The wind blowing through the open Kunlun Immortal Gate carried the faint smell of mountain ozone and distant beast blood.
On the flight deck of the Taichu Sovereign Ark, Deacon Qian was furiously sweeping fallen snow into a canvas dustpan.
His hands were blistered. His pink debtor canvas vest flapped in the alpine breeze.
Beside him, Former Branch Director Muller stood holding his squeegee, inspecting the deck with critical, aristocratic eyes.
“More pressure on the broom, Qian,” Muller ordered coldly. “Look at those pine needles trapped in the scuppers. In the Geneva banking district, a janitor who swept that poorly would be dismissed before noon.”
“Silence, mortal insect!” Deacon Qian hissed through his bruised teeth. “Do you think a banker from a lower-realm mud puddle has the right to judge an elder of the Immortal Merchant Pavilion?!”
“A banker who audited forty billion francs knows bad bookkeeping when he sees it,” Muller replied smoothly. “And right now, your debt balance is three hundred billion High-Grade Spirit Stones. That makes you the most bankrupt entity on this ship.”
Hearing the bridge discussion about General Meng Tie through the open intercom system, Deacon Qian’s ferret-like eyes flared with spiteful glee.
