Starting as dockworkers, they swept through Chongqing.

When Xilun left the club, it was already half dark.

Fester's words were still echoing in my ears.

Eight weeks of classes, five pounds, which works out to one dose of secret medicine every day, plus new fighting techniques.

No matter how you look at it, this is a win-win situation.

He turned into the narrow alley leading to White Crow Wharf, his feet sinking into the wet flagstones, and began to weigh his remaining assets.

I worked at the dock for two weeks, and every week I received 30 shillings on time.

With the small change given by the laborers, and after deducting the rent for the Golden Rooster Hotel and daily food and drink, there was still some money left in my pocket.

I can afford to renew the subscription.

But that's all there is to it.

"We need to set aside some money for emergencies."

Xilun pulled down his hat brim and quickened his pace.

The outline of the iron gate of the dock was revealed in the mist ahead, and the kerosene lamp of the sentry flickered dimly.

He showed his bronze badge, and the day laborers on duty quickly made way for him.

Roll call begins promptly at 5:00.

Xilun stood in the open space in front of the warehouse, opened the roster, and read out the names one by one.

The laborers responded one by one, their movements much more efficient than two weeks ago. No one was late, no one was joking around, and the line stood in neat rows.

The rule of eliminating the bottom performers is more effective than a whip.

The roster closed with a crisp sound.

"It's over."

The laborers filed away, their footsteps echoing between the tin warehouses.

Xilun tucked the roster under his arm and turned to walk toward his office.

After taking seven or eight steps, he stopped.

My ears picked up a sound that shouldn't be there.

It was very light and muffled, like a vibration coming from underground.

He turned his head, his gaze passing over the tin roof of the warehouse and landing in the distance.

That direction is behind the warehouse.

The sound was intermittent, but the rhythm was even.

It's snoring.

Xilun stood there listening for a few seconds, making sure it wasn't his imagination, before looking away. As he pondered, he pushed open the office door.

Hevy was sitting at the table organizing documents, the cuffs of her white suit rolled up to mid-forearm, revealing a slender white wrist.

Hearing the door open, she looked up.

"Is roll call finished?"

Xilun nodded, tossed the roster onto the corner of the table, and casually asked.

What's behind the warehouse?

Heviel paused for a moment, her pen still in her hand.

"It seems to be a forest. Fruit trees used to grow there, but later they found that the soil wasn't good, so it was abandoned."

She looked up. "What's wrong?"

"I just heard snoring coming from inside."

Siren pulled out a chair and sat down. "Are the dockworkers sleeping over there?"

Haiwei'er paused for a moment, then shook her head.

"It shouldn't be. That grove is surrounded by barbed wire, and nobody usually goes there, but... you never know."

She frowned, put down her pen, and stood up. "I'll go and inform them."

Haiweier grabbed her coat and hurried out the door, her high heels clicking on the wooden floor of the hallway, the sound fading into the distance.

The office quieted down.

Xilun leaned back in his chair, his gaze sweeping over the pile of documents on his desk.

Most of them were the allocation orders and shipping records he had approved in the past two days, neatly stacked.

But there was something new on top that I had never seen before.

He reached out and pulled it out.

It's not a receipt, it's an indicator document.

The top of the bottle features the Brotherhood's subtle watermark, while the bottom bears Lothar's signature.

The content was brief—it was about introducing a new brand of milk to comprehensively improve the food, accommodation, and basic living supplies for both long-term and short-term workers at Baiya Wharf.

Xilun turned to the second page and glanced at the implementation details.

Each region is responsible for the procurement and allocation by the corresponding supervisor. Brands are selected by the individual, and the costs are paid from the dock's public account.

In other words, he made all the decisions about what milk his laborers drank and what bread they ate.

Xilun put down the file and tapped his fingers twice on the table.

"White Sulun Milk".

The idea came to mind almost instinctively. Carlo's supermarket had just resumed supplying goods and was in dire need of stable, large clients.

The daily consumption of dozens of laborers at the dock is not insignificant; this order is enough to feed Carlo for half a year.

It's a favor that's easy to do, so why not do it?

He put the document in the drawer, intending to send a separate copy to Carlo the next day.

The door was pushed open, and Hevil returned.

His complexion doesn't look good.

"How so?"

Haiweier stood at the door, her lips pursed.

You'd better go out and take a look.

Xilun frowned, got up and went out with her.

As I stepped out of the warehouse through the side door with its iron mesh, a cold wind rushed into my collar.

A few dozen meters ahead, a group of people formed a semi-circle, the light from kerosene lamps and torches shimmering in the mist as orange-red orbs.

Some people were shouting, and some were running.

Xilun quickened his pace, approached the edge of the crowd, and grabbed a worker who was trying to squeeze out.

"What happened?"

The man's face was deathly pale, and his teeth were chattering loudly.

"There's a bear!"

Xilun let go.

The man stumbled and ran away.

He stood there, stunned for a moment.

Could there really be bears in the riverside dock area?

After walking a dozen or so steps forward and entering through the barbed wire gate, a dense green forest came into view.

A dark hole appeared through the gaps in the crowd. The hole was large enough for three or four adults to crawl into. The soil around the edge had been dug up, revealing a fresh layer of brown soil.

In front of the cave entrance, four or five people were holding guns, their muzzles pointed into the darkness.

His arm was shaking, and the gun barrel was shaking too.

Looking outwards, several well-dressed people stood together. One of them was tall and thin, with his hands behind his back and a calm expression.

Xilun recognized him.

Lock repair.

One of the district governors of White Crow Wharf.

The locksmith turned his gaze from the hole to the crowd of onlookers. His voice was not loud, but every word was clear.

"Foreman, come here."

The crowd fell silent instantly.

Xilun glanced around and saw that, besides himself, a foreman wearing a bronze badge was walking over.

Xiu Suo pointed to the other side, then dismissed the people surrounding them.

The two men stood in a row, facing the locksmith.

Xiu Suo looked at them without exchanging any further pleasantries.

"Don't announce this matter out yet."

The middle-aged overseer standing to the right of Xilun paused for a moment, then opened his mouth.

Xiu Suo continued speaking slowly, as if stating a fact that did not need to be discussed.

"This bear must have come from the other side of the river when it was frozen in winter and found this cave to hibernate."

He paused for a moment.

"It's a low-level mutant."

Xilun and the other person's expressions changed simultaneously.

Different species.

It's not an ordinary bear.

The middle-aged foreman blurted it out.

"Lockingsmith, let's block the entrance so it can't get out, then we'll use a gun..."

"I went in and tested it out."

Xiu Suo interrupted him, his tone completely flat.

"Ordinary tools can't damage it. To resolve this cleanly and efficiently, we need the joint efforts of multiple district supervisors."

After he finished speaking, Xilun and the middle-aged man looked at each other in bewilderment.

The locksmith didn't give them time to process the situation.

"I'm not afraid to tell you."

His voice lowered by half an octave, like the back of a knife slowly grinding against a cutting board.

"At the time, my men were in charge of security patrols around the dock. This thing sneaked over from the other side and hibernated in my area for the entire winter."

The lock repair paused for a moment.

"If Lord Yuri finds out I've made such a huge mistake..."

He didn't finish his sentence, but the meaning was clear enough.

It affects promotion.

These four words carry more weight than the bear in the cave.

The middle-aged foreman spoke cautiously.

"Even if we don't report it, with so many people gathered here watching, how can we keep it a secret?"

Xiu Suo glanced at him.

"Once the bear is dead, keep your men quiet. I'll have someone conduct another inspection and prepare a new report."

His tone was unhurried, as if he were discussing what to eat tonight.

"That's the end of it."