Starting as dockworkers, they swept through Chongqing.

As dusk fell, the last rays of the setting sun cast a dim glow.

After finishing his final medicinal bath, Xilun changed into a dry black robe and returned to his warm study in the inner room.

The butler was waiting there early on, and as soon as Xilun was seated, he handed over an urgent financial document.

Xilun took it and quickly scanned it.

This document details the branch's numerous losses for the month. He paid particular attention to his own personal losses.

This includes daily rare and extraordinary medicinal baths, the high salary of the strongman, extra special medicinal herbs for supplementation, and the expenses of his two personal servants, Reina and Rod.

All told, he spent about twenty pounds this month!

Xiren didn't usually have much of a concept of money, but he was still surprised when he saw this number, and frowned, saying:

"Why are there so many?"

The butler smiled and reassured him, "Sir, there's no need to worry. Such expenses are manageable for you."

Today, the resources produced by the Brotherhood’s North Division are extremely stable. After deducting the salaries and bribes of the subordinates, they can earn a net profit of about seventy or eighty pounds per month.

According to the rules set by Boss Yuri, half of it will be considered your personal profit, Governor.

Xilun nodded slightly; it seemed the governor's position was indeed very lucrative.

Upon closer reflection, this seems to be a deterrent effect of his title as "Cavaliers champion".

Since the battle at Changqing Lake, the Iron Fist Gang, which had been the most vocal in its clamor, had not dared to openly harass them again, and some low-level alien species in the area had also been promptly suppressed by him.

With the fixed funding from the South China headquarters, the North China region is generally developing very well.

If a new trade route is opened up next month, I estimate I'll earn even more and get a larger share of cultivation resources.

Seeing that Xilun was in a good mood, the butler continued his report:

"Also, sir."

The armored tortoise from Evergreen Lake that day had an extraordinary shell made of rare materials. It had been cut and polished by the branch's top craftsmen and made into a heavy armor called the "Giant Tortoise Armor".

It has now been placed in the underground vault as a high-level reward.

You once established a rule that anyone who makes contributions to the branch in the future would be rewarded.

Xilun neither confirmed nor denied this, nodding slightly to indicate that he understood.

Armor was of little use to him, but it was an excellent bargaining chip to win people's hearts.

"Rena." Xiren put the financial statements aside and turned his gaze to the aloof girl who had been standing quietly in the corner.

Reina stepped forward and bowed slightly.

Xiren leaned forward, crossed his hands on the table, and his tone turned cold:

"What's the latest situation with the account book I had you secretly prepared for with former factory manager Diano?"

Rena took a sealed black booklet from her bosom, handed it to her with both hands, her voice as calm as ever:

"Reporting to Your Excellency, everything has been investigated and calculated. This is a copy of the secret account; please take a look."

Xilun took it, glanced at the booklet briefly, and a chilling killing intent flashed in his eyes. He sneered:

"As expected. That old fox is very cunning."

Before he came to the North District, he had anticipated that these old factions would be corrupt.

If it's just petty greed, that's one thing, but if the water is too clear, there will be no fish.

But he didn't expect that Dean, taking advantage of his new arrival and lack of involvement, would actually conceal such a huge sum of money, which was practically undermining the foundation of the Brotherhood!

Suppressing the murderous intent in his heart, Xilun closed the booklet, tapped the table lightly with his index finger, and asked in a deep voice:

"Where is that shipment you reported before, the one handled by Diano and delivered from the wasteland to the Black Swan Pavilion?"

Rena answered accurately: "According to the informant, they will arrive at our checkpoint late tomorrow night."

According to their usual practice, they will stay for about an hour to allow staff to rest, restock, and smooth things over.

Xilun nodded slightly, his eyes appearing deep and cruel under the light: "Tomorrow night... the timing is perfect."

He thought for a moment, then glanced at the butler, Rena, and Rhodes before asking:

"Besides Diano's matter, is there anything else important happening within the branch?"

All three of them lowered their heads in deep thought.

Finally, it was Reina, the most meticulous of them all, who stepped forward and pulled out an inconspicuous report from the stack of documents. Several paragraphs on the report were heavily circled in red pen.

"Sir, here it is." Rena handed the document to Siren. "This is a summary of disputes among the lower-level gang members."

Xilun glanced at the content circled in red, his brows furrowing again:

"Conflict between new and old employees? What's going on?"

I remember approving a policy before that new hires for branch expansion should receive equal pay for equal work as long-term employees.

Reina truthfully reported to the leader: "The problem arose precisely because of equal pay for equal work."

Many new employees have privately reported that they were actually assigned far more working hours than expected, with most of the heavy and dangerous tasks falling on their shoulders.

Meanwhile, the senior employees who rely on their seniority do less work and have an easier job, but they receive the same salary.

Furthermore, the senior employees seem to be forming cliques, seriously excluding newcomers, and shifting blame onto them when mistakes occur.

Reina raised her head and looked directly into Xiren's eyes:

"Most importantly, these newcomers' reports, after being submitted to several veteran managers such as Diano, disappeared without a trace, and were all suppressed without any action being taken."

Upon hearing this, Xilun was so angry that he laughed instead.

He stood up, his long black robe casting a huge shadow under the light.

"What a shrewd Dean! He takes my money to buy his own people's hearts."

Xilun coldly issued the order, his voice laced with an undeniable, bloodthirsty edge: "Go, secretly find out the specific names of the long-time employees involved and the wronged new employees. I want definite confirmation by the day after tomorrow!"

……

The following morning, a thick, grayish-white fog, like a viscous liquid, tightly enveloped the uneven red brick roofs of the northern district of Saint Laurent.

In the distance, the factory chimneys have begun to tirelessly spew out acrid black smoke, and the roar of gears meshing with steam pipes plays a monotonous symphony day after day on this barren land.

Everything seemed normal, except that Diano felt a bit chilly today.

He sat in his fairly spacious office, clutching a yellow envelope with a wax seal on the edge, his knuckles turning bluish-white from the force of his grip.

The letter was delivered ten minutes earlier by an unfamiliar apprentice. The apprentice, wearing a worn-out baseball cap, put down the letter and said only, "I'll come back for a reply at this time tomorrow," before disappearing into the shadows of the corridor like an eel.

Diano opened the letter in surprise, and when he saw the dark emblem representing the Iron Fist Gang, his heart began to pound uncontrollably.

As his gaze swept across the lines of writing on the letter, a chill ran up his spine and instantly froze the blood in his body.

The letter not only clearly recorded several instances of his covert embezzlement over the past few months, but also detailed his previous misappropriation of the Seven Seas Processing Plant's accounts. The flow of every sum of money and every discrepancy in the falsified accounts were crystal clear, as precise as a sharp dagger pressed against his throat.

At the end of the paper, written in an extremely arrogant and unquestionable tone:

"We hope Mr. Diano will cooperate with our next steps."

If you can successfully eliminate Siron, the Brotherhood's North Division will then be under your absolute control.

Simply cooperate with us, and all the profits will naturally be yours.

Diano's face was deathly pale, and cold sweat rolled down his forehead like broken beads, splashing onto the rough wooden tabletop and spreading into dark stains.

"How is that possible... They even dug up those old, trivial matters..."

Dean muttered to himself, trembling, his teeth grinding together.

The Iron Fist Gang is truly omnipresent. That old fox Dawson has clearly been watching me for a long time, just waiting to throw out bait and a knife at this critical juncture.

He suddenly stood up, wanting to rush out and grab the messenger to question him, but as soon as he reached the door, his legs felt as heavy as lead.

The messenger has already left. What good would it do to catch him?

The evidence is in Dawson's hands. As long as the other party hands these things over to that living devil, Xilun, he will definitely die a horrible death.

The Extreme Armored Turtle in Changqing Lake, which was torn apart by bare hands, was the best preview of his fate.

Diano paced nervously around the room a few times, and although it was still morning, he felt as if it were getting dark all around him.

His throat was dry and sore. He walked to the door and hoarsely instructed the employees guarding outside, "I'm going to the restroom. Nobody is allowed to bother me."

After locking the weathered wooden door to the bathroom, Diano leaned against the cold tiles, his hands trembling as he pulled a cigarette from his pocket and lit it with three matches.

The acrid smoke, when inhaled, caused a violent cough, but it also brought him back to his senses, which were on the verge of collapse.

He looked at his face, which was covered with wrinkles and age spots, in the mirror, and a fierce, trapped beast-like glint gradually rose in his eyes.

He was old, having spent most of his life climbing the ranks at the bottom of the fraternity. He finally climbed to the position of factory manager, handling so many pounds of gold, yet he could only earn a pitiful salary.

He also has an illegitimate daughter by Moon Lake. He wants to buy a manor with a rose garden in the countryside and live a respectable life, instead of spending his whole life smelling engine oil in this coal-dust-filled northern district.

"Forget it, let's call it a day after this one."

Diano's fingers, which were holding the cigarette, gradually calmed down, and he silently made up his mind.

As for the Iron Fist Gang, they initially dealt with them with feigned compliance.

Once he successfully sells the goods and receives the hefty final payment, he will immediately buy a train ticket to a southern coastal city and start a new life under a false identity.

No matter how powerful Xilun is, or how skillful Dawson is, as long as I escape far enough, what can they do to me?

Thinking of this, Diano's tense muscles finally relaxed, and he exhaled a long puff of blue smoke.

He immediately began planning this final escort mission in his mind.

Tonight's shipment is a high-purity contraband item that the Black Swan Pavilion wants; the profit margin is extremely high, and we absolutely cannot afford any mishaps.

He washed his face and walked out of the bathroom.

Time passed slowly in anxious waiting, and soon it was evening.

The hazy sky was stained a depressing dark orange by the exhaust fumes from the factory.

Diano first returned to his office and glanced out through the blinds. The entire factory area was still operating smoothly, and there seemed to be no unusual activity.

He casually walked into the dispatch room and asked an employee who was checking a list:

"What's the status of that shipment that passed through the wasteland last night?"

The employee hurriedly closed the inventory book, stood up, and respectfully replied:

"Factory manager, we just received news that the road is delayed due to mud, and we are expected to arrive about an hour later."

Diano nodded slightly, perfectly concealing his impatience beneath his dignified mask, and said calmly:

"Understood. Once the goods arrive, proceed with the highest level of protocol. No dawdling."

He turned and went to the canteen to grab a quick bite of dinner, then, like an old wolf surveying its territory, he wandered around the factory's tall iron gate with his hands behind his back.

His gaze kept drifting to the muddy main road leading to the wasteland, and he unconsciously paced back and forth.

The leather shoes made a rustling sound as they stepped on the cinder-strewn ground.

Several employees who were moving goods saw that the old factory manager was personally supervising the work today. They thought that some kind of order had been given from above, so they dared not slack off and gritted their teeth to carry the heavy wooden crates even more hard.

Some long-time employees of Dianno exchanged smug glances in the shadows, thinking that the old factory director was showing off his power to the arrogant new governor.

In this factory, Dianno ultimately calls the shots.

A cold wind carrying ice shards blew past, and Diano felt a tickle in his throat again.

He took out his cigarette case, wanting to smoke another cigarette to calm his inexplicably rapid heartbeat.

His hands and feet trembled uncontrollably, and he couldn't light a match no matter what he tried.

He was extremely nervous; after all, this was his last gamble, risking his life and fortune.

Just as he was struggling with the match and preparing to look up at the end of the road, a figure in a black fitted trench coat suddenly came into his view without warning.

The person appeared silently at the edge of the factory gate's light, like a condensed mass of darkness.

Diano shuddered in fright, his fingers loosened, and with a "thud," the unlit cigarette fell straight into the muddy puddle on the ground.

The visitor was none other than Xilun.

Xilun's expression was as calm as a still pond as he checked the status of the new and old employees on duty tonight.

His gaze slowly swept across the crowd, and when it landed on Diano, whose face was ashen, he subconsciously pursed his lips, revealing a chilling, faint smile.

To Diano, that smile was more terrifying than the Grim Reaper's scythe.

He felt his back instantly soaked with cold sweat, sticking stickily to his skin, making him extremely uncomfortable.

"Why are you still guarding the gate so late?" Xilun asked casually, his voice clearly reaching Diano's ears despite the noisy factory area.

Diano broke out in a cold sweat, swallowed hard, and barely managed to maintain his usual dignified expression as he bowed slightly and said:

"Your Excellency, a shipment is passing through tonight, and I was thinking of personally checking on the condition of the patrolmen to prevent any rusty hands or mishaps."

Xilen nodded slightly, his deep eyes seemingly not lingering on Diano for long, and walked straight past him with steady steps, bringing with them a chilling aura.

Once Xilun's figure disappeared around the corner of the warehouse, Diano finally let out a long sigh of relief, raised his sleeve to wipe the cold sweat from his forehead, and realized that he was really too nervous, to the point of being paranoid.

"It's alright, he's just doing a routine inspection, he couldn't possibly know about the accounts..." Diano reassured himself over and over again.

After a while, accompanied by the muffled roar of steam engines, four heavy trucks covered with thick rainproof tarpaulins slowly drove out of the mist in the distance, their wide tires leaving deep ruts on the muddy road.

As Diano watched the truck finally arrive at the factory gate, and the driver stuck his head out to show his pass, his heart, which had been hanging in his throat, finally settled down.