Chen Mo left the Silver Crane Hall in the late evening, the sky already dimming into a muted indigo. His newly issued martial uniform brushed softly against his legs as he passed through the outer yard. The place was empty now. The wooden racks stood in neat rows, the training grounds swept clean, not a single trainee in sight.

  It seemed everyone had already returned to their homes.

  Chen Mo slowed his steps for a moment, his thoughts drifting. Jia Tao would probably be gone too. The boy had left a decent impression on him. Not sharp, not cunning, but sincere enough. In a place like this, that alone made him worth remembering. If fate allowed, they would meet again tomorrow. He might even come in handy later.

  Leaving the martial hall behind, Chen Mo headed toward Zhou Heng’s trade store.

  Along the way, he began to notice something subtle yet unmistakable. The gazes of common folk lingered on him longer than before. Some carried a hint of wariness, others cautious admiration. A few even stopped what they were doing and greeted him respectfully, their voices low and careful.

  Chen Mo returned their greetings with small nods, neither distant nor overbearing.

  Only then did he truly feel it.

  The invisible line had shifted. He was no longer just another poor youth scraping by in the city. With the Silver Crane Hall’s uniform on his body, his status had quietly changed, and the world around him was already responding.

  Chen Mo had barely reached the front of the trade store when movement stirred inside. One of the apprentices spotted him from afar, froze for half a breath, then turned and sprinted toward the inner rooms like his feet were on fire.

  By the time Chen Mo stepped through the doorway, Zhou Heng was already rushing out of his office, robes slightly askew, urgency written plainly on his face.

  His steps halted the instant he saw Chen Mo. For a heartbeat, Zhou Heng simply stared, as if doubting his own eyes. Then realization dawned, and his expression bloomed into an unmistakable grin.

  “Oh Chen Mo… no, no.” Zhou Heng waved his hands hurriedly. “Lord Chen, please, please come in.”

  He turned sideways and gestured sharply at the apprentice lingering nearby. “What are you standing there for? Go, prepare tea. The good leaves.”

  Chen Mo paused, feeling a strange ripple in his chest at the sudden change in treatment. He cupped his hands lightly and said, “Master Zhou, please just call me Chen Mo. There’s no need for such titles.”

  Zhou Heng laughed, the sound warm yet edged with caution. “How could that be? How could that be?” He ushered Chen Mo inside with exaggerated hospitality. “Please, come in first. Let’s sit, drink tea, and talk properly.”

  As they settled inside the office, the door closing softly behind them, Zhou Heng poured the tea himself, his movements unusually careful. Only after placing a cup in front of Chen Mo did he finally sit down, exhaling as if a weight had been lifted from his chest.

  “To be honest,” Zhou Heng said, shaking his head with a rueful smile, “I never expected you to become a formal disciple so soon.”

  He lifted the teacup, then paused, as if amused by his own thoughts. “When my useless apprentice came running in, saying someone from the Silver Crane Hall was coming here, my heart almost jumped out. I thought it was a sudden inspection.”

  Zhou Heng glanced at Chen Mo again, this time with undisguised admiration. “Who would have thought it was you instead?”

  Chen Mo took a sip of tea, then smiled faintly and said in a teasing tone, “What is it, Master Zhou? Could it be that there are problems with the accounts?”

  Zhou Heng nearly choked on his tea. He laughed awkwardly, waving his hands in a panic. “How could that be? I wouldn’t dare, I truly wouldn’t dare.”

  Chen Mo set the cup down and looked at him calmly. “Master Zhou, there’s no need to be like this. You’ve helped me a lot. At this point, we can be considered friends.”

  Zhou Heng froze for a brief moment, then his expression softened. The tension in his shoulders eased, and a sincere smile finally appeared on his face.

  Chen Mo nodded and spoke plainly, “I came today to bid my farewells and take my few belongings. I’ll be moving to the school quarters and focusing on my training from now on.”

  Zhou Heng stood up at once, cupped his hands, and said with feeling, “Then this humble one congratulates… no, congratulates Master Chen in advance and wishes you smooth progress on the martial path.”

  Chen Mo smiled. “Thank you, Master Zhou.” Then his voice dropped slightly. “There’s something else I wanted to ask. Could you tell me what you know about the school’s industries?”

  Zhou Heng paused, organizing his thoughts before replying, “I’m just a shopkeeper, so what I know is limited. Still, the Silver Crane Hall owns many trade stores like this one throughout the city, as well as pharmacies and a few other businesses. Beyond that, the school conducts trade with neighboring cities and even runs escort services for merchants and caravans.”

  He shook his head lightly. “Those escort contracts are said to be very profitable, but also dangerous. Usually, only trusted disciples or deacons are involved.”

  Chen Mo understood that this was as far as Zhou Heng’s knowledge went. Pushing further would only make things awkward. He stood up, cupped his hands, and said sincerely, “Thank you, Master Zhou. You’ve helped me more than enough. If you ever need anything in the future, just come find me.”

  Zhou Heng’s expression softened, a mix of relief and pride flashing through his eyes. “With those words, this old man can sleep peacefully.”

  Chen Mo smiled faintly. He took his few simple belongings, slung them over his shoulder, and bid Zhou Heng farewell. Stepping out of the trade store, he turned toward the direction of the Silver Crane Hall. As dusk settled over the city, his figure gradually disappeared into the streets, heading toward the disciple living quarters and the new chapter of his life.

  Deep within the Silver Crane Martial Hall, the main hall loomed with an imposing presence. High ceilings arched gracefully above, and sunlight streamed through latticed windows, casting patterned shadows across the polished stone floor. The air was heavy with purpose; the quiet hum of conversation and the shuffle of papers suggested serious deliberations were underway.

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  Robes of varying ranks brushed past one another as figures moved with measured precision, each aware of the subtle currents of influence and authority flowing through the hall. Scrolls, documents, and small vials were carefully arranged on long tables, signaling the importance of the matters at hand. Though outwardly calm, the atmosphere was charged with unspoken tension, decisions being weighed that could affect the school’s power, resources, and the futures of countless disciples.

  It was a place where strategy, authority, and ambition converged—the beating heart of the Silver Crane Martial Hall.

  The Silver Crane Martial Hall was one of the most powerful martial schools in the city, its influence reaching far beyond the training grounds and trade halls. Within its walls, four organ refinement experts—legends among martial cultivators—held the fort, ensuring the school’s dominance and safeguarding its secrets.

  At this moment, all four were gathered in the main hall, seated around a large polished table. Scrolls, maps, and documents were spread before them as they discussed matters of discipline, resource allocation, and the cultivation of promising disciples. Though the conversation was measured and deliberate, the presence of these masters radiated an unmistakable authority, their every gesture carrying the weight of experience and the unspoken power that had earned them their ranks.

  Deep within the grand main hall of the Silver Crane Martial Hall, the four organ refinement experts gathered around the polished rosewood table. Master Han Zhen sat at the head, his expression calm yet radiating the weight of authority. To his left, Elder Zhou Heng adjusted the papers in front of him, his mind clearly occupied with the ongoing management of alchemy and resources. Elder Lian Wei leaned back slightly, listening more than speaking, as was his style.

  It was Elder Gu Ming, the law enforcement elder, who broke the silence first, his tone sharp and unrestrained. “This is unacceptable!” he barked, slamming his fist lightly on the table. “The Alchemy Department is clearly favoring certain disciples—and even some elders—while neglecting the needs of the ones under my supervision. This is illogical. My division is the iron fist of this school. If our enforcers are left short of resources, how do you expect us to maintain order?”

  Zhou Heng remained composed, though his eyes flickered with a hint of defensiveness. “Elder Gu, we operate on quotas. We cannot satisfy every request immediately. You know as well as I do the production limits of the alchemy department—there are only so many pills and medicinal baths we can prepare in a week.”

  Gu Ming’s eyes narrowed. “Limits? Limits do not excuse favoritism! Discipline and enforcement are as essential to the school as cultivation. If our enforcers falter because they lack proper support, then the entire hierarchy collapses. Do you understand that?”

  Master Han Zhen’s voice finally cut through the tension, calm but firm. “Elder Gu, I understand your concern. And you are right—your office is vital. However, resources must be balanced between cultivation and enforcement. We cannot let one side dominate at the expense of the other.”

  Elder Lian Wei added thoughtfully, “Perhaps we need a better system to ensure both the Alchemy Department and Law Enforcement receive what they need. Some kind of coordination, so that favoritism—or perceived favoritism—doesn’t escalate.”

  Master Han Zhen leaned back in his chair, his gaze sweeping over the other elders. “A little tension and competition among our disciples is healthy—it pushes them to work harder. But what concerns me more is resources. Without sufficient support, even the most talented cannot reach their potential.”

  He paused, letting the weight of his words settle, then continued. “The Iron Fang Gang’s control over the river transportation has left us with only a few trade routes and the nearby mountains. The cost of land transportation is a constant headache, and it eats into both our finances and efficiency. We cannot rely solely on what we already have; we must find ways to expand and secure our supply chains.”

  The other elders nodded solemnly, each aware that the struggle for resources was not just a logistical issue—it was a matter of survival and influence within the city.

  Elder Lian Wei leaned forward, his voice low but sharp. “The Crimson Fist Martial Hall to the west and the Jade Lotus Sect in the south have been getting uncomfortably close lately. Their cooperation is increasing, and I wouldn’t be surprised if they are secretly backing the Iron Fang Gang—otherwise, that gang wouldn’t be acting with such brazenness. Meanwhile, the City Lord’s Mansion remains as quiet as ever, seemingly indifferent to what’s unfolding beneath their nose.”

  The other elders exchanged uneasy glances. Lian Wei’s words carried the weight of warning—if the gang truly had hidden backing, the school’s control over trade and resources could be further threatened.

  Elder Gu slammed his fist onto the table, the heavy wood letting out a dull boom as cracks spread from the point of impact. His eyes burned with fury as he rose to his feet.

  “I say we launch a surprise attack on the Iron Fang Gang and wipe them out completely,” he barked. “They only have two organ refinement experts. If we strike fast and without warning, it will be too late for any other faction to interfere. Once their heads fall, the rest will scatter like dogs.”

  A cold killing intent filled the main hall. Even the lantern flames seemed to waver.

  For the law enforcement elder, this was the simplest and most effective solution—an iron fist to restore order. The question was no longer whether the Iron Fang Gang deserved to be destroyed, but whether the Silver Crane Martial Hall could afford the consequences that would follow.