The Ancestral Legacy Begins in the Wild West

"Want a puff? Not a traditional cigarette." Across from me, a slightly plump, typical Cantonese uncle in a velvet Tang suit, puffed on a pipe. "They have those cigarettes here in the West, which are indeed convenient, but I still prefer this."

Zhang Chang'an sat in the small office without appearing flustered, but rather wary. He refused another pipe offered to him from across the room and calmly finished reviewing the imported information on his side:

"As in the past, Yongren Gong's resilience and skill attracted Louis Chen's debt company."

"The difference is that this time, you killed the serial killer who was causing panic in Whitechapel, directly gaining the attention of his boss."

"The goal of crack repair is to help Yongren Gong achieve his later position as deputy head of the security team within one month."

Note: There is no upper limit to the goal; the better the result, the higher the reward.

After reading through these contents, Zhang Chang'an understood:

"The biography of Yongren Gong is quite incomplete; I don't know much about what happened afterward. When those people introduced him, I thought the ancestor had some debt. Turns out, it was going to be absorbed into the government?"

He asked, "So you are Louis Chen."

The middle-aged man opposite me calmly replied, "My real name is Chen Luyi. When I first came here, the foreigner registering me thought it was a Catholic name, or a foreign name I changed myself, so he just remembered it that way."

But it doesn't matter. It's just like this music; since we're all here, whether it's foreign or traditional, there's no need to be so particular.

He pointed to the record player next to him, which was playing melodious Western music.

Of course, it wasn't exactly high-class symphonic music; it was light and lively, more like the style of a pub.

"You can call me Boss, or like the others outside, call me Boss Chen. A lot of the people here are from Guangdong, after all."

Mr. Chen's English was extremely fluent, but his Mandarin had a strong Cantonese accent. He also had a queue on his head, and the people he referred to as "outsiders" were clearly Chinese.

Zhang Chang'an raised an eyebrow: "Call me 'boss'? You're just assuming I'll join?"

Boss Chen, on the other hand, remained extremely calm, casually pulling out a document covered in dense English text.

"He killed four people in a week, slitting their throats with a sickle; he was ruthless and vicious."

The fact that you survived under such a person proves you're a spirited and courageous young man. Of course, if you don't want to join, then I've misjudged you, and you can leave anytime.

Zhang Chang'an had acquired Yongren Gong's English skills, so he could easily understand the contents. It was naturally information about Yongren Gong, as he had only recently arrived in London and only knew what the two police officers had gathered.

Boss Chen's confidence is largely due to Yongren Gong's current situation.

Putting aside how poor their living and working conditions were, in those days, British female workers, whose treatment was far inferior to that of male workers, usually earned more than nine shillings a week.

Yongren Gong not only received eight shillings, but he also likely had to pay a portion to human traffickers and intermediaries. This was the unavoidable price that Cantonese and Fujianese people paid for global visa-free travel in this era.

Yongren Gong certainly couldn't stand this kind of life, and neither could Zhang Chang'an.

The turning point is just around the corner.

Zhang Chang'an looked up from the documents: "How much can you give me?"

The task has already been given to him, so there's no need for him to overthink it; he just wants to know about the future salary and benefits.

Mr. Chen readily produced an employee information registration form.

Zhang Chang'an glanced at it up and down. Perhaps because the business was somewhat shady, the information gathering was as brief as the Scotland Yard police officers' investigation.

Of course, he didn't need to look at anything else; his eyes went straight to the point: "Formal security employee, weekly salary... three pounds and ten shillings! Medical expenses are separate, and there are additional subsidies for housing and equipment?"

During this lull, Boss Chen spoke up: "To be honest, I really like you, young man. In our line of work, being skilled is just the most basic requirement; the key is that you are very calm."

Many of my subordinates think that all you need to do in this line of work is be ruthlessness, and their performance has never been very good.

While he was speaking, Zhang Chang'an had already started filling out the form quickly.

In 1888, the British currency was still based on the standard gold standard, meaning that the currency was pegged to the price of gold. One pound was roughly equivalent to more than 7 grams of gold, and its purchasing power was equivalent to thousands of dollars today.

Therefore, this is equivalent to a monthly salary of tens of thousands, plus subsidies. For Zhang Chang'an to hesitate even for a second longer would be disrespectful to the red banknotes.

As he wrote, he asked, "So, my job is to collect debts?"

Since arriving here, Boss Chen hasn't introduced their business yet, but it's an open secret that everyone knows what's going on.

Boss Chen touched the brass cane leaning against the armrest: "I don't want to say it like that, but it's pretty much it. Actually, we don't do much lending business ourselves. We mainly help others, especially our fellow villagers, collect debts and then take a commission."

As you know, Britain is known for more than just machinery; it also produces bandits and lazybones.

"We specialize in dealing with these kinds of people," Boss Chen said, taking the registration form from him.

"I have about ten people under me who manage the accounts, the warehouse, treat patients, and repair equipment. The remaining thirty or forty, according to the company, are all security personnel. Now you are one of them."

Zhang Chang'an understood; this was merely the official explanation. Any legitimate company claiming to have three or four times more security personnel than other employees was essentially just a group of debt collectors using violent methods.

"New employees usually start as temporary workers, supporting the regular employees, but I think you don't need to."

Zhang Chang'an listened and understood. This was the initial advantage given by the synchronized event. He was promoted to a regular position right away, and it would be even easier for him to become the deputy head of the security team.

Boss Chen put away his registration form and then said, "Our accountant here, Uncle Li, has his office in the innermost room on the second floor. He's an old colleague of mine. You'll collect your money from him every week from now on."

Actually, it's only two days from now. You can pick up the other housing subsidies and equipment in advance.

Zhang Chang'an nodded and asked, "When do I start working?"

Boss Chen turned to look at the side and smiled, "It's not necessarily impossible now."

Zhang Chang'an turned his head and saw several somewhat familiar faces standing at the door. The lean young man at the head of the group opposite him held up a document with red lettering, looking at Zhang Chang'an with considerable curiosity.

"The guy who brought you back just now, that's Zheng Kui, our security team leader," Boss Chen said calmly, turning his gaze to Zheng Kui. "He's in your care now."

………………

The whale oil lamps by the roadside flickered with bright white light, casting long shadows on them.

Ahead, the fishy smell of the Thames River wafted towards us.

This famous British river, which flows through London, is an important part of the city.

Hebei is the main area of ​​London, and further north is the Whitechapel district, a notorious crime slum where the company is located, also known as the "Devil's Land."

They crossed the central district to reach the vicinity of the pier for a job: to arrest a foreigner.

"This job involves finding two Italians who owe money to the porcelain shop. To escape their debts, they've contacted one of their own gangs and are trying to sneak out on a smuggling ship."

Zheng Kui turned his head and glanced at Zhang Chang'an, who was staring straight ahead and whose expression remained unchanged. He couldn't help but smile: "The boss really didn't misjudge you. You're cut out for this line of work."

But don't just focus on your expression; keep your pocket movements discreet too.

Zhang Chang'an's hand, hidden under his coat, stopped; his hand was groping for something that looked rather strange.

It was a mechanical metal brass with a spring structure at the front and smoke vents on the side.

"[Enfield Type 7 Steam Brass Knuckles] (Good Quality)"

Later, the Royal Ordnance Factory, which created the Lee-Enfield rifle, produced an expensive civilian self-defense weapon that was classified as a controlled item and had a burst force of up to 2700 pounds.