[HOST INTEGRITY: 9%]
[STATUS: CRITICAL FAILURE IMMINENT]
[TIME: 9:00 AM (The Next Morning)]
Victory didn't taste like champagne. It tasted like copper and painkillers.
Ren Wu woke up on the leather couch in the CEO's office of the Last Stop Factory.
He didn't open his eyes immediately. He ran a system diagnostic.
His ribs were knitting together, but slowly. The [Imperial Edict] he had used to crush Wang Bo had drained his battery to the red zone.
He felt hollowed out—like a machine running on fumes.
"Boss? You alive?"
Red Dog's voice was uncharacteristically small.
Ren opened his eyes.
The office was dark. The hum of the ventilation system was gone. The air was stale.
"Why are the lights off?" Ren rasped, sitting up. The room spun violently. "Did we forget to pay the electric bill?"
"No, Boss," Red Dog said, standing by the window. The massive Ogre looked nervous. He was holding a piece of paper like it was a bomb. "We paid. But the grid... it just stopped."
Ren frowned. He forced himself to stand, walking to the window.
Outside, the factory floor was silent. The machines were dead. The ghosts—Lian and the workers—were standing around in the gloom, confused. The conveyor belts were still. The vats of incense were cooling.
"It's not just the lights," Jian's voice came from the corner.
Jian was sitting on the floor, surrounded by laptops. He looked pale, typing furiously.
"I tried to access the gang's bank accounts to transfer the loot from Wang Bo. Frozen."
"Frozen?"
"All of it," Jian said, turning the laptop screen around.
[ACCESS DENIED: ASSETS SEIZED PENDING INVESTIGATION]
[AUTHORITY: THE NINTH SECTOR ADMINISTRATION]
"And this arrived by courier five minutes ago," Red Dog said, handing Ren a black envelope stamped with a heavy red wax seal.
Ren took it. The paper was cold to the touch. It smelled of ozone and official ink.
He saw the header. It wasn't from Nether-Core. It was from the Government.
[OFFICIAL SUMMONS: CASE #9901]
[TO: THE ENTITY KNOWN AS 'MR. CROW']
[FROM: THE DEPARTMENT OF SPIRITUAL ADMINISTRATION (SECTOR 9 BRANCH)]
[PETITIONER: NETHER-CORE INC.]
[ALLEGATION 1: UNLICENSED USE OF CLASS-A REALITY ALTERATION (THE EDICT).]
[ALLEGATION 2: ILLEGAL SEIZURE OF REGISTERED CULTIVATION ASSETS.]
[ALLEGATION 3: OPERATING A FACTORY WITHOUT A 'SOUL SAFETY' PERMIT.]
[RULING: IMMEDIATE ASSET FREEZE.]
[ORDER: SURRENDER YOURSELF TO THE HIGH-INQUISITOR FOR JUDGMENT WITHIN 24 HOURS. FAILURE TO COMPLY WILL RESULT IN PURGE.]
Ren stared at the letter.
He didn't look scared. He looked... amused.
"In my era, executions were public," Ren murmured, running a finger over the red wax seal. "We beheaded traitors in the market square. It was messy, but it was honest."
He dropped the letter on the desk.
"This generation prefers to starve you to death with paperwork. How decadent."
"Well, their 'decadence' is working!" Jian panicked. "We have 54,000 coins, but we can't spend them because the accounts are locked! We have a factory, but no power! We are sitting ducks, Ren! If the Administration sends a Purge Team... that means Judge Mortis is coming."
"Judge Mortis?" Ren asked, pouring himself a glass of lukewarm water.
"The High-Inquisitor," Red Dog shuddered. "He's a legend in the Underworld. He doesn't fight; he executes. If he bangs his gavel, your heart stops. Legally."
Ren walked to the window, looking out at the smog-choked skyline of Sector 9.
He was weak.
If he fought today, he would die.
The Administration knew that. That's why they froze him—to force him to come to them on his knees. Nether-Core didn't want a war; they wanted a foreclosure.
"We can't fight the Administration," Ren said softly. "Not alone. They own the ground we stand on. Fighting them physically is like fighting gravity."
"So we run?" Red Dog asked, hopeful.
"No," Ren turned around. His eyes were cold. "We find a Loophole."
Ren looked at Jian.
"Jian, get me the phone. I need to make a call."
"Who? The Police?"
"No," Ren smiled, but there was no warmth in it. "I need a Partner. Someone with a clean legal record and an ancient name to shield us from the Bureaucracy."
The Ice Queen's Morning
Ye Lingshan was practicing her sword forms in the courtyard of the Ye Estate.
The estate was large, ancient, and falling apart. The paint on the pillars was peeling. The gardens were overgrown with weeds.
The Ye Clan was dying. Their "Ice Heart" cultivation technique was flawed. Every generation got weaker, colder, and poorer.
BZZZT.
Her phone vibrated on the stone bench.
Unknown Number.
She sheathed her sword and picked it up.
"Speak."
"You were right," a raspy voice said.
Ye Lingshan froze. She knew that voice.
"Mr. Crow."
"Ren Wu," the voice corrected. "Let's drop the masks, Lingshan. You smelled the grave on me at the hotel. You know who I am."
Ye Lingshan narrowed her eyes. "You are bold calling me. The Administration issued a warrant for your arrest this morning. If I report your location, the Ye Clan gets a bounty."
"The bounty is 5,000 coins," Ren said calmly. "It won't save your family."
Ye Lingshan went silent. "What do you know about my family?"
"I know your Grandfather is coughing blood," Ren said, his voice cutting through the speaker. "I know your cultivation technique stalls at the 'Frost Jade' stage because your meridians freeze over. I know the Ye Clan will be bankrupt in six months."
The air around Ye Lingshan dropped ten degrees. Frost crept up the screen of her phone.
"Are you threatening me?"
"No. I am offering a consultation."
Ren's voice was smooth, confident.
"I can fix your technique, Lingshan. I can save your Grandfather. And I can make the Ye Clan the Kings of Sector 9 again."
"And what do you want?" she asked, her grip tightening on the phone.
"I have a cash flow problem," Ren said lightly. "And a legal problem called Judge Mortis. I need a Partner. Someone with an Ancient Title to shield me from the Bureaucracy."
"You want to use us as a shield."
"I want to employ you as a Board Member," Ren corrected. "I am coming to your estate in one hour. Tell your Grandfather to put the kettle on. And tell him..."
Ren paused.
"Tell him the Auditor is coming to check his books."
Click.
The Departure
Ren hung up the phone.
He looked at Red Dog.
"Red Dog, break open the emergency cash stash. The physical coins."
"We only have about 200 coins in loose change, Boss. The petty cash drawer."
"Enough for a taxi," Ren said, adjusting his sling. "And enough to buy a clean shirt."
"A shirt?" Jian asked. "Ren, look at you. You're wearing a tuxedo covered in dried black blood. You look like a hitman who had a very bad night."
"Exactly," Ren said, walking toward the door, leaning heavily on the doorframe. "If I walk into the Ancient Ye Clan looking like a butcher, they will try to kill me."
Ren's eyes glowed green.
"But if I walk in looking like a Minister... they will listen."
He turned to Red Dog.
"You stay here. Guard the factory. If the Administration comes, lock the doors and claim 'Sanctuary.' Don't fight. Delay."
"Where are you going?" Jian asked, grabbing his backpack.
"To the Ye Estate," Ren said.
"We are going to stage a Hostile Takeover. But this time... we're using honey instead of vinegar."
Ren stepped out into the blinding daylight.
His body was screaming in pain. His accounts were frozen. An executioner named Mortis was sharpening his gavel.
He grinned.
"Finally," Ren whispered. "A challenge worthy of a bureaucrat."
[SYSTEM STATUS UPDATE]
Net Worth: 54,000 Spirit Coins.
Liquid Cash: 200 Coins.
Current Status: Technically a millionaire, practically homeless.
Author's Thoughts: There is nothing more dangerous than a bureaucrat who has been denied access to his bank account. Ren isn't going to the Ye Clan to ask for help; he's going there to acquire a subsidiary.
Next Chapter: The Audit of the Ice Clan. Turns out, the "Ancient Secret Arts" of Earth are just the " For Dummies" versions of Hell's techniques... and the translation is terrible.