We agreed on the twelve zodiac animals, but you've transformed into the Monkey King?

Eight o'clock in the morning of the ninth day. French Concession Consulate General.

Shanghai has finally seen the long-awaited clear skies.

The bright morning light of early winter shone on the consulate's tall and imposing columned gate, but it made the conspicuous black waterproof bag on the gate even more shocking.

The blood from last night had partially dried, dripping down the canvas onto the dry steps, attracting a few headless flies.

Inside the consul general's office, several high-ranking French officials stared at a stack of black-and-white photographs on the table, their faces ashen.

The photo shows the police station lobby, which resembles a slaughterhouse, a bulletproof door that has been blown off, Pierre's hands crushed into a pulp, and his white underwear.

"This is not a gangland feud! This is a terrorist attack on the bottom line of the French Republic!" the Consul General roared.

"Your Excellency, bottom lines are things that can usually be remeasured in pounds." The office door opened. Shelly walked in gracefully, wearing a perfectly wrinkle-free haute couture black trench coat and exquisite stilettos.

She slowly and deliberately removed her black lambskin gloves, her movements as leisurely as if she were preparing an afternoon tea.

Facing a room full of angry and terrified French people, she represented Jardine Matheson, a behemoth that controlled half of the Far East's economic lifeline.

"Jardine Matheson doesn't like turmoil; the British Empire's cargo ships need a stable port." Shelly smiled as she placed a huge Citibank promissory note on top of the bloody photographs.

"Jardine Matheson strongly condemns the 'rioters' of last night. In order to help restore order in the French Concession, Jardine Matheson is willing to fully fund the reconstruction of its branch office building and provide triple the compensation to appease the families of the deceased."

The Consul General stared intently at the promissory note, gritting his teeth. "Emperor Napoleon was absolutely right. Your British Empire is nothing but a shameless, money-grubbing 'small shopkeeper's country'! You think you can buy France's law enforcement power with a few stinking bills? Dream on!"

Shelly chuckled softly. "Since Your Excellency insists on mentioning Emperor Napoleon," she leaned down and pointed with extreme disgust at the photograph of Pierre's white underwear with her freshly removed leather glove, her eyes mocking.

"The outcome of Waterloo has already proven that we 'shopkeepers' do indeed know better than you how to end a defeat. Jardine Matheson is not only here to collect your corpses, but also to give you a clean set of underwear, so that the whole of Shanghai doesn't smell of French stench."

The Consul General stared at the promissory note, which gleamed with the light of wealth in the sunlight. His Adam's apple bobbed, and he swallowed hard. "What do you British want?"

"We need stability." Shelly pulled out a chair, sat down, and lit a cigarette, the smoke swirling around her.

"The new branch's detective chief must be a Chinese appointed by Jardine Matheson. Furthermore, if Your Excellency refuses this offer... I heard that the group of ruthless 'thugs' last night seemed quite interested in your consulate's security system as well."

The Consul General looked at Pierre's horrific state in the photograph, and cold sweat beaded on his forehead. Torn between the fear of death and the lure of money, he trembled as he picked up his pen, signed a blank letter of appointment, and stamped it with the Consul General's seal.

Shelly gracefully folded the still-scented letter of appointment and tucked it into her handbag.

She stood up, glanced at the bright sunlight outside the French windows, and then turned to look at the French Consul General, who was slumped in his chair, drenched in cold sweat.

He muttered something under his breath in soft, sarcastic Shanghainese:

"France would rather surrender quickly."

……

Sunlight pierces through the mist and covers the surface of the Huangpu River, its gentle waves unable to dispel a lingering melancholy.

On the open ground of Gonghexiang Wharf, five hundred laborers had not slept all night. The river wind, carrying a cold mist, swept past their mournful linen clothes, extinguishing even the slightest bit of their shivering vitality.

"drop--"

A deep horn sounded. A Ford with a Jardine Matheson brass license plate slowly drove into the muddy area.

The car came to a stop, the door opened, and Wen Xiao got out.

The rough white linen mourning clothes he was wearing had been blackened by gunpowder smoke, and large patches of dried dark red blood had hardened on the linen.

A deathly stillness filled the entire river.

The crowd silently parted to both sides like a tide, clearing a path straight to the center. Five hundred pairs of eyes stared blankly at the blood-stained white hemp clothing, their breath caught in their throats.

Wen Xiao didn't look at anyone and walked straight to the large iron pots used for cooking. He reached into his blood-stained clothes and pulled out the "Letter of Appointment for Chinese Detective" stamped with the French Consul General's crimson seal and French lettering.

"Smack."

He casually slapped the thin piece of paper, representing the highest level of Chinese authority in the French Concession, onto the greasy wooden table, and tossed out a single sentence:

"Uncle Biao's seventh day memorial service was held in the main hall of the French Concession Police Station."

After saying that, Wen Xiao didn't linger at all and turned to walk back to the Ford.

"Bang."

The car door closed. The Ford's engine hummed low as it slowly reversed and drove into the morning mist.

As the car's taillights were about to disappear, Ajiu shakily moved to the greasy wooden table. His eyes widened as he stared at the prestigious French seal on the pristine white paper, then at the bright red fingerprint Wen Xiao had left with his bloodied finger next to it.

Ah Jiu's mind exploded with a "boom." He suddenly realized that Fifth Master alone had truly ripped a bloody hole into the French Concession!

"Fifth Master..."

Ajiu's legs gave way, and he collapsed to his knees in the mud. He gripped the yellow mud tightly with both hands, tears and snot streaming down his face. With a hoarse, broken voice, he roared mournfully towards the river:

"Uncle Biao! Did you hear that?! Fifth Master is having foreigners wear mourning clothes for you!!!"

……

The camphor trees cast dappled shadows at the entrance of St. Mary's Girls' School.

Wen Xiao held up a black-framed umbrella, shielding her from the midday sun. Shelly naturally linked her arm with his; she was wearing a light purple Suzhou-embroidered cheongsam today, the elegant attire making her radiate the soft glow of motherhood.

The two walked side by side, whispering to each other, occasionally exchanging smiles. Wen Xiao even considerately carried her velvet handbag. In the eyes of those elite parents who had returned from studying abroad, they were a newlywed couple of prominent and wealthy individuals who had just returned from overseas.

Ah Man held their hands in the middle, swinging happily on the swing. It turns out, the sun doesn't hurt when it shines on you.

As she reached the steps of the teaching building, Aman suddenly stopped. She looked at Wen Xiao's pale and handsome profile, and then at Shelly's gentle and tender eyes.

Her eyes were red-rimmed. Suddenly, she hugged their waists, buried her head between them, and called out in a muffled voice:

"Dad, Mom, you must come pick Aman up from school early!"

The air froze instantly.

Wen Xiao's hand suddenly froze, a sensation she had never felt before, a feeling known as a "weak point," spreading throughout her body. Shelly was also stunned, and she subconsciously looked at Wen Xiao, their eyes meeting above Aman's head.

"Okay." Wen Xiao squatted down, no longer referring to himself as "Great Sage," but using the original title, "Daddy promises you."

"Click!"

Two meters behind, Sister Yuan, carrying her schoolbag, looked as green as if she had just swallowed three pounds of gall. She frantically picked at her fingernails while muttering curses in her Northeastern dialect: "Shameless tuberculosis-ridden bastard, never satisfied with taking advantage… Miss, you really are something, daring to acknowledge such a seniority just to win people over…"

……

In the afternoon, at the office of the French Concession Police Chief.

Outside, people were washing away the bloodstains in the corridor, and the air was filled with the pungent smell of soda water mixed with gunpowder.

Shelly pushed open the bullet-riddled mahogany door and walked straight to the leather chair that symbolized supreme power. She didn't sit down immediately, but turned around to look at Wen Xiao, who had followed her in.

"Pierre must have died with great resentment," Shelly said softly, as she slowly began to unbutton her cashmere coat, revealing a tight-fitting cheongsam underneath.

She walked up to Wen Xiao and placed her hands on his shoulders. The flower of power that bloomed from the ruins of death made her pupils gleam with an almost manic excitement.

Wen Xiao grabbed her waist and turned her around, pressing her against the huge oak desk.

"Splash—"

The pen holder and official documents on the table were roughly swept off. Black ink spread on the carpet.

Shelly tilted her head back, her slender swan neck reflecting a sickly white light in the dim room.

The two wild beasts asserted dominance in their still-smelling territory.

Wen Xiao's lips traced her jawline, nibbling at her fair neck. Shelly's breathing became erratic, her chest heaving.

In this almost out-of-control tug-of-war, Shelly turned her head, her hot breath hitting Wen Xiao's earlobe.

On the verge of crossing the line, she instead whispered seductively in his ear:

"You slaughtered your way through this place last night... Now everyone's saying the Xue family keeps a vicious dog that bites people..."

She ran her fingers through Wen Xiao's black hair, forcing him to look up. Her beautiful eyes were glistening with tears.

"But the man I, Shelly, have set my sights on cannot just be a vicious dog; he must be a god."

She tilted her long neck back, meeting Wen Xiao's aggressive gaze, and the succubus whispered:

"Go to the Shenbao office... I want everyone in Shanghai to hear your voice."

……

[Congratulations on capturing the authority node: French Concession Police Station]

[Main Storyline: Earthly Branch Events - Sea Monkey Cry Completion: 3/6.]

[Sumeru Points Balance: 81 points]

[With 50% of the project completed, the remaining nodes that can be captured are now announced: Shenbao Hall, Longhua Branch Factory, and Hongkou Japanese Trading Company]

[Remaining time: 6 days and 10 hours]