Starting as dockworkers, they swept through Chongqing.

"Oin threw me the clue about the sleeper's cerebrospinal fluid, and the fact that I acted on it tonight shows that I really needed this material, and also that the information he gave me was effective."

Rhodes continued, "That way he can determine whether you will continue to follow the path he provides for the third-tier advancement."

"More importantly, he will feel that the first point is also correct."

Xilun looked up.

"He provided the materials and clues, which I accepted. He suggested that Qiu Shou remain neutral, which I did not refuse to the end. Tonight, I did not investigate the Tusor spies, nor did I use the Black Death Cult's secret letter to publicly expose the Tusor branch. I just took the materials and left."

The lamplight flickered slightly in the basement.

Xilun's voice was very low.

"In Oin's eyes, this is called confirmation."

Lund looked at him.

"Are you sure you will remain neutral?"

"I am certain I have sufficient reason to remain neutral."

Xilun put the excerpt back on the table.

"He doesn't need me to trust him, he just needs me to believe that advancing to the third rank is more important than the Tusol infighting."

Rhodes remained silent.

Because this is indeed a choice that Xiren would make.

I don't take sides.

Get the materials.

Wait until both sides are exhausted.

The problem is that Oin sees it that way too.

A rational approach that is anticipated by the enemy is sometimes more dangerous than an impulsive one.

Lund suddenly asked, "So what do you think?"

Xilun did not answer immediately.

He walked to the iron box and looked at the six vials of the sleeper's spinal fluid.

The door to the third level appears to have been pushed open halfway.

Lunar phase silver marrow is still not in hand, but at least it is no longer hopeless.

Once he completes the promotion, he will no longer be just a second-tier chess piece being valued in the upcoming Autumn Hunt.

Kooin is also waiting.

The Black Death Cult is also waiting.

Austin is on the front lines, perhaps unaware that the locks on the manor behind him have been slowly changed.

Everyone thought they could wait for the most opportune moment.

Xilun lowered his head and pressed his wrist.

The black mark did not get hot.

But it's like a closed eye, quietly watching from beneath the skin.

"I'm thinking."

He spoke slowly.

"Oin wants me to believe that remaining neutral is the smartest option."

Lund asked, "So, do you believe it?"

Xilun raised his head.

The light reflected in his eyes, cold and clear.

"I only believe one thing."

"What?"

"Waiting for others to win before deciding how to deal with me is not neutrality."

Xilun looked at the Tussol wax print rubbing on the table.

"That's called handing over your life."

……

Deep within the Tusol estate, the underground coal stoves were still burning.

The heavy iron gate blocked out the night wind from the ground, as well as the lingering aroma of wine and laughter from the banquet.

The coal glowed red-hot in the furnace, and the firelight pierced through the iron grate, landing on the old animal head specimens on the wall, making those long-dried eyes seem to regain a bit of ferocity.

O'In sat at the end of the long table.

He didn't change out of his banquet attire, only unbuttoning the top button of his collar. His gray hair was neatly combed, and there was no sign of fatigue on his face.

On the table sat a silver pocket watch, its cover open, the hands moving silently forward, each tick like a tiny blade scraping against one's eardrum in the silence.

Three light knocks sounded from outside the door.

"Come in."

The iron gate was pushed open, and a spy wearing a dark short cloak walked in with his head down.

His boots were still covered in black mud from the old Gallows Street, and his clothes had scorch marks from the flames. He had clearly returned in a hurry, but dared not show any dishevelment in front of Oin.

He knelt on one knee.

"Sir, the matter of Old Gallows Street has been investigated and resolved."

Oin lifted his eyelids.

"explain."

The scout lowered his head even further.

"Sirlen led his men to ambush the Black Death Cult's transport team. One of the opposing team members was a second-tier Extreme Realm expert wielding a Sacred Bone Blade, and was very powerful, but Sirlen killed him head-on. He took the iron box with him, and the scene was burned, disguised as an internal conflict within the Black Death Cult."

Oro stood to the side, his expression slightly somber.

He hadn't drunk any alcohol tonight, yet his aura was as hot as if he'd been burned by it.

When he heard the words "a second-tier extreme realm expert was killed head-on," his eyes twitched noticeably.

Oin's expression remained unchanged.

"casualties?"

"One brother died and two were wounded."

"What did they take away?"

"It should contain the cerebrospinal fluid of the sleepers, ledgers, and several secret letters. Our men did not approach; they only saw them opening the iron box from a distance."

Oin tapped the edge of the pocket watch lightly with his fingers.

The sound was very soft.

The scout's back tightened even more.

"Has he been pursuing you?"

"no."

"Was there any deliberate release of people?"

"Nothing was found."

"Where is Lund?"

The scout hesitated for a moment before saying, "Before we left, we seemed to sense someone on the roof, but we were too far away to confirm. Judging from their build, it's very likely Lund."

Oin finally smiled.

The smile was neither warm nor mocking; it was more like the soft creak of a carpenter hearing a mortise and tenon join together.

"Go down and collect your reward."

The scout dared not say another word, kowtowed, and retreated.

The iron gate closed again.

Only the father and son remained in the basement, along with the burning coal in the stove.

After holding back for a long time, Auro finally spoke: "Father, he is stronger than the intelligence reports."

"Um."

Oin nodded slightly.

"Just the right amount of strength."

Oro frowned: "Just right?"

"Too weak, he's not qualified to restrain the Black Death Cult, nor is he qualified to have Albert protect him. Too strong, and he'll flip the table right now."

Oin picked up the pocket watch and slowly closed the cover. "This is the best way. It can kill second-tier extreme realm beings, cure pollution, and suppress the North District. But it's still just one step away from stepping into the third tier."

Oro understood, but felt even more uncomfortable.

He had seen too many people who had been bought off by the Tusol family since he was a child.

Some people kneel down too quickly; it's pointless.

Some bones are too hard and can only be broken.

People like Xilun are the most annoying.

He was neither obsequious nor angry, like a cold nail hidden on the table; whoever reached out to press him would bleed first.

"But the cerebrospinal fluid from the sleepers is real," Oro said in a low voice.

"Are we just going to let him take it like that? You can't buy that thing on the black market. Even a family's secret vault might not be able to produce six of them at once."

Oin looked up at him.

"Reluctant to part with it?"

Oro gritted his teeth.

"It's not that we're reluctant to part with it, it's that it's not worth it. Why should an outsider, a peasant who rose to power through the Brotherhood, receive any benefits from the Tusol family?"

The fire in the stove exploded with tiny sparks.

Oin leaned back in his chair.

"You still only see the things."

Oro's face stiffened.

This tone hurt him more than a reprimand.

Oin didn't rush to reprimand him, but instead looked at the beast head on the wall. It was a black-horned deer from the northwest, its antlers menacing, still in the posture it had just taken before its charge even in death.

"Oro, many in the family think that I've spent the last half of my life enduring hardship."

He said slowly, "The Ninja Clan Chief, the Ninja Elder Council, Ninja Austin, and those self-righteous collateral branches."

Oro remained silent.

"They are wrong."

Oin's palm landed on the table.

"I'm not enduring it; I'm waiting for them to fatten themselves up. Power is like that—when it's thin, it's tasteless to cut it off; when it's thick, you have to peel it off skin and flesh to survive the winter."

Oro looked up.

The firelight in Aoin's eyes flickered.

"I have shown my sincerity."

He spoke very slowly, each word like a piece of iron falling into a furnace.

"I hope he knows what's good for him."

Oro's chest heaved, still unwilling to give up.

"Father, it's such a waste to give him such a benefit."

Oin sneered.

"It's alright."

His laughter was soft, yet it seemed to lower the heat in the basement.

"If the operation succeeds, the entire Tusol family will be ours. At that time, dealing with an outsider will be a piece of cake."

The gloom in Auro's eyes finally dissipated a little.

He recalled the way Xilun calmly raised his glass in the banquet hall, and the way the other man showed no fear even though he was in Tusol Manor. The fire that had been simmering in his heart for so long finally found an outlet.

"This person's cultivation of the Profound Yin Breathing Technique consumes too many of my resources."

Oro whispered, "Once we succeed, we must kill him."

Oin did not answer immediately.

He looked at his son as if he were looking at a knife being quenched but not yet fully shaped.

Oro inherited his ruthlessness and the pride inherent in the Tusol family, but he was still missing something.

Lack of patience.

They lack reverence for failure.

They lack the ability to sheath their hatred.

"Killing someone is not difficult."

O'Indone said, "The difficult part is letting him die when he's supposed to die."

Oro was taken aback.

Oin reopened the pocket watch and looked at the small, yellowed portrait inside.

That was his father, in his youth, with gentle eyes and a hint of almost foolish kindness at the corners of his mouth.

Oin stared at it for a long time.

"Auston thought that by winning on the front lines, he had won over the family."

He said, "The Presbyterian Church thought that because they held the ledger, they held the foundation. The collateral branches thought that because they were named Tusol, they could survive the storm. Siron thought that because they had the materials, they had the right to sit back and watch the tigers fight."

Oin closed his pocket watch.

"They still don't understand."

"What?"

"Autumn hunting is never about hunting animals."

O'In stood up, walked to the wall, and took down an old hunting rifle that had been hanging there for many years.

The gun body was in excellent condition, and the grain on the wooden stock was as deep as blood.

"The autumn hunt is to remind the family who has the right to fire the first shot."

Meanwhile, in the basement of the Brotherhood mansion in the North District, the air was colder than at Tusol Manor.

The lamp was covered with half a layer of iron sheet, letting out only a dim yellow light.

The iron box had been relocked, the sleeper's cerebrospinal fluid had been moved to a deeper cabinet, and the ledgers and secret letters were spread out on the long table.

Rhodes, Lund, and Kusso sat in different places, and none of them spoke immediately.

Xilun was still standing in front of the map.

The old Armory Street, Tusol Manor, Hunting Ground Manor, Front Supply Route, the Third Charitable Hospital in the South District, and the stronghold of the Armed Insurgents are connected by thin lines, like a net that is gradually tightening.

"Waiting for others to win before deciding how to deal with me is not neutrality."

After he said that, the basement remained quiet for a long time.

Lund slowly stroked the gun barrel.

"You want to mess with Oin?"

"No."

Xilun turned around.

"I can't move now."

Kuso couldn't help but say, "Young Master, we just robbed the Black Death Cult tonight, and Tusor's men saw it. If Oin thinks you're disobedient, he might make a move at any time."

"He won't."

Xilun picked up a secret letter.

"At least not before the autumn hunt."

Rod asked, "Why?"

"Because I'm still useful," Siron said.

"He needs me to keep an eye on the Black Death, to draw Albert's attention, and to maintain a semblance of stability in the North. More importantly, he needs me to prove something."

"Prove you'll endure this for the sake of advancing to the third tier?"

"right."

Xilun put down the secret letter.

"So I'm going to make him think he's proven himself successful."

Lund narrowed his eyes.

He was familiar with that tone.

Whenever Xilun speaks in this calm, almost indifferent tone, he has usually already mentally retraced the steps of a dangerous path many times.

Explain yourself.

Xilun reached out and pointed at the map, his fingertip landing near the northwest front.

"First, the message must be communicated to Austin."

Rod frowned slightly.

"But Austin might not believe it."

"If it works, great; if not, forget it."

Xilun's voice was steady.

"I don't need him to completely believe me. I just need evidence that I warned him after it happened."

Lund looked at the map and nodded.

"Leave yourself a way out."

"It also tainted Oin's victory."

Siren said, "If Austin died without any warning, Oin could claim that everything was perfectly legitimate. But if Austin received a warning beforehand, even if he didn't believe it, as long as that letter exists, Oin's succession is no longer clean."

Rhodes' eyes flickered.

Nobles value reputation most.

Bloodline, tradition, military achievements, will, elders' approval—each layer is a fig leaf.

Oin can kill and seize power, but he cannot let everyone know that he orchestrated the killing knowing that the other party was already on guard.

That would frighten the collateral branches and give external forces an excuse to interfere.

"And the second one?" Lund asked.

Siron moved his finger to the stronghold of the armed insurgents.

"Seek refuge with Albert."

Kusuo's expression changed.

"Young master, the armed insurgents aren't exactly good people either."

So it's not about kneeling over.

Xilun looked up.

"It forced them to protect me."

Rhodes pondered for a moment.

"Using Black Death intelligence, Tusol's internal strife, and the North District's order as bargaining chips?"

"Not enough."

Siren picked up the Black Death Cult's ledger and turned to a page.

"Here you find the Pharmacists' Guild's seal, transport records from the Third Charity Hospital's partner pharmacy, and initials from the Tusol branch. What Albert wants most now is not just an obedient brotherhood, but a major achievement that will allow him to secure his position within the Armed Insurgent Party."

Lund understood.

"You should present this credit to him."

"Give half."

Xilun said, "Hold the other half in your hand."

Kuso said gruffly, "What if he tries to steal it?"

"Then let him take what he thinks he can take."

Siren's gaze fell on the edge of the map, where there was a dotted line leading to the old freight route.

"It would be best to set a trap and catch them in the act."

The lamp in the basement flickered slightly.

Rhodes looked at Xilen and suddenly felt a chill run down his spine.

It wasn't fear, but rather a familiar premonition.

The young master is putting himself in danger again.

But this time, he wasn't waiting for the enemy to come to him.

He is preparing a door that appears to be open for everyone.

Lund frowned.

"You want to use yourself as bait?"

"It wasn't me."

Xilun said, "It's a third-tier advancement."

He placed his hand on the table, his voice deepening.

"Oin wants to use it to set my price. Albert wants to use it to estimate my value. The Black Death Cult wants to use it to determine whether I can become the bearer. Then I'll let them all see this door."

"and then?"

Xilun looked up, his eyes as calm as the undercurrent beneath the surface of a river in the depths of winter.

"Let's see who can't resist reaching out first."