The private express elevator descended eighty floors beneath the street level, its digital floor indicator flashing past the parking basements into the secure bedrock levels.
Tie Niu leaned against the polished brass handrail, chewing thoughtfully on a beef jerky stick.
“Boss,” Tie Niu said, looking up at the descending numbers. “What do you think those rich patriarchs hid down here? Golden bathtubs? Silk pajamas imported from Paris?”
“Probably tax evasion documents and bad poetry, Brother Tie,” Lin Mo replied, his hands resting comfortably in his coat pockets. “Rich families love pretending they appreciate culture. But when trouble hits, they always hoard bearer bonds and gold teeth.”
Chu Lingxiao stood quietly beside them, her thumb resting lightly on the guard of her Purple-Thunder sword. “Whatever is down here, it was shielded with high-grade spiritual wards. I can feel the faint residue of Mount Qingcheng array powder through the elevator shaft.”
With a smooth mechanical hum, the heavy doors opened onto Subterranean Level 3.
The air down here was cool, dry, and smelled faintly of copper and ancient stone. Three-foot-thick blast doors of reinforced titanium-tungsten alloy lined the corridor, guarded by twenty Ninth Bureau officers with assault rifles and spirit-suppression batons.
Lin Mo stepped out into the hallway, flanked by Tie Niu and Chu Lingxiao.
