Twenty Murong thugs crowded the doorway of Uncle Luo’s noodle shop. Cold autumn rain dripped from their black leather jackets. Heavy iron pipes and crowbars glinted in the dim light of the hanging bulbs.
Lin Mo didn’t even turn his head. He pulled a wooden stool closer to the table and sat down.
“Uncle Luo, is the beef broth still hot?” Lin Mo asked, his voice calm and unhurried. “I skipped dessert at the shipyard. A bowl of noodles sounds perfect.”
Uncle Luo stood behind the counter, trembling as he clutched his crutch. “The broth is boiling, young master! But these men...”
“A hungry customer shouldn’t have to wait,” Lin Mo said, tapping the pine wood table.
By the metal sink, Chu Lingxiao dried her slender hands on a clean cotton towel. She looked at the thugs blocking the shattered doorway, then at Lin Mo sitting calmly with his hands folded in his lap. A faint look of curiosity flickered in her dark eyes.
She tied her hair back with a simple red cord. She walked over to the prep counter, lifted a single polished bamboo chopstick, and picked up a piece of braised beef shank from the ceramic pot.
Her wrist flicked.
The movement was so subtle that ordinary eyes could not follow it. A whisper of pure, invisible Sword Qi shimmered along the edge of the bamboo.
Swish! Swish! Swish!
Thin, translucent ribbons of beef fluttered into the air. Because all three thousand porcelain bowls had been sliced in half earlier, the ribbons drifted down into one of Uncle Luo’s two intact enamel family basins like autumn leaves falling into a calm mountain stream. Each slice was exactly zero point one millimeters thick. You could read newspaper print right through the marbled meat.
Chu Lingxiao ladled three scoops of clear, golden bone broth over the hand-pulled noodles. She sprinkled a pinch of chopped scallions on top.
She walked across the dining room, holding the steaming enamel basin in both hands. Her gait was light, making no sound against the tiled floor. She set the basin gently in front of Lin Mo.
“Beef noodles,” Chu Lingxiao said softly. “The beef was braised for twelve hours with wild ginger and dried tangerine peel. Be careful, Chairman Lin. It is hot.”
Lin Mo picked up a pair of wooden chopsticks. He looked at the paper-thin beef floating in the aromatic broth.
“Using high-tier sword intent to slice soup garnish,” Lin Mo murmured. “If the Michelin Guide had a martial arts division, you would have three stars and a lifetime achievement medal.”
Chu Lingxiao’s pale ears turned faintly pink. She lowered her gaze and bowed slightly. “When one has no kitchen knife, bamboo must suffice.”
Lin Mo activated his upgraded perception.
In his vision, the world dissolved into flowing streams of light. The [Pure-Heart Eye Lv.2] zoomed into Chu Lingxiao’s chest, illuminating her moral dossier in brilliant, glowing script.
[Target: Chu Lingxiao. Age: Nineteen.]
[Title: Former Eldest Martial Sister of Mount Qingcheng Cloud-Sword Sect.]
[Moral Integrity Score: 97/100 (Incorruptible Sword Heart, Saint of Clear-Brook Village).]
[Dossier Overview: Three months ago, a catastrophic flash flood swept down the Min River basin. Clear-Brook Mortal Village below Mount Qingcheng was submerged in three meters of mud. Over four hundred mortal villagers and orphans were trapped on collapsing wooden roofs.]
[Chu Lingxiao knelt in the sect grand hall, begging the three supreme elders (Goodness: -12/100) for help. The elders possessed nine spirit vaults filled with gold and jade. Yet they sneered and called mortal lives meaningless ants. They refused to spare a single coin.]
[That very night, Chu Lingxiao drew her ancestral blade. She melted down the sect’s three-thousand-year-old gold incense burner to buy rice. She pawned her ancestral Qingcheng sword and left her cracked spiritual-wood scabbard as collateral to buy cement and stone.]
[To ensure the four hundred villagers had timber and food to survive the winter, she signed a fifty-million-yuan emergency disaster bond with provincial suppliers in her own name.]
[The Qingcheng Sect stripped her of her title, expelled her into the mortal realm, and branded her a traitor. Bound by her master’s dying oath never to use lethal sword force against mortal humans, she drifted east to Tianhai. She washes dishes for fifteen yuan an hour, sending every single copper coin back to the village school.]
Lin Mo read the final lines of the dossier.
He slowly lowered his chopsticks.
“A Peak Rank 3 Martial Grandmaster,” Lin Mo thought to himself, shaking his head slightly. “Someone who can slice iron like bean curd is scrubbing grease off soup bowls for fifteen yuan an hour. If you worked twenty-four hours a day without sleeping, it would take you three hundred and eighty years to pay off fifty million yuan. Cultivation sects truly have the worst financial planners in history.”
He lifted a slice of beef with his chopsticks and placed it in his mouth.
The meat melted instantly on his tongue. The rich, savory essence of marrow, star anise, and sweet mountain water burst across his palate. A subtle, invigorating warmth flowed down into his stomach. The sword intent infused into the meat was gentle and pure, soothing his meridians like a cup of warm spring tea.
“Good soup,” Lin Mo said aloud. “Clean broth. Honest food.”
Chu Lingxiao gave a quiet nod, a faint touch of pride showing in her eyes. “Thank you. Uncle Luo taught me his family recipe. Cooking noodles is not very different from tempering steel. It requires patience and a steady fire.”
“Hey! You deaf bastard!”
A harsh, grating shout shattered the quiet in the noodle shop.
Scarface Biao stormed two steps forward into the room. He slammed the flat of his three-foot iron pipe onto the edge of Uncle Luo’s wooden dining counter.
CRACK!
A thick splinter of pine wood snapped off and flew across the floor.
“Are you completely blind, kid?” Scarface Biao spat, glaring at Lin Mo with his scarred, bloodshot eyes. “I am talking to this dishwashing peasant! Who gave you permission to slurp soup while the Murong Clan is collecting debt?”
Tie Niu took half a step forward, his broad chest rising like a wall of granite. His dark eyes locked onto Scarface Biao’s throat.
Lin Mo held up a casual palm, signaling Tie Niu to stay still.
Lin Mo swallowed another mouthful of broth, dabbed his mouth with a clean paper napkin, and looked up at Chu Lingxiao.
“Miss Chu,” Lin Mo said smoothly. “How much does Uncle Luo charge for a bowl of beef noodles?”
Chu Lingxiao blinked, surprised by the question. “Eight yuan, Chairman Lin.”
“Eight yuan is far too cheap for beef sliced to zero point one millimeters,” Lin Mo said, pulling out his black-gold Benevolence Card. “I consider precision culinary performance art to be worth at least ten million yuan.”
Chu Lingxiao’s breath caught in total shock. “Ten... ten million? For a bowl of noodles?”
“For the slicing skill,” Lin Mo corrected her with a serious face. “I am very particular about my beef thickness. If it were zero point two millimeters, I would only pay five million. But zero point one millimeters deserves a full bonus.”
He held out the portable POS terminal toward Chu Lingxiao.
“Swipe your fingerprint right here, Miss Chu,” Lin Mo said. “Consider it a culinary gratuity from Taichu Group.”
Chu Lingxiao hesitated. “Chairman Lin, I cannot accept charity. I took an oath to earn every yuan through honest labor.”
“This is honest labor,” Lin Mo replied, completely deadpan. “You sliced the beef. I ate the beef. I am paying for the service. If you refuse to accept a tip, you are insulting my taste in noodles.”
Uncle Luo leaned on his crutch and whispered urgently, “Girl, tap it! Chairman Lin is a living bodhisattva! Take the money!”
Chu Lingxiao looked at the golden glow lingering around Lin Mo’s fingertips. She sensed the boundless sincerity in his calm demeanor. With a trembling finger, she pressed her thumb against the scanner.
Ding!
The terminal let out a bright, cheerful tone:
[TRANSACTION APPROVED! AMOUNT: ¥10,000,000 RMB.]
[PURPOSE: ARTISANAL CULINARY GRATUITY & MORAL VOCATIONAL REWARD.]
[RECIPIENT: CHU LINGXIAO (97/100) & UNCLE LUO’S NIGHT-SHIFT DOUGH APPRENTICE XIAO DOU (86/100).]
[MORAL INTEGRITY SCORE: 97/100 (TIER-0 SAINT BENEFICIARY).]
In the next breath, Lin Mo’s consciousness flared with golden-purple lightning:
[DING! 100X CULTIVATOR BENEVOLENCE REFUND TRIGGERED.]
[SPENT: ¥10,000,000 RMB -> REFUNDED: +¥1,000,000,000 RMB (¥1.00 BILLION).]
[FUNDS DEPOSITED INTO PERSONAL LIQUID VAULT.]
[CURRENT VAULT BALANCE: ¥460,450,000,000 RMB (¥460.45 BILLION).]
[BONUS REWARD: HOST RECEIVES FIRST WISP OF GOLDEN IMMORTAL MERIT QI.]
[GOOD PEOPLE NETWORK: 11,222 -> 11,223 VERIFIED BENEFICIARIES (+1 NEW APPRENTICE REGISTERED).]
A warm, radiant thread of pure golden energy descended into Lin Mo’s dantian. It wrapped around his Half-Step Grandmaster core like a golden silk ribbon. His meridians hummed with unprecedented sweetness. The slight lingering soreness from breaking through at Pier Nine vanished in a single breath.
Chu Lingxiao felt a faint chime in her pocket. Her cheap phone screen lit up.
Bank of China Notice: Account ending in 4102 has received ¥10,000,000.00 RMB.
The sword fairy stared at the nine zeros on the small screen. Her breath hitched. Ten million yuan. That was enough to buy winter coats, medicine, and food for every child in Clear-Brook Village for the next three years.
“You... you really gave me ten million yuan...” Chu Lingxiao’s voice broke. A tear slipped down her pale cheek, catching the dim shop light like a diamond. “Why would you do this for a stranger who only washed dishes?”
“Because you melted a gold censer for four hundred orphans,” Lin Mo answered simply, leaning back against his stool. “And because people who protect others should never have to beg for roof tiles.”
Scarface Biao stood by the counter, his mouth gaping open like a hooked catfish.
He looked at Chu Lingxiao’s phone, then at Lin Mo’s black-gold card. His face turned from red to an ugly, mottled purple. He had come here to terrify a defenseless girl and shake down a crippled veteran. Instead, he was being treated like invisible wallpaper while these people handed out tens of millions like pocket candy.
“Are you two playing comedy theater in front of me?” Scarface Biao roared, raising his three-foot iron pipe high in the air.
He swung the heavy pipe with all his strength, smashing it directly onto the glass display case containing Uncle Luo’s chili jars.
SMASH!
Shattered glass exploded in all directions. Red chili oil splattered across the counter, dripping onto the concrete floor like blood.
“Listen to me, you rich little clown!” Scarface Biao snarled, pointing the iron pipe at Lin Mo’s nose. “You think ten million is enough to buy this girl’s freedom? You don’t know who owns this town!”
He slammed the blood-red usury contract he had been waving in his right hand—stamped with three crimson corporate wax seals—flat onto the wet noodle counter.
“Read the fine print on this contract!” Scarface Biao barked, his scarred face twisting with malicious triumph. “Like I just told you at the door, the original fifty-million-yuan disaster bond that Chu Lingxiao signed in Sichuan was bought by the Murong Syndicate yesterday afternoon! Under the municipal emergency credit restructuring clause, daily interest is ten percent compounded hourly!”
Su Wan stepped forward, her eyes narrowing behind her gold-rimmed glasses. “Ten percent compounded hourly? That is illegal usury under provincial commerce statutes.”
“Call the police then!” Scarface Biao sneered, laughing mockingly. “The Murong Clan owns the provincial arbitration board! With the penalties and collection costs I just read out, her current debt stands at one hundred and fifty million yuan!”
He leaned over the counter, his hot, foul breath smelling of sour alcohol and cigarettes.
“Young Master Murong Jie gave a direct order,” Scarface Biao whispered viciously. “Chu Lingxiao has two hours to pay one hundred and fifty million yuan in full. If she can’t pay, she gets chained to the back of our van and dragged into the underground death-cage arena. And if she refuses to step into that cage, our bulldozers will level the dyke at Clear-Brook Village tonight!”
Chu Lingxiao’s eyes went icy cold.
The faint warmth from the noodle broth vanished from her expression. The air inside the small shop suddenly plummeted below freezing. Fine needles of white frost crackled across the floor tiles beneath her cloth shoes.
She slowly reached for a wooden rolling pin lying beside the flour bin.
Lin Mo calmly picked up his ceramic soup spoon. He looked at Scarface Biao with an expression of mild amusement.
“One hundred and fifty million,” Lin Mo said, his tone dry and relaxed. “That is quite a markup for thirty hours of interest. I suppose your abacus runs on jet fuel.”
Scarface Biao grinned savagely. “Pay the one hundred and fifty million right now, rich boy, or watch your little sword fairy get dragged through the dirt!”
Lin Mo tapped his fingers on the table. The game in Old Canal Alley was about to become very interesting.