Rain hammered the tin roof of Old Chen’s roadside noodle stall as steam thick with the scent of pork bones and chili oil rolled past the plastic wind-curtain. Outside on the gravel shoulder of the Jiangcheng–Tianhai border highway, twenty armored Taichu Maybachs and cold-chain trucks idled in the dark.
Inside the small shack, Lin Mo stood before the scarred pine counter, his folded black umbrella resting against his knee.
Beneath his right hand, resting beside a chipped porcelain bowl, was a three-foot sword scabbard carved from dark spiritual wood. Hairline cracks ran down its lacquered spine, bound together with frayed copper wire. Even without a blade inside, a faint thread of icy Sword Qi hummed against the wood, slicing drifting grease droplets in half.
She left a genuine Mount Qingcheng spiritual-wood scabbard as collateral for a twelve-yuan bowl of noodles, Lin Mo thought, his eyes glinting with amusement. And her Morality Halo is ringing at ninety-seven out of a hundred on my radar. That’s not a broke swordswoman. That’s a walking sovereign mint.
Behind the boiling cauldron, sixty-year-old stall owner Old Chen wiped his flour-stained hands on his apron. Above the old man’s grey hair floated a warm emerald-green light:
[Target: Chen Laoliu (Old Chen) | Role: Border Highway Noodle Vendor] [Moral Integrity Score: 89/100 (Thirty years of honest broth; feeds stranded night-shift truckers on credit)] [Status: Eligible for 100x Pure-Heart Refund!]
Sitting on plastic stools in the corner were four mud-splattered cargo drivers nursing bowls of broth. Their halos glowed between 82 and 86. Each man had white medical gauze taped over a bruised forehead or split knuckles.
“Sir, careful with that wooden case—it just hummed like a live wire!” Old Chen breathed, steadying his apron before taking in the cut of Lin Mo’s coat and the calm young woman behind him. “Wait—you’re not with the toll station thugs?”
“We’re heading into Tianhai Capital, Uncle,” Lin Mo said warmly. He nodded toward the split steel machete blade lying in the sawdust by the door. “The young woman in the patched Daoist robe who cut that blade with a bamboo chopstick—when did she leave?”
Old Chen let out a long breath. “Barely five minutes ago, young boss. Her name is Chu Lingxiao. She’s nineteen, banished from Mount Qingcheng because she melted down an elder’s gold censer to help a flooded village.”
Lin Mo picked up the slip of coarse yellow paper pinned under the scabbard. Written in neat, sword-sharp brushstrokes was a formal promissory note:
[IOU: One bowl of beef noodles (¥12). Plus ¥50,000,000 in Clear-Brook Village flood-repair timber debts. I, Chu Lingxiao, will wash dishes in Tianhai Capital until every coin is repaid.]
“Fifty million yuan for village dykes and orphan roofs,” Su Wanqing—whom Lin Mo and the core team called Su Wan—said softly as she adjusted her silver-rimmed glasses. “And she refused to take a single coin by force, even though she’s near the Martial Grandmaster realm.”
“Why did she run into the rain instead of waiting for dawn?” Lin Mo asked.
“Because the loan sharks in Tianhai tricked her!” Old Chen slapped his thigh, his eyes red. “While she was eating, a lumber supplier called my payphone. The Murong and Song gangs in Tianhai claimed her village’s flood-relief loan had defaulted at midnight. They threatened to seize the repair timber and tear down the orphans’ sheds unless she showed up in Tianhai’s Old Canal District before sunrise!”
One of the bruised truck drivers stood up, wincing as he held his ribs. “She saved our lives before she left, Boss. We were hauling timber down the highway when Toll Captain Ma Biao blocked the lane. He demanded twenty thousand yuan per truck as a ‘border fee.’ When Old Chen fed us and spoke up for us, Ma Biao’s thugs pulled machetes.”
“Miss Chu broke their steel with one chopstick and sprinted after the last night bus because she didn’t have taxi fare,” Old Chen choked out. “I tried to give her my three hundred yuan in the cash box, and she wouldn’t touch a fen! She left her family scabbard on my counter so I wouldn’t lose twelve yuan!”
Lin Mo ran his thumb along the copper wire wrapping the cracked wood. Before he could tuck it into his coat, the roar of heavy diesel engines drowned out the rain.
HONK—HONK!
Blinding floodlights tore through the plastic curtain. Three yellow highway tow trucks and four black pickup vans screeched off the toll plaza ramp, plowing through the puddles outside Old Chen’s stall. The lead tow truck swung its steel winch boom around and smashed into the wooden awning post at the corner of the shack.
CRACK!
Pine splinters rained into the soup pots. Two of the truckers dove to pull Old Chen back from the boiling cauldron.
Outside in the mud, the cab door of the lead tow truck banged open. Toll Captain Ma Biao jumped down in a faux-leather jacket worn over a crooked auxiliary vest. Twenty thugs carrying iron crowbars and wheel-clamps fanned out behind him, surrounding Lin Mo’s Maybachs and the Taichu cold-chain convoy.
Lin Mo glanced through the torn curtain. Above Ma Biao’s greasy buzz-cut floated a murky, sewage-colored halo:
[Target: Ma Biao | Role: Border Tollgate Auxiliary Captain & Song Clan Thug] [Moral Integrity Score: 14/100 (Extorting truckers, smashing vendor stalls, taking ¥500,000 bribes from Song Shipping)] [Status: Parasite — Zero Refund Eligibility]
“Old man Chen!” Ma Biao spat his cigarette into a puddle and pointed a crowbar at the shack. “Where’s that girl in the Daoist robe? She broke my brother’s machete and hopped the bus, so you’re paying her bill! Five hundred thousand yuan for medical damages, or my tow truck pulls your roof down right now!”
Ma Biao’s eyes shifted greedily toward the twenty Taichu cold-chain trucks and armored Maybachs parked along the shoulder. He pulled a crumpled fax sheet from his pocket and grinned.
“Well, well. Jiangcheng plates, and the golden lotus logo of Taichu Group!” Ma Biao laughed loudly in the rain. “Young Master Song Zihao’s office called an hour ago. Every Taichu truck entering Tianhai Capital has failed our ‘Jiangnan Tire-Tread Inspection’! Boys, clamp their wheels! These twenty luxury cars belong to my impound lot tonight!”
Inside the shack, Old Chen turned pale and stepped in front of the counter, holding up his worn wooden ladle. “Captain Ma, these guests just stopped to ask directions! Take my stall and my kettle if you have to, don’t touch their trucks!”
“Your rotten stall isn’t worth the diesel in my tank, old fart!” Ma Biao sneered. “Drop the winch hook on his noodle pot!”
Lin Mo looked at Old Chen standing in front of him with a wooden ladle, then looked at the four bruised truckers blocking the doorway.
An eighty-nine Goodness stall owner and four eighty-plus truckers standing up to a Song Clan toll dog, Lin Mo thought, a pragmatic grin spreading across his face. Young Master Song hasn’t even met me yet, and he’s already sending me a free 100x starter pack at the border.
“Uncle Chen,” Lin Mo said, gently moving the old man aside. “A wooden ladle is for scooping noodles, not blocking scrap iron. Besides, I haven’t paid Miss Chu’s bill yet.”
Lin Mo pulled his sleek black-gold Taichu Benevolence Card and portable POS Terminal from his pocket and set the terminal on the pine counter.
“Miss Chu owed you twelve yuan for beef noodles, plus storage fees for her scabbard,” Lin Mo said conversationally. “Let’s add storm-damage repairs for your awning, medical payouts for these four honest drivers, and capital to replace this shack with a five-star concrete Trucker Sanctuary Rest Stop.”
Lin Mo typed a number onto the screen and turned the terminal toward Old Chen.
“Press your thumb here, Uncle. Ten million yuan even.”
Old Chen stared at the glowing digits as if he had forgotten how to read. “Ten... ten million?! Young boss, a bowl of noodles is twelve yuan!”
“If you don’t press it, Ma Biao’s tow hook is going to ruin a good pot of bone broth,” Lin Mo said deadpan. “Strictly speaking, you’re doing me a hundred-fold favor. Press it.”
Dazed, Old Chen pressed his calloused thumb against the scanner. With the four injured truckers listed as co-beneficiaries of the rest-stop shelter fund, the terminal chimed a crisp emerald tone:
[BEEP! TRANSACTION APPROVED! RECIPIENTS: CHEN LAOLIU (GOODNESS: 89/100) & 4 HONEST DRIVERS (GOODNESS: 82–86/100)!]
At the exact same instant, a warm golden thunderclap echoed inside Lin Mo’s mind:
[DING! SPENT ¥10,000,000 FROM CONVOY OPERATING RESERVE ON VERIFIED PURE-HEART BENEFICIARIES!] [100X PURE-HEART CASHBACK TRIGGERED! +¥1,000,000,000 (¥1.00 BILLION RMB) DEPOSITED!] [PREVIOUS LIQUID VAULT: ¥108.00B RMB! CURRENT LIQUID VAULT BALANCE: ¥109,000,000,000 (¥109.00 BILLION RMB)!] [GOOD PEOPLE NETWORK: 10,005 (+5 BEYOND 10,000 CORE MILESTONE)! TIER-2 PROVINCIAL BMP BONUS (1,000 BMP/¥1M): +10,000 BENEVOLENCE MERIT POINTS!]
A surge of warm Golden Benevolence Qi coursed through Lin Mo’s meridians, pushing his Rank 2 Peak Martial physique another step closer to the Grandmaster threshold.
Old Chen’s cracked phone buzzed in his apron pocket. When he pulled it out and heard the automated voice from the Agricultural Bank read out “Account credited: Ten million yuan,” the old man’s knees buckled. He gripped the counter, hot tears spilling down his weathered cheeks.
“Ten million... it’s real...” Old Chen wept, looking at the four stunned truckers. “Boys, we can pay your hospital bills! We can build a warm canteen with real beds so no driver ever freezes on this highway again!”
Outside in the rain, Ma Biao heard the bank broadcast and barked a harsh laugh. “Ten million? What kind of fake voice-app is that?! Hook the chain to this shack and rip it down!”
The lead yellow tow truck revved its engine in reverse, backing its steel bumper straight toward the noodle stall’s support beam.
“Tie Niu,” Lin Mo said without turning his head, sliding Chu Lingxiao’s cracked scabbard into an inner pocket. “That truck is parked in a no-standing zone. Help the captain move it into the ditch.”
“Understood, Boss Lin,” Tie Niu’s gravelly voice rumbled from the doorway.
The two-meter-tall former special-forces commander stepped out from under the torn awning. Wearing his black Taichu Security coat, Tie Niu walked straight up to the reversing eight-ton tow truck.
“Hey! That crazy big guy is standing behind the bumper!” the tow-truck driver yelled, slamming on the brakes.
Tie Niu didn’t dodge. His Rank 2 High External Martial (Half-Step Peak) muscles swelled beneath his coat like coiled iron cables. He crouched slightly, slid both calloused hands underneath the tow truck’s steel rear chassis, and drew a deep breath.
“Boss Lin paid for five-star orthopedic insurance for all highway staff,” Tie Niu announced in a booming, deadpan monotone. “Improperly parked tow vehicles are not covered.”
“HAAAH!”
With a low roar, Tie Niu straightened his spine and wrenched upward!
SCREEEECH—CLANG!
Before the twenty thugs’ bulging eyes, the rear dual-wheels of the eight-ton yellow tow truck lifted three feet off the wet asphalt! Metal groaned as Tie Niu pivoted his boots on the gravel and heaved the entire truck sideways off the road shoulder!
CRASH—SPLASH!
The heavy tow truck flipped through the air and landed upside-down in the six-foot mud drainage ditch beside the highway, its four wheels spinning in the rain!
The twenty thugs froze mid-step. Iron crowbars slipped from wet fingers and clattered onto the pavement.
Ma Biao’s cigarette fell out of his open mouth. He turned to run toward his pickup van, but Tie Niu took two long strides and caught him by his jacket collar with one hand. Lifting the two-hundred-pound toll captain off the ground, Tie Niu flicked his wrist and tossed Ma Biao into the ditch beside his overturned tow truck. Two of Ma Biao’s ribs cracked against the muddy embankment.
“Argh—my chest!” Ma Biao shrieked, thrashing in knee-deep ditch water as thirty Taichu security veterans stepped out of the Maybachs and locked zip-ties around the wrists of all twenty stunned thugs.
Su Wan walked to the edge of the ditch holding an umbrella in one hand and her waterproof corporate tablet in the other. The camera flash illuminated Ma Biao’s mud-caked face.
“Auxiliary Captain Ma Biao,” Su Wan said, her voice crisp and icy over the rain. “Shen Qiaoqiao’s legal team just pulled your brother-in-law’s bank account. At 6:15 PM tonight, Song Shipping Logistics wired five hundred thousand yuan to your account with the memo ‘Impound Taichu Convoy.’ I have forwarded the wire receipt, dashcam video of your armed extortion, and twenty signed trucker affidavits to the Jiangnan Provincial Highway Inspectorate.”
Ma Biao clutched his broken ribs, his face draining of blood as the cold rain washed over him. His tow truck was upside-down, his ribs were snapped, and the Song Clan bribe wouldn’t even cover his surgery or his fifteen-year prison sentence.
“Wait—President Su! Chairman Lin! I was forced!” Ma Biao sobbed, spitting muddy water. “It was Manager Wei at the Cloud-Crown Five-Star Hotel and Young Master Song Zihao! They ordered every tollgate and dock in Tianhai to block your cold-chain vans!”
The four rescued cargo drivers cheered from the porch, while Old Chen bowed repeatedly toward Lin Mo, clutching his ten-million-yuan bank receipt to his chest.
Lin Mo didn’t glance down at Ma Biao. “Leave him tied to the guardrail for the highway patrol. Master Lu Shan, leave two engineers behind to start pouring the foundation for Uncle Chen’s Trucker Sanctuary tomorrow morning.”
“Consider it done, Boss!” Master Lu Shan—Master Lu Shan’s younger brother and Taichu’s Tianhai Provincial Chief Engineering Deputy—tapped his yellow hard-hat with a grin as his engineering trucks idled behind the Maybachs. “Big Brother Lu Jian stayed behind to guard our Jiangcheng headquarters tower, and he told me to build every Tianhai sanctuary to fortress standards! I’ll pour three-foot granite walls so even a runaway semi-truck won’t rattle Uncle Chen’s soup bowls!”
Just as Lin Mo turned toward the lead cold-chain van, a sharp vibration buzzed against his chest.
Inside his coat pocket, the cracked Qingcheng spiritual-wood scabbard began to hum like a plucked lute string. A thin line of frost-white Sword Qi flared along its copper bindings, pointing straight toward the neon-lit river canals five kilometers ahead.
Simultaneously, Lin Mo’s [Cultivator Halo Detection & 20km Provincial Distress Radar] flashed crimson and gold across his vision:
[URGENT PING: TARGET CHU LINGXIAO (97/100) CORNERED IN TIANHAI!] [LOCATION LOCK: OLD CANAL DISTRICT — SURROUNDED BY USURY THUGS!]
Lin Mo’s eyes narrowed as he looked toward the glittering towers of the provincial capital across the river.
“Tie Niu, clear the toll barrier,” Lin Mo said, stepping into the lead cold-chain van alongside Su Wan and Grandma Chen. “First stop: Cloud-Crown Five-Star Hotel. Then we go pick up our Sword Fairy.”