Starting as dockworkers, they swept through Chongqing.

Xilun frowned, got up, and knocked on the window again.

"How much longer?"

"What's the rush?" The voice inside was impatient. "Just wait if I told you to. If you don't want to wait, go back home!"

Xilun narrowed his eyes.

Through the reflection in the glass, he could clearly see the person inside holding a teacup, leisurely reading a newspaper.

Xilun took a deep breath, suppressing the anger surging in his heart, and sat back down on the bench.

Another twenty minutes passed.

Just as Xilun's eyelids were starting to droop, the tightly closed wooden door finally opened.

The young man who had spoken earlier poked his head out and casually said, "Come in."

Xilun stood up, stretched his stiff joints, and stepped inside.

It's warm inside.

The gas stove in the corner emitted heat, and a faint smell of tobacco and ink filled the air.

A man was sitting behind the desk.

He was in his thirties, wearing a fine gray wool vest and gold-rimmed glasses perched on his nose.

He was writing something with his head down, the nib of his pen making a scratching sound on the paper.

Xilun didn't speak, but simply stood quietly in front of the table.

After a long while, the man finally put down his pen, slowly capped it, and looked up.

It was a face that looked very gentle, even with a touch of scholarly air.

But his eyes behind the glasses revealed a shrewdness and scrutiny.

"Why is it you?"

The man adjusted his glasses, a perfectly timed hint of surprise in his voice, "Shouldn't it be Morgan who's coming today?"

Morgan is dead.

Xiren's voice was calm, as if he were talking about something trivial. "Unexpectedly, I am now the head of Group 3 in Sector B, Xiren."

"Dead?"

The man raised an eyebrow, seemingly unsurprised and showing no sign of regret.

He leaned back in his chair, his fingers tapping lightly on the table.

"Death would be the end of it all, but this debt can't be left unresolved."

The man pulled a receipt from the drawer and pushed it in front of Celen. "Morgan had a shipment that should have been inspected yesterday, but he didn't. And he's also been withholding last month's 'inspection fee'."

Xiren glanced at the receipt.

The list of charges is quite extensive, including things like "express fee," "damage fee," and "labor fee"...

That adds up to a full twenty shillings.

The so-called "inspection fee" is actually just a fig leaf to cover up extortion and bribery.

Xilun frowned.

If it's an expense incurred during his term of office, he'll accept the money as a way to "grease the wheels."

But this is clearly a mess left behind by Morgan.

That bastard swallowed the money, and now he's supposed to fill this hole?

"Sir."

Sylvanas explained, suppressing her anger, "This expense was incurred during Morgan's tenure. Now that he's dead, it shouldn't be my responsibility. I just took over..."

"What's wrong with just taking over?"

The man's face instantly darkened, interrupting Xilun.

His previously gentle mask seemed to shatter instantly, his face hardening, revealing an unpleasant angularity in his features.

"You're the supervisor for Group 3 in Block B, so this debt belongs to Group 3 in Block B!"

The man slammed his hand on the table. "If I don't let you take the blame, am I supposed to? Or do you want this debt to rot in the city hall's files?"

He stood up, placed his hands on the table, leaned forward, and said as if to reason with someone:

"Young man, I'm being patient with you because you're new here."

"Don't push your luck."

The man sneered, his gaze sweeping over Xilen like a knife. "Don't let me hold a grudge against you. If your goods get stuck at the dock and rot, let's see how you explain that to your superiors!"

Xilun's fingers, which were placed at his side, curled slightly.

He took a deep breath and forced his tense muscles to relax.

"Twenty shillings."

The man sat back down in his chair, resuming his suave scoundrel demeanor. "Go back and think it over carefully. Bring the money over in the next couple of days."

"If you can't deliver them, don't even think about unloading any more ships in the future."

Xilun stared at that repulsive face and remained silent for two seconds.

"I'll go and prepare."

He didn't say another word, turned around and walked out of the office.

The door closed behind him.

The cold wind from the corridor swept in again, dispelling the warmth that had emanated from the room.

Siren stood in the shadows and took out the ten shillings he had prepared from his pocket.

The silver coin twirled between his fingers, making a crisp clinking sound.

He looked down at the meager amount of money in his hand, his brows furrowed tightly.

......

The setting sun sinks into the waves of the Grey River, and the evening bell tolls.

A deafening steam whistle ripped through the air above White Crow Wharf, sending white columns of steam soaring into the sky before being shattered in the cold wind.

This sound was like heavenly music to the laborers who had been working there all day.

The heavy cargo was put down, and my aching back was finally able to straighten.

Hundreds of laborers, like a swarm of black ants returning to their nest, poured out of the piers, warehouses, and ship cabins, converging on the large iron gate at the exit.

"Phew... I'm finally alive."

A young coolie exhaled a long puff of white air, stretching his stiff shoulders as his joints cracked and popped.

"Today's work isn't too heavy." The old worker next to him took out a crumpled roll of tobacco from his pocket, carefully lit it on the gas lamp shade by the roadside, and said, "The new Lord Siren is actually better than that deadbeat Morgan."

"How so?"

"Didn't you notice? Nobody got whipped today." The old worker took a deep drag on his cigarette, a hint of satisfaction on his face. "If it were Morgan, if he had been a little slower unloading those boxes of steel ingots today, the whip would have been on his back long ago."

Upon hearing this, the surrounding laborers nodded in agreement.

Morgan was notorious for his brutality at White Crow Wharf; he was a beast who took pleasure in torturing people.

The young supervisor who took office today, although he had a cold face, did not actually lay a hand on anyone.

Don't get too excited yet.

A deep voice broke the crowd's relief.

The speaker was a middle-aged man who was looking at his work ticket with a worried expression. "Not hitting people? That's because they disdain to use their hands. Have you forgotten what they announced this morning about... the 'last-place elimination system'?"

The moment those words were uttered, the relaxed atmosphere instantly froze.

A cold wind blew by, and everyone involuntarily shivered.

"Weekly assessments, the bottom five long-term workers are demoted to short-term workers, and the best-performing short-term worker gets promoted..." The middle-aged man swallowed hard, his eyes filled with fear. "This is harsher than a whip. A whipping only takes a few days to heal. But if you lose your long-term worker status, you'll go hungry."

"That Lord Sir Siron..." someone whispered, as if afraid the wind would overhear, "He looks young, but he's far more cunning than Morgan. He's making sure we can't slack off at all!"

"Who can argue with that?"

"Let's do it. As long as we get paid, that's fine. I think Lord Siren is reasonable, unlike Morgan who's so stingy. Last month he even tried to fool people with vouchers..."

"I heard that kid named Anman has been hanging around Lord Xilun all day..."

The murmurs gradually subsided as the crowd dispersed, eventually disappearing into the depths of the alleyway shrouded in night.