Scarface Biao picked up the thick contract and waved it in the air like a bloody banner. The yellow paper rustled violently in the cold breeze blowing through the shattered door.
“Sign it right now, girl!” Scarface Biao roared, taking two heavy steps toward Chu Lingxiao. “Ten years in Young Master Murong Jie’s underground fighting ring! Three cage matches every single week! If you survive every brutal bout, your debt gets cleared! If you die inside that steel cage, we feed your corpse to the river crabs!”
Chu Lingxiao’s slender fingers tightened around Uncle Luo’s wooden rolling pin.
The white pine wood groaned under her tremendous grip. A razor-sharp ring of pale blue frost spread across the white flour on the prep table. The air in the room grew so cold that Lin Mo’s steaming basin of beef broth stopped releasing vapor. Fine crystals of ice formed along the enamel rim.
“The four hundred villagers did nothing to harm the Murong Clan,” Chu Lingxiao said. Her voice dropped to a quiet, dangerous whisper that rattled the glass jars on the wall shelves. “Those people only wanted to rebuild their flooded homes. If your bulldozers touch a single stone of that dyke, I will break my master’s oath.”
“Break your oath?” Scarface Biao threw his head back and laughed mockingly. His scarred throat convulsed with ugly mirth. “You think you’re some high-and-mighty immortal who fell from the clouds? You’re a penniless runaway washing greasy noodle bowls in a dark alley gutter! Sign the paper right now, or Clear-Brook Village becomes an underwater graveyard before dawn!”
The twenty thugs behind him banged their heavy iron pipes against the wet doorframe in rhythm. The metallic clang echoed down the narrow canal lane, terrifying the elderly neighbors who shuttered their windows tight.
Before Chu Lingxiao could take half a step forward, a warm, relaxed hand touched her right shoulder.
The freezing mountain chill vanished instantly. A gentle, golden warmth washed through her arm and down into her chest, melting the frost on her sleeves like spring sunlight melting mountain snow.
“Save your strength, Miss Chu,” Lin Mo said, his deadpan voice cutting through the tension. “Pine wood is getting expensive these days. You shouldn’t waste a good rolling pin on cheap insects.”
Chu Lingxiao looked back at him, her dark eyes filled with startled confusion. “Chairman Lin... they are going to send industrial machines to destroy the village dyke. Those children have nowhere else to run.”
“They aren’t destroying anything,” Lin Mo replied, turning his wooden stool toward Scarface Biao. “My legal department charges extra for squashing bugs after midnight. But they work very fast when armed extortion is involved.”
Right on cue, crisp, confident footsteps echoed along the wet granite cobblestones outside.
A young woman in a sharp navy blazer, gray wool slacks, and gold-rimmed glasses stepped through the shattered entrance. Behind her walked two senior investigators from the Jiangnan Provincial Financial Supervision Bureau, carrying black leather briefcases stamped with silver government seals.
It was Shen Qiaoqiao, the lead legal counsel of Taichu Group.
Above Shen Qiaoqiao’s head, her system tag glowed bright emerald green:
[Target: Shen Qiaoqiao. Role: Taichu Group Chief Legal Counsel.]
[Moral Integrity Score: 91/100 (Unflinching legal justice, defender of the weak).]
“Chairman Lin,” Shen Qiaoqiao said, offering a crisp nod as she adjusted her glasses. “We intercepted the Murong Syndicate’s financial records twelve minutes ago. The Sichuan emergency disaster bond was illegally routed through three unregistered offshore shell companies in the Cayman Islands.”
Scarface Biao froze. His lead-weighted bat hovered awkwardly in mid-air. His scarred cheek twitched nervously as he looked at the two men in dark suits behind her. “Who the hell are you? This is internal Murong Clan business! Get out of this shop before my boys crack your skulls open!”
Shen Qiaoqiao didn’t even blink. She opened her tablet computer and projected a glowing legal audit directly onto the whitewashed wall of the noodle shop.
“I am Shen Qiaoqiao, Tianhai Provincial Chief Counsel for Taichu Group,” she said, her voice sharp and steady as an ice pick. “Beside me are Director Han and Senior Auditor Chen from the Provincial Banking Bureau. At ten o’clock this evening, the Murong Construction Syndicate purchased a defaulted disaster-relief bond originating from the Min River flood district.”
She tapped her tablet, bringing up rows of certified banking receipts and state loan documents.
“The original face value of the loan was fifty million yuan,” Shen Qiaoqiao explained clearly. “That money was never owed to any commercial bank. It was owed directly to eighty-five rural stone-mason families in Sichuan who quarried the granite and poured the concrete during the flood. Your syndicate bought the defaulted paper for nine million yuan at a fraudulent distress auction run by a corrupt county clerk.”
She turned her cold, unwavering gaze toward Scarface Biao.
“Then you fabricated a compound interest rate of two hundred percent,” Shen Qiaoqiao continued. “You added fake late fees, daily management penalties, and illegal collection tariffs. That violates Article 175 of the National Criminal Code regarding predatory usury. Your contract is legally void from top to bottom. If you present this paper to a judge, you will receive seven to twelve years in a maximum-security labor facility.”
The two provincial banking investigators stepped forward, displaying their official gold badges.
“Scarface Biao,” Director Han stated solemnly. “Your commercial collection license has been suspended effective five minutes ago. Put down your iron pipe and surrender that document.”
Uncle Luo stood behind the counter, staring at the glowing wall in total astonishment. He looked at Lin Mo, then at Shen Qiaoqiao. The old veteran let out a ragged breath and banged his wooden ladle against a metal stockpot.
“The law!” Uncle Luo shouted, tears of pure relief springing to his eyes. “The law still works in Tianhai! You crooks thought you could rob everyone forever!”
Scarface Biao’s face turned the color of damp ashes. He looked down at the yellow paper in his shaking hands. His sweat began to wash away the grease on his cheeks.
“Bullshit!” Scarface Biao spat, his voice cracking with panicked rage. “Even if the interest is thrown out, the principal debt of fifty million is still real! That debt belongs to the Murong Clan! We bought the rights! Pay fifty million right now, or our bulldozers still roll into Sichuan!”
Lin Mo stood up from his wooden stool. He dusted a speck of white flour off his coat sleeve.
“You really don’t understand how money works, do you?” Lin Mo asked, his tone dripping with mild boredom. “You bought that paper for nine million from a corrupt clerk. You haven’t paid a single fen to the eighty-five stonemasons who actually did the hard work in the freezing rain.”
Lin Mo turned to Su Wan. “Su Wan, pull up the escrow accounts of the eighty-five Sichuan stonemasons who built the Clear-Brook dyke.”
Su Wan’s fingers tapped rapidly across her portable terminal.
Within three seconds, a list of eighty-five verified names and bank routing numbers appeared on her screen. Every single name was tagged with green moral scores ranging from eighty-six to ninety-four. These were hardworking rural masons like Old Master Meng and Craftsman Liu, men who had worked knee-deep in freezing mud, carrying sixty-pound granite blocks to save an entire village.
“Accounts verified, Chairman Lin,” Su Wan said. “Total outstanding principal owed to the eighty-five families is fifty million yuan.”
“Clear the entire fifty-million principal,” Lin Mo instructed calmly. “Then add a fifty-million-yuan double disaster relief bonus. Wire the full one hundred million yuan directly into the eighty-five families’ personal accounts right now.”
Chu Lingxiao gasped. She dropped the wooden rolling pin onto the table with a soft clatter.
“One... one hundred million?” Chu Lingxiao whispered, her breath catching in her throat. “Chairman Lin, you don’t owe them that money! That was my debt! I signed that paper!”
“It was never your debt,” Lin Mo replied, looking at her with a gentle, deadpan expression. “You risked your life to save four hundred orphans from drowning. The masons risked their lives to pour the concrete. The only people who owe anything are the vultures who tried to profit off a natural disaster.”
Lin Mo pressed his black-gold Benevolence Card against the portable terminal.
Beep!
A brilliant emerald beam lit up the dim room as the transaction cleared:
[TRANSACTION APPROVED! AMOUNT: ¥100,000,000 RMB.]
[PURPOSE: DISASTER RELIEF SETTLEMENT, MASONS’ WAGE CLEARANCE, AND RURAL BONUS.]
[RECIPIENTS: 85 SICHUAN STONEMASONS (86–94) & CHU LINGXIAO (97/100).]
[MORAL INTEGRITY: 91.5/100 (TIER-1 BENEFICIARY COOPERATIVE).]
Instantly, the golden system interface roared like thunder inside Lin Mo’s mind:
[DING! 100X BENEVOLENCE REFUND TRIGGERED.]
[SPENT: ¥100,000,000 RMB -> REFUNDED: +¥10,000,000,000 RMB (¥10.00 BILLION)!]
[FUNDS DEPOSITED INTO PERSONAL LIQUID VAULT.]
[CURRENT VAULT BALANCE: ¥470,350,000,000 RMB (¥470.35 BILLION)!]
[GOOD PEOPLE NETWORK: 11,223 -> 11,308 VERIFIED BENEFICIARIES (+85).]
Two thousand kilometers away in the misty mountains of Sichuan, eighty-five cheap cellphones chimed simultaneously in rural cottages.
Old Master Meng, a sixty-year-old mason whose back was permanently curved from carrying river boulders, sat bolt upright in his wooden bed. His screen lit up with an official bank alert. His account had just received one million one hundred and seventy-six thousand yuan.
Beside him, Craftsman Liu dropped his tea mug, staring at the message with tears streaming into his gray beard. The debt was wiped out forever. The hospital bills for their injured apprentices were paid. Their families were secured for generations.
Inside the noodle shop, Chu Lingxiao received an automated confirmation message forwarded by the Clear-Brook village elder.
Xiao Ling... the money arrived! Every mason has been paid in full! The provincial government just certified the dyke as public infrastructure! Our village is safe!
Chu Lingxiao’s knees buckled.
She caught herself on the edge of the dining table. Her cool, untouchable sword fairy persona shattered like thin ice. Tears filled her clear eyes and rolled freely down her cheeks, soaking into the coarse hemp of her apron.
For ninety days, she had carried the weight of four hundred lives on her slender shoulders. She had washed thousands of greasy bowls until her hands cracked and bled. She had endured the sneers of thugs and the chill of winter nights under concrete bridges.
And now, with a single tap of a black card, this young billionaire had wiped away her burden completely.
“Thank you...” she sobbed, bowing low toward Lin Mo. “I have no words... I have nothing of value to repay such kindness...”
“You can finish slicing the beef tomorrow,” Lin Mo said with a small shrug. “I like consistent portion sizes. Good food is hard to find in this town.”
Scarface Biao stood in the doorway, staring at the projected settlement certificate on the wall. His heart felt like it had dropped into an icy well.
The principal was paid directly to the original creditors. The debt paper in his hand was now nothing more than worthless scrap. His five-million-yuan commission from Murong Jie was completely gone. Even worse, he had brought two government investigators right into his illegal loan-sharking racket.
“You ruined me...” Scarface Biao hissed, his eyes turning bloodshot with feral madness.
He gripped his heavy iron bat with both hands and spat a mouthful of bloody phlegm onto the floor.
“If I go down, I’m taking all of you with me!” Scarface Biao screamed, swinging his bat toward Lin Mo’s skull. “Boys! Kill the rich bastard! Smash the shop! Break every bone in their bodies!”
The twenty thugs behind him roared like rabid dogs. They raised their steel pipes, titanium blades, and crowbars, surging through the broken doorway in a wave of iron and leather.
Uncle Luo yelled in terror, pulling himself behind the heavy soup cauldrons.
Lin Mo didn’t even flinch. He picked up his wooden chopsticks, plucked a green scallion ring from his bowl, and looked up at Chu Lingxiao.
“Miss Chu,” Lin Mo said, his tone entirely casual.
Chu Lingxiao wiped the tears from her face. Her posture straightened instantly. A terrifying, razor-sharp aura flared around her cyan robe, slicing the raindrops outside the window into microscopic mist.
“Yes, Chairman Lin?” she asked, her voice crystal clear.
“Taichu Group is expanding its executive security division,” Lin Mo said, dipping the scallion ring into his broth. “I need a Chief Martial Enforcer. The starting salary is fifty million yuan a year, plus full health benefits and unlimited taro milk tea.”
Chu Lingxiao blinked. Her tears vanished, replaced by quiet wonder. “Chief Martial Enforcer?”
“That is correct,” Lin Mo continued, pointing his chopstick toward the twenty charging thugs. “And since you are clocking in right now, let’s establish your performance bonus. I will pay you exactly one hundred thousand yuan for every broken weapon that hits this floor.”
Chu Lingxiao looked at the twenty steel pipes flying toward Lin Mo’s table.
Her lips curved into the faintest, most dazzling smile.
“Chairman Lin,” she said softly, reaching for the wooden rolling pin. “Your generosity is truly difficult to refuse.”
The small noodle shop was about to witness what happened when a Mount Qingcheng Sword Fairy took her first paid corporate assignment.