Chapter 67: You Are Under Arrest

Ma Han’s face was swollen as he led the way, still in disbelief. Just moments ago, he’d been getting scolded, and now, in the blink of an eye, he was storming a gambling den.

Ling Chi strode along, chatting and laughing heartily with the junior banners as they went.

The Grand Fortune Gambling House came into view almost instantly. Ling Chi eyed the modest establishment with a curled lip—what kind of money could a rundown place like this possibly have?

“Bang, bang, bang! Open up! Jing’an Office, room inspection!”

He banged nonchalantly on the door, and without waiting for a response, slammed his fist into the panel and burst the door open.

A procession of more than twenty men streamed in.

The gamblers inside were stunned, frozen in place—what on earth was happening?

One of the casino’s young attendants, pinned beneath the fallen door, struggled to crawl out. The moment he caught sight of the Jing’an officers in their embroidered uniforms, he immediately knelt in the corner, silent and still, ready to accept whatever fate awaited him.

A clever lad, that one.

“Is the manager dead? Why hasn’t he come out to greet his guests?” Ling Chi’s booming voice echoed through the hall.

The casino’s hired thugs, seeing the uniforms of the Jing’an Office—and recognizing the man who’d just publicly flayed the Xue brothers that very day—instantly shrank, meek as quails.

“All of you are under arrest for illegal gambling. All gambling money is confiscated. The house is sealed. The manager and owner will be taken in for further investigation; we suspect your involvement in the Xue brothers’ case.” Ling Chi rattled off the charges with practiced ease.

“Sir, I’m the manager here. Our owner is Lord He of the town constabulary—officials all, on the same side. No need for this, surely?” The manager flashed a worldly grin, signaling that he was well versed in the ways of bureaucracy.

Smack!

Ling Chi silenced him with a slap.

No, you’re not as clever as you think.

“Your boss was tied up at the gates, forced to watch me flay the Xue brothers alive—didn’t you know? Didn’t you go and see for yourself?” Ling Chi was genuinely curious. It seemed there were still people unaware of today’s events. Clearly, the Jing’an Office’s information network needed work. It wasn’t surprising; He He’s name hadn’t been mentioned in the morning briefing.

The manager, sprawled on the floor, his right cheek swelling, teeth scattered, knew at once—his days of swaggering were over for good.

“Ma Han, was it this man who threatened you?” Ling Chi shot Ma Han a disdainful glance.

“It was him, and another young man. He claimed that aside from the mayor, he was the one in charge. Told me not to cause trouble for you, that even you wouldn’t dare cross him,” Ma Han stammered.

“Don’t you have a mind of your own? Did you give your brains to Blackie? Even that kid’s smarter than you. Since when would I let He boss me around?”

Blackie was Wang Chuan’s son, who’d spent a spell delivering meals to Ling Chi at Woniu Mountain.

This He He—always the same line, just changing the name. That very morning, he’d tried to hoodwink Ling Chi with it and ended up with a face full of fist.

“Ma Han, drag him to the corner and give him a hundred slaps. If you fall short, I’ll make up the rest on your face. I want to hear every strike.” Ling Chi assigned Ma Han the task—to harden his heart, for no great deeds could be accomplished by the soft.

“The rest of you, sweep this den clean. Search every inch.” He waved them on.

At once, chaos erupted in the gambling hall. The gamblers were forced to kneel in a row; the thugs gathered in another room for questioning.

The rest scoured the place—walls, floors, trunks, cabinets—even the feed troughs in the stables were overturned and searched.

Gamblers were dismissed in turn, instructed to pay their fines the following day, or flee if they wished, but warned: if caught, they’d be strung up at the gates and flayed like the Xue brothers.

There was simply no room left in the Jing’an Office’s holding cells. Otherwise, Ling Chi would have detained every gambler too, sorting them one by one. Of the thugs, four had murder charges pending, and the rest had various offenses—just the thing for Zhuo Ying to hone her skills.

A thorough search yielded seven or eight hundred gold coins, a trove of silver and copper, and a stack of property deeds—all to be auctioned off with the Xue family’s deeds the next day. With a chain of prisoners in tow, they headed back.

Ling Chi ordered the barbecue to continue and put Wang Chuan and Pei Shinan in charge of dividing the spoils. The proceeds from the sale of property deeds would buy grain to stockpile for emergencies; the rest would be reserved for allowances and relief funds.

He then publicly declared Wang Chuan promoted to Senior Banner—one of only two in the Jing’an Office at Willows Town.

Of more than two thousand gold coins, Ling Chi took twenty percent—four hundred coins. The two Senior Banners took ten percent each—two hundred coins apiece. The remaining nineteen Junior Banners each received fifty to sixty coins.

“You’ve had your share—now keep your mouths shut. This is the last time for any loose talk, including your families. Especially don’t let the children know. If word slips, it’ll be nothing but trouble,” Ling Chi warned, his tone grave.

All present straightened, answering in unison.

“Don’t neglect your training. In these chaotic times, only strength will keep you alive. If war comes, only you can save yourself. Cultivation techniques and pills—see Old Pei for requisitions.”

“Stay alert. Just ten days ago, even I nearly lost my life in the back hills of Da Huang Village. I did grave damage to it, but who knows if it might emerge from the mountains? You all need to train hard. Anyone who fails to break through before the New Year will be assigned three months of latrine duty,” Ling Chi added, smiling.

The Junior Banners, knowing little of the inside story, now understood why the town constable had been training so fanatically after his last return. Three months of latrine duty—unthinkably humiliating. They resolved it would never happen to them.

Ling Chi’s lips curled. Good, let them compete.

The next morning, he ditched the horse and drove an ox cart instead. Two tattered straw mats swayed atop it, beside which a man-sized bundle squirmed.

Bumping along in the cart, Ling Chi headed straight for Jiqing Town. He intended to pay He Quan a visit. Here was He Quan, playing the tyrant on his own turf, raising thieves right under Ling Chi’s nose—outrageous.

Once on the official road, Ling Chi pulled his bamboo hat low, closed his eyes, and quietly practiced his breathing techniques.

Midway there, the rapid clatter of hooves sounded behind him.

“Move aside! Move aside! Benefit Escort Agency on official business—out of the way, all of you!”

“You with the ox cart—pull over now, or you’ll regret it!”

Ling Chi nudged up the brim of his hat with his knife hilt, peering at the newcomers.

They were runners from the Benefit Escort Agency, each carrying three small banners emblazoned with their company’s name.

“Are you deaf? Move that cart! Our young master will be here soon, and if you’re in the way, you’ll suffer!” one runner snarled, face fierce.

Ling Chi’s eyes gleamed—wasn’t this the culprit who’d nearly gotten Third Brother killed last time?

“What’s your young master up to?” Ling Chi’s youthful voice sounded from beneath the hat.

The runner, upon closer look, realized the cart driver was but a youth.

“Mind your own business, or I’ll cut your tongue out,” he growled, drawing his saber.

He reached for the rope tied to the ox’s nose.

Crack!

Ling Chi flicked a finger; a flash of lightning leapt and struck the man’s hand.

The runner tumbled from his horse, frothing at the mouth, body convulsing.

“A true expert…” the thought flashed through his mind.

“I ask, you answer. Get it wrong, you die,” Ling Chi’s voice echoed, cold as a judge from the underworld.

“Did Chu Xiong die out there? Where is your young master headed? What’s his business?”

It’s over, the runner thought—not just an expert, but one with a grudge against the Escort Agency.