Bandit Infighting

Go home? What was so great about that godforsaken home of his? Ji Jue genuinely could not comprehend it. Was that household some legendary paradise of ultimate bliss where everyone prostrated themselves in praise the moment they saw him, where every room was crammed with eighty-one wives and concubines, with gorgeous women or cute femboys on demand, and where the basements were stacked with endless mountains of gold and silver that could never be spent? Setting aside such unrealistically high expectations, was there even someone waiting for him at home to boil a bowl of noodles or stew a pot of pork trotter soup? Besides, at a critical juncture like this, was he really the one who wanted himself back home the most? In the end, he was simply too bound by convention. Ji Jue could not help but shake his head. He glanced at the despondent Minkler and sighed softly. "Even now, your head still hasn't caught up, has it?" Even if Minkler had sensed danger and reacted, his self-perception remained utterly out of step with the reality of the situation. It was as though an invisible mental stamp had been seared into his forehead. No, it would be more accurate to say— He had been deliberately raised this way. It wasn't that he couldn't amount to great things; rather, he was never permitted the possibility of doing so. For a family member, possessing this degree of competence was plenty. Any more, and it would become a threat. For the first half of his life, he had existed merely as a member of the clan, an instrument of the household. Even if he harbored personal desires and selfish ambitions, they went no further than skimming some cash, grasping for a bit of power, or coveting a modest slice of fame and status—all of which ultimately depended on the family. So when his own biological father abruptly kicked him into the fire pit, he had been struggling so desperately that he failed to realize today was no longer like the past. He was no longer a beast of burden for the family. He was its ruler. Even if only in name. "Minkler..." Ji Jue spoke slowly, "If you're still clinging to the idiotic idea that you can scrape by and walk away in one piece, you might as well find a rope and hang yourself right now. There's no need for me to spell out the situation. I'll just ask you one thing—do you honestly have any way out?" Minkler looked down at the mangled severed head beneath his feet. The head's hollow eye sockets stared back at him. Silence fell, both gazing at each other without a word. He gave a bleak smile. If he were merely the commander of the Seven Cities Joint Defense Fleet, perhaps there might have been a chance to step down after a job well done, return home in glory, live out a quiet life, or even earn the trust of the new family head as an indispensable right-hand man. Yet the instant the House God's endorsement landed upon him, everything turned entirely on its head. He had transformed from a puppet who could be manipulated into a tangible threat to everyone—everyone inside the family, everyone outside it, the future family head, his inner circle, the other six cities, and their lapdogs alike. Not a single one of them would allow a man who held the legal authority to threaten their existence—yet remained so easy to control—to go on living. This was a dead end with no retreat, and nowhere to hide. Even if he fled to the ends of the earth, his blood still belonged to Chopra, and his soul still belonged to the House God. The moment the new family head gave the order, the House God would descend from above to reap his soul and life. So make your choice, Minkler. Would he honor his father's wishes and become a sacrificial lamb in this delicate succession, or would he truly march down this dead end, never looking back, and seize his fate with his own two hands even if it meant being smashed to pieces? Minkler remained silent and gave no answer. He took off his coat, spread it over the filthy deck, and knelt down. Gingerly, he cupped the ashes on the deck in his hands—everything left behind by the vengeful spirit that had come for his life just moments ago—and gathered them back together, grain by grain, solemn and meticulous. Pathetic, yet tenacious. Ji Jue watched him in silence as well. Seeing the look on his face, Ji Jue seemed to understand. Reaching out, Ji Jue gathered every last speck of ashes from the seams and grooves of the deck. After casting one final glance at Minkler's foul-smelling, stained coat, he let out a sigh. He produced a box and reinforced its material properties, casually fashioning it into an alchemical creation suitable for storing materials. "Here, for you," he said. "Make do with it. Don't be picky." "No, this is already wonderful." Minkler cradled the exquisite box and suddenly laughed. "This is probably the most glamorous moment of her entire life..." To think a Golden Ribbon Artisan would tailor such an expensive keepsake for her. What an honor. When in life, she had possessed nothing at all. "I want them dead." He turned back toward his collaborator, offering a plea straight from the heart: "I'll do whatever you ask." "Very good." Ji Jue nodded, thoroughly pleased. It was like a craftsman seeing a fine piece of timber revealed after slicing away the rotten exterior. He was worth shaping after all. "Let's go." He snapped his fingers. The whistle of the *Prosperity* sounded once more, surging across the vast ocean, accelerating as the wild wind lashed their faces. "Off to take post at Yamen!" The distinguished fleet commander was about to grace his loyal Seven Cities Joint Defense Fleet base with his presence! "Though you woke up a bit late, there's still hope for salvage." Ji Jue pondered for a moment, then looked at Minkler. "Don't tell me you've been in command this long and were stupid enough not to cultivate a few confidants and diehard loyalists in your own fleet. Logistics, armaments, comms and spotting, engineering, command—there has to be at least one department you can rely on, right?" "There is!" Minkler nodded decisively, without a second thought. In the Seven Cities, claiming to harbor lofty ambitions while refusing to form cliques was pure fantasy and nonsense. But when it came to forming factions, pursuing self-interest, and scheming for power, that was everyone's bread and butter—as effortless as breathing. The smaller the temple, the fiercer the gale; the shallower the pond, the nastier the waves. Even though he had only held true power for a few months, Minkler had done his fair share of planting cronies, backing loyalists, and building influence. The key departments were held firmly in his grasp. Although he hadn't had time to look after anything when he fled, he remained the commander of the Joint Defense Fleet, even if only in title. Just as putting him in that seat had been an enormous headache, pulling him down now would be just as agonizing. A mosquito was still meat, however small. If the various factions wanted to replace him, they would have to wrestle through at least several rounds of political maneuvering first. A slapdash outfit was naturally resistant to precise micromanagement. Even if someone wanted to purge his subordinates, it wasn't something that could be pulled off overnight; at most, his people were just having a rougher time under pressure. "Excellent." Ji Jue nodded, checking their speed and heading. "We'll arrive in four hours at the latest. Start making your calls now." Minkler splashed water on his face, sat down, picked up the phone Ji Jue had left on the table, pulled a notebook from his inner coat pocket, and flipped through it page by page. Then he started dialing. The moment the call connected, his expression shifted entirely. Without a word of greeting, he unleashed a barrage of furious curses at the other end, immediately demanding to know their stance and allegiance, and whether they had sold out to find a new master. One call ended, followed by another. His teacup was drained and refilled, emptied and filled again. He never stopped for the entire voyage, talking until his throat turned raspy and no more numbers could be reached. "That should about cover it." Minkler rubbed his face and let out a weary sigh. "By now, the family probably already knows I'm coming back. Give it a little longer, and the other factions will catch wind of it too." "Every second counts. Speed is essential in war," Ji Jue said. "How many can actually be trusted?" "Fewer than a third," Minkler answered. "The rest are fence-sitters." "That's enough." Ji Jue nodded. "I don't know the specifics or the local politics, so I won't micro-manage. Just make sure you're ready." He looked toward the silhouette of an island gradually emerging in the distance, offering a final reminder: "When the time comes, leave everything else to me. Once you're inside the base, your only job is to beat the drums, assemble the officers, muster the troops, and prepare to wipe out the bandits!" "Where would there be—" Minkler paused slightly, then immediately understood. Looking down at the necklace and the ring around his neck, he couldn't help but chuckle. Indeed, where would bandits come from? As long as the troops were in your hands, whoever you declared a bandit was a bandit! As long as the ring was in your possession, whatever you did was whatever the Chopra family did! After all, who was the supreme commander of the Seven Cities Joint Defense? Who was the successor acknowledged by the Chopra House God? Minkler grinned, took off the necklace, and slipped the ring he had once feared like a venomous serpent onto his index finger. He examined it closely, lifting his sleeve to brush away imaginary dust. The faint flicker of light illuminated his pupils. Suddenly, life in the fire pit didn't seem so unbearable after all. Especially when he considered how many people were about to join him down there... *** Xiangzhou. On a sweltering afternoon, right in the heart of the bustling, prosperous city, sprawled a palatial complex built along the mountainside—the Chopra estate. "Minkler is back?" Inside the luxurious reception room, Boggio raised his eyelids, turning back to his subordinate with undisguised astonishment. "He actually managed to come back? "What on earth is that bitch Sixth Sister doing? Has she forgotten how to kill someone?" As the fourth son who currently wielded the greatest authority in the Chopra family—with the eldest dead in infancy, the second dead young, and the third missing—he was now the genuine top dog, already in his fifties. There was no helping it; Minkler's old man had been terrifyingly fertile. He had sired children from the age of nineteen until ninety-one. If he hadn't suffered an untimely stroke, he probably could have churned out a one-hundred-and-seventh child for the household! Over the course of more than seventy years, relying purely on his reproductive prowess, he had brutally and effectively kept the main bloodline firmly atop the branch families, monopolizing absolute power. Unfortunately, that strength came with an equal downside. With his death, the once-massive main line was bound to fracture into internecine strife, fighting tooth and nail until a new main branch emerged. In the process, no one knew how many of the one hundred and six sons and daughters would survive. The good news was that more than half were already dead, and most of the remainder were either still in kindergarten or utterly useless trash. The bad news was that the few who remained were the hardest nuts to crack. Among them, Minkler, the titular successor, was at best a skewer of cartilage—a petty prize left for the ultimate victor. Thanks to Ji Jue's maneuvering, Boggio had also received word that Minkler had fled back to the Seven Cities empty-handed from the Federation. In fact, he had been the first to hear of it. He had even instructed his subordinates to funnel the news to that slut Sixth Sister through that idiot nineteenth brother! He had been waiting for that fool to butcher Minkler so he could seize the evidence, unite with the elders, and cast her into the sacred hearth fire to burn alive. Bandits clashing, Number Six dropping dead. How sweet that would have sounded! So why wouldn't you just roll over and die, Minkler? Boggio frowned. "Is the intelligence reliable?" "Minkler has no idea his personal assistant answers to you. He confirmed it himself," the secretary replied. "The one killed was a body double. Minkler took a boat to Gray Port a day early to transfer, then returned in disguise. He told his secretary to contact the family elders, intending to report the eleventh brother for being a traitor..." Boggio's expression shifted slightly before settling into cold indifference. No matter what Minkler intended to do, at this critical juncture, no more disruptions could be permitted. It was best if no new variables appeared. "Utterly childish." He sighed, tapping the jeweled lighter he was twirling in his fingers. "Too young after all. Go fetch Butler Xu and have him bring the young master home first. Wandering about out there forever isn't an option." "Understood." The secretary nodded and asked, "What are the arrangements?" "Isn't he missing?" Boggio waved his hand casually. "Until the dust settles, let him remain missing..." Ten minutes later, the silver-haired Butler Xu nodded with a genial smile. "Family matters ought to be handled within the family. The young master is merely young and made an honest mistake. I am sure he understands the bigger picture and knows his place." The old butler, whose word held sway over the lives of countless servants throughout the estate, rose slowly. "Prepare the car. I shall personally lead the men to bring the young master home." In less than half an hour, a secluded dock on the outskirts of Xiangzhou was cleared out entirely and replaced with Chopra's own personnel. Butler Xu sat in the cleaned-out lounge, lifting a cup of tea brewed to the perfect temperature, looking out toward the ocean. Smiling, he waited for the young master to return. Ten minutes passed, then twenty, then thirty... An hour went by. Another hour passed... His smile grew increasingly stiff. His cold gaze turned toward the dumbfounded man beside him. Minkler's personal assistant was drenched in cold sweat, his eyes glazed over. In his hands, the lit phone screen was still receiving messages from Minkler: [Almost there] [Already on the way] [Ten minutes] [Had to take a bathroom break] [Almost there] [For real this time—] When yet another dismissive message arrived, the personal assistant collapsed limp onto the floor, stammering, unable to speak, on the verge of wailing. "Heh, played like a fiddle, weren't you?" Butler Xu let out a mocking sneer, his expression turning cold and menacing. "Useless waste. You didn't even realize you were being toyed with." Without waiting for his orders, the men beside him dragged the screaming assistant outside. Soon, amid desperate shrieks and pleas for mercy, a gunshot cracked. *Thud.* Silence returned. "All right, pack up. Let's go." Butler Xu glanced around the crude lounge, hurled his teacup to the ground, and turned to leave. Just then, a noise drifted over from the dock. At the edge of the sea, a tiny black speck appeared. Amid the assistant's pool of blood, the screen lit up once more: [I have arrived.] Butler Xu froze, bewildered. "He was actually just running late?" Far off at the horizon, as if waving to those who had come to greet it, the tardy visitor raised the muzzle of its 381mm main gun. In that split second, Butler Xu's expression froze on his face. It was as though he had finally realized something. Under the weight of sheer speechlessness, he couldn't help but laugh. "Motherf—" On the deck, Minkler yawned and waved his hand behind him. "Fire," he said. *BOOOOM!*