathered and wants to meet the new Lord."

The door curtain was lifted, and three people entered.

The one in the lead was a burly man with a face full of thick flesh. His thick beard stood out like steel needles. He wasn't wearing a Runner uniform, only a vest, revealing two hairy, thick arms. His muscles bulged in lumps, making him look like a black bear.

This was Zhang Biao.

He was the former second-in-command of the West City Branch Office and the person most expected to take over as the Chief Runner. But Chen Mo's sudden appointment had snatched the cooked duck away from him.

Following behind Zhang Biao were a man as thin as a monkey, whose eyeballs constantly darted around, named Hou San; and another who was a quiet type, solidly built, keeping his head down and not speaking, named Zhao Dazhu.

"Your subordinate, Zhang Biao, greets Lord Chen."

Zhang Biao clasped his fists, his voice booming like a bell, shaking dust loose from the roof tiles. He didn't bow deeply; his eyes held a wild, untamed arrogance, along with unconcealed scrutiny.

That look clearly conveyed: This pretty boy? Is he even mature enough?

"Your subordinate, Hou San, greets the Lord!" Hou San, however, knelt swiftly, his face plastered with fawning smiles. "The Lord is truly heroic and extraordinary; West City finally has a backbone!"

Zhao Dazhu merely performed a dull salute.

Chen Mo sat in the main chair, not rushing to speak, just quietly observing them.

This silence made the atmosphere in the room somewhat oppressive.

The smile on Hou San's face began to stiffen, and Zhang Biao's brow furrowed.

Just as Zhang Biao was about to lose his temper, Chen Mo smiled.

"We are all brothers here, no need for such formalities."

He stood up, walked around the desk, approached Zhang Biao, and reached out to pat Zhang Biao's arm, which felt hard as stone. "Brother Zhang's physique clearly shows he is the pillar of West City. I will have to rely on Brother Zhang for support in the future."

Zhang Biao was momentarily stunned. He had anticipated Chen Mo acting high and mighty or deliberately making things difficult, but he hadn't expected this young man to be so polite. This punch hitting cotton made him feel awkward.

"My Lord is too kind," Zhang Biao muttered sullenly. "Since the Lord has arrived, the burden naturally falls to the Lord. I am a rough man; I only know how to chop people, not how to manage affairs."

There was a barb in his words, meaning: You manage the affairs, and if anything goes wrong, you take the blame.

Chen Mo seemed not to understand, still smiling sweetly: "Chopping people is also a skill. If we on duty can't even hold a saber steady, what the hell are we managing?"

"That... My Lord," Hou San seized the opportunity to interject, "The brothers booked a banquet at the Drunken Immortal Tower tonight to welcome the Lord. I wonder if the Lord would grace us with his presence?"

A welcoming banquet? Chen Mo knew it like the back of his hand.

This wasn't a welcome; it was a probing. They wanted to see how much liquor the new superior could hold, what his courage was like, and if he was a soft persimmon that could be easily manipulated.

If he refused, it would show cowardice, and he wouldn't be able to hold his head up in front of the brothers later.

If he went, who knew what kind of first test awaited him.

"Very well." Chen Mo agreed decisively. "The brothers have put thought into this. I will certainly be there tonight."

A trace of surprise flashed in Zhang Biao's eyes. This kid had quite a lot of nerve.

...

After sending off these three subordinates, each harboring their own agenda, Chen Mo straightened his robes and walked out of the public office.

In the courtyard, over thirty Runners were already lined up.

Although their posture was crooked, it was, at least, a formation.

Chen Mo stood on the steps, his gaze sweeping over those faces—some numb, some curious, some disdainful.

He didn't give a long speech, nor was he impassioned.

He simply placed his hand on the hilt of his saber and stated three sentences calmly.

"First, my name is Chen Mo, and I am your Chief from now on."

"Second, follow me, conduct yourselves according to the rules. The silver that should be given will not be short a single cent, and the meat that should be eaten will not be missed a single bite."

"Third, if anyone betrays the organization or stabs me in the back..."

Chen Mo pushed his thumb slightly, and the wild goose feather saber slid out half an inch, a clear Dragon's cry echoing through the small courtyard.

"My saber recognizes no one."

The courtyard fell silent.

Everyone felt a chill down the back of their necks.

The Killing Intent emanating from this young new Lord was not faked; he had truly seen blood.

"Dismissed."

Chen Mo waved his hand.

The crowd dispersed as if granted amnesty.

"You, and you, the two of you stay behind."

Chen Mo casually pointed out two people.

One was the quiet type from before, Zhao Dazhu, and the other was a young Runner standing in the corner, looking quite sharp, but with several patches on his clothes, clearly not doing well.

That young Runner was named Wang Xiaoliu.

The two walked fearfully before Chen Mo.

"My Lord..."

"From now on, you two follow me." Chen Mo pulled two ingots of silver from his In my arms, tossing one to each. "Go, clean up the public office inside and out. Then go buy some good tea; I don't drink old tea."

Zhao Dazhu and Wang Xiaoliu stood stunned, clutching the silver.

This silver was equivalent to two months of their salary.