Starting as dockworkers, they swept through Chongqing.

Xilun put away his gun and went ashore.

In the distance, the fog gradually dissipated, and the winter sun shone on the damp, cold rocks, casting a pale sheen.

He put on his coat, and the chill within him slowly receded.

Over the past six months, his abilities have steadily improved, and the North District has appeared stable on the surface.

But the more this is the case, the more it indicates that the next storm will be significant.

In the evening, Siron returned to the Brotherhood's mansion.

Rhodes was already waiting in the study.

The fireplace was burning brightly, and three stacks of documents were on the table: accounts for the northern district, intelligence on Tusol, and progress reports on the search for materials for smuggling agents.

After Xilun sat down, he first picked up the materials progress report.

Luo De said, "The Blue-Veined Bone Powder, White Flame Root, and Black Mercury Salt have all been stored away and are in good condition. The source of the remaining Lunar Phase Silver Marrow and Sleeper Spinal Fluid is still uncertain. However, a message came from Tusor today, saying that the Third Elder would like to invite you to a banquet tomorrow night."

"reason?"

"Thank you for treating the Tusol contaminants over the past six months. Also, they mentioned that a new batch of materials seized from the Whispering Choir stronghold has been sorted out in the warehouse, and several of them need your help in identification."

Xilun stopped flipping through the documents.

Rhodes whispered, "It might be bait."

"Of course."

"Are you going?"

"go."

Siren put down the documents. "Put on regular formal attire, no Brotherhood guards."

Rod was slightly surprised: "Young Master?"

“There’s no point in bringing guards to the Tussol banquet,” Siren said. “If they really want to make a move, four gunmen or forty gunmen make little difference. On the contrary, Oin would be more willing to talk if I went alone.”

"That covert operation?"

"Renabu is on the perimeter, only recording people coming and going, and does not approach the manor."

Rhodes nodded and noted it down.

Xiren then picked up the intelligence on Tusol again.

It contains Austin's recent marching route, a preliminary list of autumn hunting grounds, and traces of Oin's old men's activities.

Many clues seem insignificant when viewed individually, but together they resemble a tightening net.

"Any news from Austin?"

"The war in the Northwest is going well, but he probably won't be back for a while," Rhodes said. "The remnants of the Whispering Choir have been harassing him with guerrilla tactics, as if they're deliberately stalling him."

Xilun tapped the tabletop lightly with his fingertips.

Oin is about to make a move.

The timing will most likely be during the autumn hunt.

He knew that his best option right now was to stand by and watch.

The Brotherhood has just been established, the Ease of Transformation potion is not yet ready, and the third-tier advancement is still in the preparation stage.

He had no reason to throw himself into the eye of the storm prematurely just for the sake of a power shift within the Tusol family.

The problem is, the storm doesn't care whether bystanders are willing to get close.

Especially when the materials he needs might be right in the eye of the storm.

Looking at his expression, Rhodes said softly, "Young Master, should we warn Austin in advance?"

Xilun remained silent for a moment.

The firewood crackled and popped in the fireplace.

"A reminder without evidence will only offend both Oin and the Tusor Elder Council."

"So you're just going to ignore it?"

"Wait first."

Xilun raised his eyes: "I need to know whether Oin actually has those two materials, and I also need to know what he wants to exchange them for."

Rhodes understood.

It's not that the young master is indifferent, but rather that he's not in a hurry to get involved.

Before offering a price, any statement is a waste of time.

"Also, contact Professor Lund," Siren continued. "Ask him to inquire about Lunar Silver Marrow and Sleeper Spinal Fluid through the Ironblood Society. Don't just ask in the main city; ask through overseas channels as well."

"Yes."

"Keep creating a smokescreen in the black market. Spread the word that I'm collecting these materials to deal with contaminated drugs for the armed insurgents, so people don't associate it with a third-tier advancement."

"clear."

Rod closed his notebook and was about to leave when he remembered something: "Young Master, there is also a letter from the Link family."

Xilun accepted it.

The envelope bore Daisy's family seal.

When he opened it, there were only a few lines of text inside.

The Link family has gradually stabilized internally.

Susie did not go back.

But someone saw a girl who looked like her at a southern port, who had bought a ticket to the free port at sea.

At the end of the letter, Daisy wrote:

"If she meets you in the future, please tell her that I no longer hate her."

Xilun looked at the sentence, remained silent for a moment, and then folded the letter back up.

The night outside the window is getting darker.

In the distance, the streetlights in the northern district lit up one by one, and the dim yellow glow of the gas lamps spread out in the fog like countless floating eyes.

Some people were celebrating Tusol's victory in the tavern.

Someone was quietly selling illegal drugs in the alley.

Some people were riding in carriages to the banquet.

Someone is hiding in the basement, stitching together a new monster.

Meanwhile, Xiren sat in his study, laying out the formula for the facilitating potion, the list of those hunting in Tusol's autumn hunt, and the contact information for the Ironblood Society.

Three sheets of paper.

Three lines.

Each path leads to a deeper shadow.

He reached out and poked at the firewood in the fireplace.

The flames suddenly shot up, illuminating his calm face.

"Rhodes".

"Young Master."

"Starting tomorrow, the mansion will be placed on level two alert. All incoming mail will be purified with disinfectant powder, and drinking water and food will undergo an additional test. Kusso's gunmen will patrol in two shifts, while Reina's men will keep an eye on Tusor's residence, black market suppliers, and armed insurgent strongholds."

"Yes."

"besides."

Xilun put away the three pieces of paper in a very soft voice.

Prepare a formal dress for the banquet.

Rod bowed slightly: "What color do you want?"

Xilun looked out the window.

Deep in the fog, searchlights could be faintly seen sweeping across the night sky in the direction of the Tusol family's residence.

It was like a giant beast opening its eyes.

"black."

he said.

"Dirty".

……

The fog in the northern area dissipated very slowly on the second morning.

The gas lamps were still not completely extinguished at nine o'clock, their dim yellow light spreading out in circles along the damp stone path.

The carriage rolled over puddles left by last night's rain, its wheels kicking up black mud that splashed onto the shoes of newsboys on the roadside.

The newsboy cursed once, then immediately tucked his frostbitten hands into his sleeves and shouted at the top of his lungs, "Great victory in the Northwest! The Tussor cavalry has routed the rebels! The Noble Council has awarded additional honors!"

The sounds echoed through the streets and alleys.

Xilun sat in the carriage, looking out the window.

The North District has changed a lot in the past six months.

This street used to be like a moldy loaf of bread, with poor people, drunkards, vagrants, and black market dealers crammed together, and the air was always filled with the smell of cheap liquor, coal smoke, and rotten vegetable leaves.

Now, there are more patrolling gunmen on both sides of the main street, the old freight road has been reopened, and several shops secretly supported by the Brotherhood have put up new signs, with roasted chestnuts and mulled wine displayed at their entrances.

Order does not necessarily bring kindness.

But at least it allows people to hide the knife in their clothes instead of carrying it openly in their hands.

Rod sat opposite him, with a narrow leather suitcase on his back.

"Young master, the tailor shop has been cleared out," he said in a low voice. "The owner is a local; his father once made formal attire for naval officers, and he's very tight-lipped."

Xilun withdrew his gaze: "There's no need to clean it too thoroughly."

Rod was slightly taken aback.

"A young man going to a noble banquet and choosing his attire at the last minute will only attract attention if he is too quiet," said Siren. "Let the streets be as they should be."

Rod nodded, lifted the carriage curtain, and gave instructions to the driver.

The carriage did not stop directly in front of the tailor shop, but slowed down at the previous intersection. After disembarking, Siron walked along the street.

Victoria in winter has a kind of cold, hard liveliness.

Charcoal burned in an iron stove by the roadside, and an old woman selling oyster soup tapped the edge of the pot with a copper ladle, as white steam rose up, mingling with the aroma of spices.

Two workers, wrapped in oilcloth coats, squatted by the roadside eating roasted potatoes. Their fingers were frozen purple, but they still couldn't bear to eat the potatoes quickly.

Further away, the glass windows of the watch shop were polished to a shine, and inside were three rows of pocket watches, each one like a still little moon.

"Sir, would you like a hot gin?" The liquor stall owner smiled as soon as he saw Xilun's clothes. "It's so cold today that it could freeze your bones. One sip and I guarantee you'll be warm from head to toe."

Xilun stopped in his tracks.

The boss's smile became even more enthusiastic.

But he quickly noticed Rhodes beside him, and then saw two Brotherhood gunmen in the distance who were subtly watching them, and his eagerness subsided somewhat.

"Use less sugar," Xilun said.

"You have excellent taste." The boss deftly ladled out the wine.

"The gentlemen from out of town all love to add sugar, making it as sweet as medicine. Only the locals know that gin has to be spicy, spicy enough to make your throat hurt, to match our awful weather."

Rod took the cup and tested it with a silver needle.

The boss saw it, his eyelids twitched, but he didn't dare to say anything.

Xilun took a sip.

The liquor is scalding hot, with a grassy and spicy flavor, and goes down your throat like a red-hot thread.

"The streets are bustling lately," he remarked casually.

The shopkeeper wiped his hands with a cloth: "Lively? You mean the people of Tusol? Those gentlemen have been crossing the street every day lately, riding tall horses, their spears whizzing past people's noses. The other day, a fishmonger was a step too slow, and his fish basket got trampled by a horse's hoof. He didn't even dare to ask for compensation."

A worker eating potatoes nearby sneered, "What compensation do you want? You dare to stop Tusol's horse? The next day someone will say you're a cult spy."

The boss quickly glared at him: "Shut up, you don't want to talk anymore?"

The worker snorted and threw the potato peels into the muddy water.

Siren said calmly, "Shouldn't the streets be safer after they crack down on the cult?"

The shop owner sighed, "It's safe now. Before, I was afraid of running into gangsters when I went out at night; now I'm afraid of running into patrols. It's still the same fear, just with different names."

That was said very softly.

After saying that, he immediately bent down to wipe the stove, as if the fire had just crackled.

Siron put the wine glass back on the stall, leaving two copper pennies.

The shopkeeper glanced at the extra piece, his fingers paused slightly, then he smiled and said, "Have a safe trip, sir. If you're going to the banquet, don't wear gray. Gray is considered taboo in aristocratic circles this year. It's said to look like mourning clothes, but it's not dignified enough."

Rod glanced at the boss.

Xilun asked, "Who said that?"

"Who else could it be? It's what the noble ladies are saying," the shopkeeper said in a low voice. "They're sitting in curtained carriages, their mouths moving faster than newspapers."

Xilun smiled, turned around, and continued forward.

The tailor shop was on the street corner, with a dark green storefront and a brass plaque that read "Fernande Clothing".

A tall, thin old tailor stood at the door, his hair neatly combed and wearing gold-rimmed glasses.

He saw Siren and bowed slightly: "Sir, the fabric is ready."

The shop was not completely emptied.

Two young employees standing by the cabinet, quietly comparing sheepskin and deerskin gloves, were selecting gloves; a middle-aged woman was altering her uniform with her son, who kept tugging at his collar and was slapped on the back of his hand several times by the woman; by the window, an elderly woman in a black dress was sitting waiting for a hat, with an old leather bag on her lap.

As Xilun entered, several pairs of eyes fell upon him.

Few people in the North District are unfamiliar with the Brotherhood's young leader.

Even if I've never seen their face, I've seen their portraits and heard rumors about them.

Some say he killed a sea monster on the Greywater River, some say he single-handedly fought his way through the Black Death Cult at the South Clock Tower, and others say he can make rainwater flow backward and silence the dead.

Rumors are always more appealing than facts.

The old tailor had obviously heard these things before, but his hands were very steady.

He took out three black suits.

"This is a traditional tuxedo, suitable for formal evening events. The sharp shoulder line and tight waist will make you look more upright." The old tailor's fingers brushed across the fabric.

"This set is made of Southern wool, so the color is deeper and won't turn bluish under the light. The last set is slightly shorter for ease of movement, and the cuffs have hidden snaps, which would be more appropriate if the gentleman needs to carry a pocket watch or other small items."

Rhodes looked at the third set.

Xilun also looked at the third set.

The old tailor seemed to have said nothing, only slightly lowering his eyes: "The Tusol family banquet has strict rules. A dress that is too new would seem presumptuous, while one that is too old would seem disrespectful. This one is just right."

Xilun reached out and touched the fabric.

It has a thick, dense feel, and the lining is smooth yet not flimsy.

"Give it a try."

The curtain was drawn, cutting off half of the noise from the shop.

Rod stood aside and took the coat from him.

When Xilun took off her regular clothes, the old scars that ran across her upper body were reflected in the mirror.

Gunshot wounds, lacerations, contaminated burns, bruises from fights—some have faded, while others remain like shadows beneath the skin.

The old tailor's gaze lingered for only a moment.

He showed no surprise, nor did he offer any flattery; he simply regarded the flawed yet expensive piece of cloth as an opportunity to carefully judge where each thread should fall.

"Sir, your shoulders and back are broader than the average gentleman's, but your waist is narrow, making it difficult for suits to fit you properly." He picked up a measuring tape. "Should we allow for more range of motion in your right arm?"

Xilun glanced at him.

The old tailor adjusted his glasses: "People who frequently wield guns and canes have a different point of contact with their right shoulder."

"Keep."

"Does the left rib area need an internal sac?"

"want."

How deep?

"It can fire a short gun."

The old tailor's fingers stopped.

At the other end of the shop, the boy complained that his collar was too tight and was scolded by the woman in a low voice.

Outside the glass window, a flower cart slowly passed by, the white roses with their edges turning blue from the cold.

The old tailor continued to note the measurements: "A short gun will ruin the waistline."

"Then destroy it."

"clear."

After changing into her formal attire, Xilun stepped out from behind the fitting room curtain.

The shop was quiet for a moment.

The black suit suppressed the cold and stern aura that originally belonged to the North District, making him look more like a young scholar, or an unsociable heir of a declining noble family.

But when he looked up, his calmness made people instinctively avoid his gaze.

The old lady examined it for a moment, then suddenly said, "Black is good."

The old tailor frowned: "Mrs. Martha."

The old lady ignored him and said only to Siren, "Young sir, when you go to the Tusol family's banquet, black is better than red. Red is for their own people. For outsiders to wear red is like sticking their necks into a noose."

Rhodes' expression shifted slightly.

Xiren asked, "Have you attended the banquet at Tusol?"

The old lady touched the old leather bag on her lap and smiled:

"When I was young, I made hats for one of their daughters. Back then, Tusol wasn't as powerful as he is now, but at banquets, no one dared to cough loudly."

The men in their family love horses, guns, and victory, while the women love jewels, surnames, and secrets.

If you go there to discuss business, don't look at the paintings on the walls, look at the servants' shoes.

Why?

"Paintings are for guests to see, but shoes are for real places," the old woman said. "Which hall has just been wiped of blood, which corridor has just had a change of shifts—the soles of a servant's shoes are more honest than the words of their master."

The old tailor coughed softly, as if reminding her to stop talking.

Xilun nodded earnestly: "I've learned a lot."

The old lady waved her hand: "I'm just old and talkative."