The forest was quiet again, but the stillness was heavier than before. Chen Mo stood over the two bodies, the sharp scent of blood mingling with damp earth and decaying leaves. His breathing, once steady from the chase, now felt hollow in the early morning haze. The adrenaline had faded, leaving only the weight of reality. He didn’t flinch at the sight; killing had been necessary. Panic or hesitation now would serve no purpose.

  Squatting, Chen Mo surveyed the surroundings with calm precision. Broken branches, trampled grass, and the faint impressions of footprints told the story of the chase. He noted the uniforms and weapons of the Iron Fang Gang, familiarizing himself with each detail. It was clear they were not martial artists—otherwise, they wouldn’t have coveted his catch or failed so miserably to corner him. That certainty had guided his hands when the first arrow flew, and it had guided his next.

  Chen Mo’s eyes scanned the bodies, taking in their possessions. Seven taels of silver lay scattered among the two men, the reward of their petty schemes. He gathered it swiftly, tucking it securely into his pouch. He stripped the corpses of any items that might identify them: distinctive weapons, gang tokens, emblems—anything that could trace the deaths back to him. All the weapons and emblems he carried a short distance to a nearby ravine and tossed them down, letting gravity and shadow ensure they would never be found.

  He decided the safest way to deal with the bodies was to use the forest itself. Dragging the men deeper into a dense thicket where thorny bushes and signs of predators abounded, he left them where scavengers would finish the work quickly. Scratches on trees, the scatter of small bones, the scent of wild beasts—all would erase any trace long before anyone could find them. On the way back, he carefully avoided obvious paths, using streambeds and natural hollows to cover his return route.

  By mid-morning, Chen Mo returned from the forest, the air around him still carrying the faint iron tang of blood and damp earth. He moved with the same deliberate calm he had maintained during the hunt, slipping quietly into the trade store backyard. Fetching water, he took a long, thorough bath, scrubbing the forest grime from his skin, letting the warmth and cleanliness settle him.

  Once clean, he stepped out to a nearby stall and bought a modest lunch, savoring the flavors with the discipline of a man who valued efficiency. He tucked the coins carefully away, mindful of the meager wealth he carried, and prepared his gear. Today would not be idle. The martial hall awaited.

  Walking through the city streets toward the Silver Crane Martial Hall, he noticed familiar faces and the bustle of vendors, the clatter of carts, and the distant calls of merchants advertising their goods. His thoughts, however, drifted to the fox he had captured. Its unusual markings and the intense greed of the two Iron Fang gang members confirmed what he already suspected: this was no ordinary creature. Its value was unquestionable. He resolved that he would deal with it later, perhaps with Zhou Heng’s help, ensuring the beast’s worth was maximized.

  By the time he reached the martial hall, the midday session was in progress. He spotted Jia Tao among the trainees, laughing and whispering with the others. Chen Mo’s entrance went unnoticed by most, but Jia Tao caught sight of him and waved, amused.

  Chen Mo entered the Silver Crane Martial Hall and moved directly toward the cafeteria. He spent three taels of silver on a bowl of body-nourishing soup, drinking it slowly, feeling the rich warmth spread through his body. Rejuvenated, he joined the training yard where the youths were performing the Silver Crane Stance. By the end of the evening session, his panel reflected 24/100, a clear sign of his steady progress and the effectiveness of the nourishing soup in sustaining his energy and focus.

  At the river dock, the Iron Fang’s operations were quietly bustling under the gray morning light. Inside a cramped office overlooking the moored boats, an imposing man sat behind a scarred wooden desk. His broad shoulders and calm, deliberate posture radiated the pressure of a seasoned Skin Refining realm martial artist, every movement measured as if he weighed the world with his presence. His name was Han Qi, a minor boss within the gang, feared even by some of his own subordinates. Around him, a few lackeys lingered nervously, among them Bao Lin, a wiry, hawk-eyed man who reported directly to Han Qi. The office smelled of ink, smoke, and the faint tang of fish from the docks below, a fitting headquarters for the gang’s maritime dealings.

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  Bao Lin shifted uneasily, clearing his throat. “Boss Han Qi… the two men you sent to the eastern woods… they haven’t returned. We’ve scouted the usual paths, but there’s no sign of them. It’s as if they vanished.”

  Han Qi’s eyes, sharp and cold as steel, narrowed slightly. He leaned back in his chair, the wood creaking under his weight. The pressure in the room seemed to thicken, each of his subordinates instinctively straightening, feeling the force of his presence. “Vanished?” he repeated slowly, voice low and deliberate. “Not returned… or careless enough to be eliminated?”

  Bao Lin swallowed hard. “We… we can’t tell. There’s no trace, boss. Could be bandits, could be wild animals… we just don’t know.”

  Han Qi’s jaw tightened. He tapped his fingers lightly on the desk, the sound crisp in the tense silence. “Prepare scouts. I want every inch of that forest watched. If they are still alive, we find them. If not… I want to know exactly what happened.” His gaze swept over the room, freezing every lingering doubt. “This is Iron Fang’s territory. No one vanishes from it without answer.”

  Chen Mo returned to the trade store, the fox secured carefully in his satchel. After tidying himself and setting down his other gear, he made his way to Zhou Heng’s office. He knocked lightly before entering.

  “Ah, Chen Mo, welcome,” Zhou Heng greeted, his usual warmth in his voice.

  “I hope I’m not intruding,” Chen Mo said politely, though his posture remained straight and alert.

  “You’re always welcome here,” Zhou Heng replied with a smile.

  Chen Mo carefully opened his satchel and pulled out the fox. “I hunted something a little different today,” he said, watching Zhou Heng’s reaction closely.

  Zhou Heng leaned forward, eyes widening in surprise. “A golden-striped fox? Where did you get such a game?”

  Chen Mo’s lips curved slightly, recalling the hunt. Of course, he omitted the details involving the Iron Fang gang members, keeping the story simple. “In the nearby woods,” he replied casually.

  “You are incredibly lucky, kid,” Zhou Heng said, shaking his head in disbelief. “Hunting such a rare and precious fox… it’s not something most hunters ever see.”

  Chen Mo’s brow furrowed slightly, sensing Zhou Heng’s surprise. The older man leaned back and began to explain. “Listen carefully. This isn’t just any fox. Its meat and blood are highly sought after by pharmacies and martial arts schools. They use it in medicinal baths and pills. One of these can fetch at least thirty taels of silver. You have no idea how valuable this is.”

  Chen Mo absorbed the information, his mind already calculating the possibilities. This catch was worth far more than ordinary game. It seemed the greed of those two fools from the Iron Fang gang had nearly cost him the reward of a lifetime.

  Zhou Heng’s eyes gleamed as he leaned closer. “You know,” he said, “I could buy this fox from you. After all, my trade store often deals in rare ingredients like this, and the Silver Crane School always needs such materials.”

  Chen Mo considered the offer for a brief moment. Out of respect for Zhou Heng’s guidance and past help, he decided to show a little generosity. “Very well,” he said, “I’ll sell it to you… but at twenty-five taels.”

  Zhou Heng smiled, clearly impressed by the boy’s sensibility. “Twenty-five it is,” he said, nodding. “You’re quite thoughtful.

  Chen Mo simply nodded, keeping his posture straight and calm, already planning how to use the extra silver for his training and necessities. The fox now safely in Zhou Heng’s hands, he felt the quiet satisfaction of a deal well-made—and the reward for his skill and caution.

  Chen Mo carefully gathered his belongings and left Zhou Heng’s office, the fox safely handed over. Back in his room, he began tallying his silver. Twenty-five taels from the fox, seven from the spoils of the gang encounter, and the three he had originally kept—his total now reached thirty-five taels.

  He ran through the calculations in his mind. With thirty-five taels, he could afford to stop venturing into the woods for the next ten days and focus entirely on his training. The Silver Crane hall would provide three free bowls of the body-nourishing soup during that time, but to maintain peak efficiency, he would need to buy the remaining seven bowls himself—spending twenty-one taels. The remaining fourteen taels would serve as a buffer for any small necessities.

  Out of caution, Chen Mo decided it was also best to stay away from the nearby forests for now. The Iron Fang Gang might have noticed the disappearance of their men and could send others to investigate. Better to keep a low profile and prioritize mastery of the Silver Crane stance without risking unnecessary trouble.

  With the plan settled, he felt a quiet sense of control, the coins neatly set aside, and his mind already focused on the training sessions ahead.