Becoming a god starts with one certificate becoming eternal.

Chapter 99 One Tael of Silver Wiped Out a Gang

Shi Mo stopped looking at him and pressed on, saying, "If Ye Xiao is to die, he should die in a place where he 'deserves to die,' at the hands of someone who deserves to kill him."

"Ideally—to die in my absence."

He paused, his tone growing colder: "Gao Qing will be coming from the Blackwater Gang. He's no weaker than Ye Xiao, and he's daring and willing to use underhanded tactics."

"Didn't he try it before? Ye Xiao's blood burning effect hasn't been resolved yet, so his strength will inevitably be damaged, and it's impossible for him to burn blood again."

"With him and ten other quasi-martial artists, Ye Xiao has almost no chance of survival."

Greysleeves' Adam's apple bobbed: "Understood."

Shi Mo sighed softly, "It's a pity that Gao Yue is currently in seclusion, attempting to break through to become a martial artist. Otherwise, if he attacked together, even two Ye Xiaos would be dead."

The next moment, he lightly tapped the armrest with his fingertips: "But that's enough."

Hui Xiu looked up, his heart pounding. Only now did he realize that Gao Yue, the leader of the Scorpion Gang, was about to become a martial artist.

His eyes sharpened, and he asked, "Does the Hall Master have any further instructions?"

Graphite's eyelids drooped slightly, and his voice was low: "Don't use anything from the gang to mess with him."

"Knives, hidden weapons, drugs, ropes—let the Blackwater Gang handle all of that. And remind them to use goods whose origins are untraceable."

.

"As for our people, they're only responsible for misunderstandings," "only responsible for conflict," and "making his death look like a vendetta."

Hui Xiu felt a chill run down his spine: "Is the sect leader afraid—"

"I'm afraid the Protector will investigate." Shi Mo interrupted, his tone cold and flat. "It's not enough that I don't show up. As long as your identities are exposed, I will still be held responsible."

He slowly sat up straight and issued his final command: "Go."

"Tell Gao Qing that if he wants half of the docks, he should bring us the heads first."

"If you can't get it, don't even think about getting into the docks."

Hui Xiu clasped his hands in a deep fist salute: "Your subordinate will take care of it immediately!"

He turned and walked away quickly, his pace even faster than when he came, as if he would miss his prey if he slowed down even for half a breath.

The lights in the hall were still dim.

Shi Mo sat alone at the head of the table, his fingertips twitching again as he rested on the armrest, muttering to himself, "Ye Xiao."

"It's your fault for being just a new leader, yet you occupied the territory that should have been mine—and even killed my men in public."

As the night deepened, the moonlight hung on the rooftops, cold as a thin layer of frost.

In the Scorpion Gang's small courtyard, only the sound of the wind remained.

This isn't deep in the alley, but right on the border; one step out is a flow of people, one step in is a life of misery.

The oil lamp was still hanging, its wick black, and the light it emitted was also black.

They lay scattered on the ground, without even making a sound.

Everyone in this courtyard was dead, and blood was everywhere.

Gray Sleeves stood loosely, his sword sheathed, his cuffs clean as if he had never left the house, and even his breathing was steady.

A black sleeve pressed down around his neck, his hands remained still, and his eyes did not move.

Not far away, at the base of the wall, another person was panting.

The man in the short jacket lay prone in the ashes, his chest rising and falling pitifully thin, and bloody gasps squeezed out of his throat with each breath.

His fingers were still gripping something tightly—an ounce of silver, covered in blood and mud.

At that moment, he finally understood.

During the day, at the bridgehead on the river street, those one or two items weren't picked up, they were stolen.

What they stole wasn't money.

It is a disaster.

He tried to beg for mercy, but when he opened his mouth, he only spat out a mouthful of dark red blood, his voice stuck in his throat.

In his line of sight, Ma Wu squatted down and flipped through the account books, not even glancing at him, as if he were already dead.

The man in the short jacket suddenly felt a sharp pain in his chest, and his last breath escaped.

The fingers that had been clutching the silver finally loosened.

"bite."

The silver rolled onto the ground.

Ma Wu didn't look up, continuing to flip through the account books. The pages were blackened, and the oil stains made them shiny.

The account book didn't say "borrow," it said "pledge."

Escorting medicine, escorting people, escorting lives.

Each stroke is followed by a handprint, representing people who were driven to desperation.

Ma Wu paused on a page for a moment with his fingertip, then gently wiped it.

The corners of that page were stiff from being turned so many times.

This isn't just an occasional act of evil; it's like eating evil as a meal.

He stood up, glanced at the corpses in the courtyard, and said in a flat voice, "The master said—those who haven't been killed should be spared."

He paused for a moment, then his tone grew even colder: "I've looked."

"Not a single one survived."

Ma Wu closed the ledger, pressed his fingertip lightly on the cover, a light touch that seemed to press Ye Xiao's words into his very bones.

If it weren't for Ye Xiaotai giving him a hand, he would still be in the Black Sleeves Gang.

There's only one thing he can do in return: get things done cleanly and enforce the rules strictly.

Grey Sleeves whispered, "Small gang, their hands are too dirty."

Ma Wu replied, "The leader is wise—there is indeed no need to keep such a small gang around."

He walked to the door, then glanced back at the courtyard under the lamplight: "With this kind of gang, as long as one person is left alive, there's one more medicine line, one more indenture, and one more life."

"Kill them all, that'll save you trouble."

He tucked the account book under his arm, glanced around the room, and gave the order crisply and efficiently: "Take away everything of value."

"Cash, deeds, seals—everything must be reviewed by the head of the hall."

"The rest—burn."

The men in black sleeves responded in unison, "Yes."

They opened the cabinet, gathered up the money and contracts together, and even pried out the seal and threw it into a bag.

Someone threw an oil-stained rag into the house and lit a fire.

The firelight flickered briefly behind the window paper, then grew brighter and brighter with each lick.

The wooden beam made a slight snapping sound.

Ma Wu stepped out of the door without looking back.

A night breeze blew, causing the lamplight to flicker before it was quickly swallowed up by the flames.

The alley quickly became quiet again.

The silence wasn't because nothing was wrong; it was because everyone was pretending not to see anything. The fire was still burning, the wind was still blowing, but no one dared to open the door even a crack.

As dawn approached, the wind pushed the layers of cigarette ash aside.

In the Silent Alley, it wasn't people who woke up first, but their noses.

A burnt smell seeped through the window cracks, making people's throats tighten. But no one in the alley dared to cough, afraid that if they made a sound, they would bring back "last night's fire."

-

Actually, more people wake up in the middle of the night.

They heard the dull thud of the bolt breaking, and the short, agonizing screams. The screams were cut short, abruptly cut off. That kind of swiftness was more chilling than any cry.

So the doors to the Silent Alley remained closed until dawn.

Behind the paper window, some people sat with their children in their arms until dawn, their hands pressing against the door the whole time; some people pressed the debt collection slips into the stove ashes, then regretted it, took them out, and stuffed them into the deeper cracks between the bricks; some people simply tore up the receipts with their fingerprints on them again and again, until their fingertips turned red, before they dared to breathe a sigh of relief.

Finally, someone with a bit more courage peered out from the alleyway across two lanes.

The ashes from the fire were still floating, a deep, dark black, and the small courtyard was no longer recognizable.

Half of the wall had collapsed, the window frames were now dark, gaping holes, and the door plaque was curled up from being licked by the fire, with only a stroke of the character "scorpion" remaining. The ground was covered in ash, which crumbled under every step.

The man gasped, turned and left, even faster than he had come.

He didn't call out.

The people in the lower town learned one thing long ago: a fire that can burn an entire courtyard to ashes is not something anyone can touch.

But the news still spread like wildfire.

He crawled from one door crack to the next, rolled from one household's ear to another's pillow: "The Scorpion Gang is gone."

"Last night, a fire burned everything to ashes."

"I heard it's not a feud, it's about money."

"Money?" Some people didn't believe it. "The Scorpion Gang robs money every day, haven't they robbed enough?"

"I made a mistake this time."

The speaker's voice was barely audible, "At the river bridge, the Scorpion Gang robbed the Star Hall Master of the Green Owl Gang."

Someone gasped, "How dare they? How much did they steal?"

"One tael."

The two words fell, and the alley seemed to fall silent.

The group of people at the alley entrance who had been coerced by the Scorpion Gang and had pressed their handprints on their names did not dare to laugh out loud after hearing this.

Some people clutched the debt collection slips so tightly their knuckles turned white; others instinctively took a half-step back, as if afraid the fire would spread with the wind to their doorstep.

It's not that I'm unhappy, nor that I'm upset.

Those feelings of joy and exhilaration, just rising to their throats, were swallowed back down—in the silent alley, even laughing out loud could get them into trouble.

To wipe out an entire gang for a mere tael of silver—that's too ruthless and too unrealistic.