Starting as dockworkers, they swept through Chongqing.

The backstage lights were dim, and a woman in a red skirt leaned against the door frame, a thin cigarette between her fingers, looking Xilun up and down.

"That's surprising."

She exhaled a puff of smoke, her red lips slightly upturned.

"Your marksmanship surpasses that of many veteran hunters."

Xilun nodded slightly, but did not respond.

"What is the reward?"

The woman chuckled, walked in her high heels to a stone-built square pool about half a person's height in the corner, and tapped the edge of the pool with her fingernails.

"There are still two prizes left in the remaining prize pool."

She turned to the side, smoke drifting from the tip of her nose.

"You can take one."

Xilun stepped forward.

The pool wasn't deep, and the bottom was covered with a dark blue velvet cloth, on which two wooden boxes were placed side by side. In front of each box stood a bronze plaque, engraved with the name and description.

He looked at the first one first.

The bronze plaque reads: "Blood of the Earth Dragon".

The box was half-open, inside which lay a small jar of gray plaster, thick in texture and with a dull, oily sheen.

The instructions are brief: Apply to the skin to slowly strengthen the skin membrane, increase blood and qi accumulation, and advance the pre-baptismal stage.

Xilun's finger paused on the edge of the box for half a second.

My gaze shifted to the second one.

The bronze plaque is engraved with two words: "Silver Bullet".

The box contained a neat row of bullets, the bullets not the usual gray-black lead color, but with a faint silvery-white sheen.

It's not as simple as just adding silver; the seams of the cartridge cases have also undergone special treatment, and the workmanship is so exquisite that it doesn't look like a mass-produced item.

Xilun picked up one and weighed it in his hand.

It's a bit heavier than a regular lead bullet, and it feels cool to the touch. That coolness travels from your fingertips to your palm, carrying the unique heaviness of metal.

He had heard of this type of bullet.

Firearms of this caliber, such as the pepper box pistol, pose at most a moderate threat to those who have been baptized.

A first-tier extraordinary being has a tough skin; as long as you avoid vital points, taking down an ordinary gunman is a piece of cake.

But it's different when you load it with silver bullets.

Silver bullets have far greater penetrating power than lead bullets, and the bullet fragments can embed themselves deep into the flesh, continuously damaging the tissue and making the wounds extremely difficult to heal.

For the person being baptized, getting baptized is a real hassle.

Xiren put the bullet back in the box and remained silent for a few seconds.

"If I choose the second option, how many will I get?"

The woman in the red dress laughed out loud at his question, and the ash from her cigarette fell to the ground.

"You're joking."

She flicked her cigarette holder.

"Silver bullets are expensive, so naturally only ten will be provided."

Ten shots.

A hint of disappointment flashed across Xilun's face.

Ten silver bullets are indeed tempting, but the quantity is too small.

After a decent conflict, Shifa simply couldn't withstand the attrition.

The pepper box isn't a revolver rifle; it fires six rounds at a time and reloads slowly. When it really comes down to a fight, ten bullets might not even be enough for one round.

He quickly calculated in his mind.

While silver bullets are desirable, their actual benefits are far less than they appear due to the limited quantity of ammunition available.

Conversely, the blood of the earth dragon directly affects the progress of the breathing technique.

His progress in the Iron Wall Breathing Technique is currently just over 400 points, nearly 100 points away from the expert level.

At a normal training pace, it would take at least several more weeks to reach the plateau. If this medicated plaster could accelerate the progress—

Even if you only push it by 20 or 30 points, it's still worth more than ten bullets.

Because that means he is one step closer to baptism.

Baptism is the true threshold for changing one's destiny.

"Then we'll take the blood of the earth dragon."

Xilun reached out and picked up the first wooden box, quick and decisive.

The woman in the red dress didn't say much, but gestured for her to proceed.

Xilun stuffed the wooden box into the inside pocket of his trench coat, turned around, and pushed open the door, leaving the backstage area.

He could still hear the noise of people and sporadic gunshots coming from the shooting range ahead in the corridor. He lowered his hat brim and walked straight out of the training ground gate without stopping.

......

evening.

Back at the Golden Rooster Hotel, a familiar figure was waiting at the entrance.

Anman.

He was waiting idly when he saw Xilun, and immediately put on a smile and handed him an envelope.

Xilun paused for a moment, then took it.

The envelope was made of ordinary kraft paper, the edges were crumpled, and the ink on it was smudged, as if it had been dampened.

The mailing address was written as "Two rooms in the collective dormitory at Baiya Wharf, Xilun Recipient," the handwriting was crooked but forceful.

Xilun flipped the envelope over to read the signature.

Finn.

He stood there, lost in thought.

Back in the dock warehouse, he, Finn, and Cage were the closest of friends.

Cage has been packing his bags for the past couple of days and will resign and leave in two more days. Finn, on the other hand, left the docks even earlier, more than a month ago.

I heard that he went sailing with a fleet under the New Righteousness Society.

After that, there was no further news.

Xilun opened the envelope and pulled out a thin letter that had been folded twice.

The letter was short, and Finn's handwriting was always terrible, with uneven lines, but Siron read it very slowly.

The content itself wasn't anything important.

He said he was doing alright in the fleet; the older sailors in the fleet, though bad-tempered, weren't too difficult to get along with.

The fleet mainly operated shipping between the upper and lower reaches of the Greywater River, loading and unloading cargo, and made a considerable profit.

Fein also specifically mentioned that he wasn't short of money at the moment, and told Celen not to worry about it.

An address was attached at the end of the letter.

He said he could come visit him when he had time.

Xilun placed the letter on the table and stared at the address for a while, pressing his thumb against it.

I had no idea where Finn had gone, so I couldn't write letters or mail anything.

Now we have the address.

He stood up and took out paper and pen from the drawer.

The sky outside the window was already dark, and the light from the streetlights seeped in through the gaps in the curtains, casting a thin, orange line on the table.

Without hesitation, Xilun put on his coat and went out.

The cold wind from downstairs at the hotel rushed into his collar, so he pulled his trench coat tighter and hurried across two streets to the nearest post office.

The old man behind the counter was yawning and preparing to close the door, but he reluctantly sat back down when he saw Xilun take out an envelope.

Xilun spread out a piece of writing paper on the writing table next to the counter, dipped it in ink, and began to write.

"...I got promoted and am now a foreman at White Crow Wharf...I've made some money, enough to live on...I'm learning breathing techniques at a fight club, and I'm making good progress."

He paused here, thought for a moment, and added, "Cage is leaving too. Take care."

"I don't need the money right now," he added as a final line before sealing his mouth.

At the end of the letter, he counted out a pound coin from his pocket, wrapped it in oil paper, and put it in the envelope along with the letter.

"Please make sure it's delivered!"

The old man took the letter, weighed it, collected the postage, stamped it, and tossed it into the sorting basket.

Xilun walked out of the post office hall and took a deep breath of the cold air while standing on the steps.

He couldn't quite describe the feeling, but a certain part of his chest felt looser.

The tension that had been hanging over them—the worry about Finn's whereabouts—finally eased.

Hopefully, all three of them are doing alright.

the next day.

As usual, Xilun went to the dock to check in and paid double the inspection fee.

The clerk with the gold-rimmed glasses looked much better when taking the money, and surprisingly, he didn't make things difficult for her.

After finishing his official business, Xilun changed into a clean shirt and headed to the Iron Cross Fight Club.

Before he even entered the training room, he could hear a commotion inside.

Pushing open the door, I found the room crammed together, everyone talking at once, the atmosphere unusually heated.

Xilun frowned.

"What's wrong?"

The student closest to him turned around, his face full of excitement.

"You still don't know?"

"Robert represented Mentor Ryan last night and won all four of his matches!"

The person next to him chimed in.

"His opponent in the final battle had his arm broken!"

A chorus of agreement filled the training room, mixed with the sound of someone slamming their fist on the table.