Starting as dockworkers, they swept through Chongqing.

Xilun spent two hours reading the entire notebook.

Then close your eyes.

In the spiritual realm, the white light of the sacred buds of prayer gently emanates.

He followed the first step in the notes—

Guide a wisp of extremely fine white light to peel away from the sacred bud.

It's not projecting outwards.

Instead, it's inward.

Towards the core of one's own spirit.

That was a direction of operation he had never tried before.

In the past, whether purifying pollution or examining injuries, Bai Yi always used it outwards—aiming at the target, infusing, enveloping, and suppressing it.

But the art of soothing requires him to do the opposite.

Let the whiteness return to itself.

Envelop your own spiritual core.

Like a soft film, it gently wraps around the core.

Then--

Slowly tighten.

It's not compression.

It's about appeasement.

Like a pair of warm hands, cradling a fragile flame and shielding it from all the wind.

First attempt – failed.

The white intent lost control the moment it approached the spiritual core and dissipated.

Xilun opened his eyes and let out a soft breath.

There was no impatience.

He closed his eyes again and did it one more time.

the second time.

the third time.

the fourth time.

By the seventh time—

He finally succeeded in firmly attaching a wisp of white light to the surface of the spiritual core.

Deep meditation!

That feeling...

Very strange.

It felt like soaking in a pool of warm water.

Every cell in the body is relaxing.

The chaotic thoughts in his mind—Balk, Oin, Autumn Hunt, Black Qi Mark—were like noise with the volume turned down, gradually receding to the edge of consciousness.

His breathing became extremely slow.

Extremely uniform.

I could barely feel myself breathing.

Everything in the spiritual world—the light of the sacred bud, the dark red spot of the red star, even the black energy lurking on his right wrist—became quiet.

This is the first layer of the soothing technique—

peaceful.

Xilun remained in that state for about half an incense stick's time.

Then slowly exit.

When he opened his eyes, he discovered that his mental strength had recovered by 10%.

It was only half an incense stick's worth.

It should be noted that, under normal circumstances, even using the Moon Memory Meditation Technique, it takes at least an hour to recover 10% of one's mental energy.

Efficiency has increased... by nearly four times.

Xilun's eyes flickered slightly.

The notebook Susie left for him—

Its value far exceeded his expectations.

He closed the notebook and carefully put it away.

Then--

He took out a bottle of Yin Spirit Source Water from the brocade box on the corner of the table.

There are two bottles left.

Adding to the fragments of Cold Marrow Essence seized from the smuggling gang earlier, and the few portions of Purifying Heart Incense he had saved—

These are all the resources he has for this retreat.

not much.

But it's enough.

Xilun unscrewed the bottle cap and drank the icy Yin Spirit Source Water in one gulp.

A familiar, bone-chilling cold seeped into my abdomen from my throat, spreading rapidly along my meridians to my limbs and bones.

He activated the Mysterious Yin Breathing Technique.

Guide the cold breath to settle, compress, and condense deep within the bones.

at the same time--

The internal vibrational force of the Great Thunder Breathing Method circulates synchronously in another meridian.

One is cold, the other is hot.

Two forces collided alternately within the body.

Each collision felt like repeatedly hammering a piece of red-hot iron.

pain.

It hurts.

But Xilun has grown accustomed to this pain.

He even began to enjoy the pain—because after each bout of pain, his body would become a little stronger.

……

The days in seclusion were monotonous yet fulfilling.

The daily routine is almost identical.

Four o'clock in the morning - the Mysterious Yin Breathing Method.

Five points – Great Thunder Breathing Method.

Six o'clock - The practice of soothing techniques.

From 7 a.m. to noon—in the bedroom, close your eyes and practice the Bone Forging Iron Armor, while using the Echo Chamber to perceive the changes in every inch of your muscles and bones.

In the afternoon—I read fragments of ancient religious texts and studied the advanced paths of life arts.

In the evening, practice shooting techniques in the training shed for an hour to maintain muscle memory.

That evening, Rhodes would deliver a report on time.

After reviewing the document, Xilun made his comments and then returned it to Xilun.

And so on and on.

one day.

Two days.

Three days.

One bottle of Yin Spirit Source Water has been used up.

One-third of the Cold Marrow Essence Fragments have been used.

Four sticks of incense were burned to purify the mind.

His strength—

It was steadily climbing at a speed invisible to the naked eye, but which he could clearly perceive himself.

The cold breath condensation level of the Xuan Yin Breathing Technique has increased by another ten percent.

The strength of the flesh and skin of the Bone Forging Iron Armor was further enhanced. He tried to have Kusuo strike his forearm with the full force of the iron rod—the iron rod bent, and his forearm only turned red.

The cultivation progress of the second blood seal is 87%.

Distance from perfection—

They were just one step away.

And soothing techniques—

He has been able to steadily enter a state of "tranquility" and remain in it for the time it takes for an incense stick to burn.

The efficiency of mental energy recovery is consistently three to four times that of ordinary meditation.

This means—

His endurance will be significantly improved in future battles.

……

Seven days later.

As usual, Rod sent his report in the evening.

Xilun finished reviewing the documents and put them down.

"How's it going with Balk?"

"As you instructed, Rena has arranged for three groups of people to take turns monitoring us." Rhodes opened the booklet.

"Balk currently lives on Old Mill Street in the northeast corner of the ocean pier. His daily routine is basically the same: he goes for a morning exercise and rests, returns to his residence at noon, occasionally goes to the pier in the afternoon, and drinks until late at night at a tavern called 'Golden Leaf'."

Xilun narrowed his eyes slightly.

"Where are the guards?"

"He is always accompanied by two people, both of whom are first-tier extraordinary individuals. In addition, Rena's people observed a faint fluctuation of extraordinary power at the second-floor window of his residence at two o'clock in the morning, which is suspected to be a small-scale warning array or device."

Xilun nodded.

"Keep an eye on them, but don't alert them."

He tapped his fingers lightly twice on the table.

"I need some more time."

Rhodes acknowledged and withdrew.

Xilun sat alone in his study.

Outside the window was the gray night sky over the northern district.

Thick black smoke billowed from the factory chimneys in the distance, obscuring the already faint starlight.

He looked down at the marker for the Balk stronghold on the map.

Then--

He slowly clenched his fist.

almost.

……

……

at the same time.

It is hundreds of miles away from the northern district.

A secret stronghold of the armed insurgent party.

This is a large cave hidden deep underground in the city. After renovation, it has now been transformed into a well-equipped combat command center.

A huge map hangs on the stone wall.

The map is marked with red ink to indicate the distribution of power, military strongholds, and supply lines in each region.

A long table was placed in the very center.

The table was covered with documents, correspondence, and reports from various branches.

At the head of the long table—

There was a person sitting there.

He looks to be under forty.

He has a long, thin face with high cheekbones and a jawline that is as sharp as if it had been carved with a knife.

Two gray-green pupils were embedded in a pair of deep-set eye sockets.

Those eyes didn't show any extra expression.

cold.

But it wasn't cold.

It's that kind of indifference—after experiencing too much betrayal and too much disappointment, one no longer has any expectations of anyone.

His name is Albert Casares.

The newly appointed general manager of the Armed Insurgent Party.

He took office just three days ago.

Albert was wearing a gray military jacket, with all the buttons on the collar fastened to the top.

There is a deep old scar on his left index finger, which was cut by barbed wire when he was carrying munitions at the South Port Wharf in his early years.

The wound wasn't treated properly at the time, leaving a white scar that will never fade.

He slowly slid his scarred finger across the map.

From west to east.

From south to north.

finally--

It stopped at a certain location.

"Where am I?"

His voice was deep and steady.

There was no pressure whatsoever.

But the four people sitting below all unconsciously straightened their backs.

A middle-aged man with a thick beard answered first: "Chief Executive Officer, this is Moon Lake."

Albert gently drew a circle with his finger at the location of Moon Lake.

Moon Lake.

He repeated the name.

"It is connected to the northern industrial belt in the east, the southern suburban transportation line in the west, and the old railway freight hub in the north."

His gaze swept over the markings on the map.

"A strategic location."

The bearded man nodded: "Yes. The Moon Lake area is not currently under the formal control of any major power, but several small and medium-sized forces are active in the surrounding area. If we can bring this area under our influence, we can open up a supply route between the northern district and the southern suburbs, which will be beneficial for subsequent—"

"I know."

Albert interrupted him.

His finger moved a short distance eastward from Moon Lake.

It stopped in the center of the North District.

There was a mark drawn with blue ink.

"What is this?"

Another person answered.

She was a young woman with extremely short hair and a cold, stern face.

"Brotherhood, North Division."

She flipped through the documents in her hand.

"The governor's name is Xilun. He joined the Tusor family from a different surname. His actual age is unknown, but it is estimated to be around twenty years old."

She pushed a briefing onto the table.

"During the tenure of the previous Grand Master, a friendly relationship was established with this person. The Brotherhood cooperated with us to wipe out the three major smuggling groups in the St. Mary's Parish—Anchor, Deepwater, and Blacksail. In the battle, this person performed exceptionally well, single-handedly defeating several Tier 2 Beyonders."

She paused.

"Therefore, he was given the title—Golden Knight."

Albert did not speak immediately.

He stared at the blue marker on the map.

Looked for a long time.

Then he raised his head.

"So—the previous CEO thought this person was worth working with?"

The bearded man immediately said, "Yes, Heinz specifically mentioned Siren in his resignation report, praising him highly. He believed that although the Brotherhood's North Division was not large, Siren's combat ability and intelligence judgment were far superior to those of his peers, making him a potential long-term partner."

Albert's expression remained unchanged.

But in his eyes—

There's something more subtle about it.

It's not about admiration.

It's not out of curiosity.

It was a silence that carried a sense of scrutiny.

He looked away and leaned back in his chair.

He tapped his fingers lightly twice on the table.

"Currently, the Brotherhood's Governor-General, Siron... holds a friendly attitude towards the armed insurgents."

The bearded man chimed in, "We can try."

Albert frowned.

Strive for it.

This word made him uncomfortable.

It's not because there's anything wrong with striving for it.

Rather, it's because this "striving" action was done by the previous CEO.

The previous CEO, Heinz, was a veteran.

He had cultivated his career within the Party for over a decade, starting from the grassroots and gradually climbing to the position of General Secretary.

He has his own network of connections.

Your own network of relationships.

One's own partners.

And Westren—

He was one of the partners left behind by Heinz.

Albert is a newcomer.

Although his abilities were recognized by the organization's higher-ups, which led to his exceptional promotion to executive director, he was, after all, a "newcomer."

Taking over Heinz's team is a skill in itself.

If he accepts everything Heinz left behind—

Including personal connections, partnerships, and resource allocation—

To outsiders, he was just living off his ex's legacy.

An executive who lives off his past achievements—

How long can I sit?

He didn't want to answer that question.

Albert shook his head.

"I don't think so," he said. "This person is qualified to cooperate with us."

The people below exchanged glances.

The bearded man tentatively said, "But Heinz reported—"

"I have read Heinz's report."

Albert calmly interrupted him.

"I've seen his evaluation, but it's Heinz's evaluation, not mine."

He used his scarred index finger to slowly draw a line on the table.

"I need to see this person's abilities with my own eyes before I can make my own judgment."

He spoke slowly as he said these words.

Every word seemed to have been carefully considered.

The short-haired woman leaned back in her chair and said calmly, "What the Grand Master means is..."

"Isn't there a support plan for each subordinate force at the end of the year?"

Albert flipped through the documents in front of him.

"I took a look at last year's assessment report—this Brotherhood North Division is relatively small in size, with an insufficient number of core Beyonders, and only Siren barely qualifies."

He raised his head.

"A division of this size—to put it bluntly—is far too weak. Relying on just one person to carry the whole thing isn't skill, it's luck."

The bearded man opened his mouth, seemingly wanting to explain.

But Albert didn't give him that chance.

"The year-end test for all factions—"

His voice was neither hurried nor slow.

"Then we invited the Governor of West London to give him a test."

He paused for a moment.

"If the person is incompetent and foolish—then replace him."

His gaze swept over everyone present.

"If you disagree—"

His voice dropped by half a octave.

"Kill them if they deserve to be killed."

When those words were spoken, an invisible pressure filled the air.

not heavy.

But it was enough to quiet everyone present down.

Albert's tone returned to its usual calm.

"For the sake of the great cause of the armed insurgent party, there is no need to be soft-hearted."

He stood up.

"Of course—if his performance satisfies me, then so be it."

He picked up a document from the table, turned, and walked towards the door.

The four people behind him looked at each other in bewilderment.

The bearded man glanced at the short-haired woman.

The short-haired woman shook her head slightly.

There was a meaningful, bitter smile in her eyes.

This is the boss deliberately picking on you.

Even if you perform well, a few words of criticism will make you seem insignificant.

This new CEO—

It seems they'll have to start by targeting Xilun.

What kind of surgery?

The knife that establishes authority.

The new official took office three fires.

And Xilun—just happens to be the most suitable firewood.

He was someone the previous CEO had won over.

Enough quantity.

But he's not a core member.

I don't feel bad about getting it done.

Winning establishes authority.

We lost—

It doesn't matter if we lose.

In any case, from beginning to end, the criteria for judging this test were in Albert's hands.

If he wants you to pass, then pass.

He doesn't want you to have a relationship with him.

Even if you play exceptionally well, it still "needs further observation".