Aurelian Palace, Central Wing, Sovereign Hall.
Orlin entered the waiting lounge. It was packed with senior administrative officials, representatives of various organizations, and department heads waiting for an audience with the Consul.
The walls were sheathed in a slowly undulating bio-membrane that emitted a faint luminescence. Every so often, it shifted to a different color and pattern, never repeating the same design.
High above hung a domed skylight of clear glass. The soft light filtering down through it tilted at shifting angles every few moments, resembling a colossal eye watching over everything in the hall.
Just then, the door to the Consul's office swung open. Cassian walked out alongside an internal affairs official.
Orlin peered inside. The federal banner resting on the Consul's expansive desk flashed briefly before his eyes before the door clicked shut again.
Spotting him, Cassian exchanged a few parting words with the internal affairs official, gave a brief nod, and walked toward the side corridor with him.
The two stopped before a partition viewing window. On a small table beside it sat several miniature luminous plants that bathed the area in a soft glow, filling the air with a faint, refreshing herbal scent.
"How are things?" Orlin asked.
"The Strategic Affairs Department just delivered their report," Cassian said. "Fan Zhentong very likely divided off a portion of his flesh and blood to go there once."
He paused. "And he probably let us know on purpose."
"Divided his flesh and blood?"
"Well, how should I put it... Think of the one beside the Consul. We often see him in different places at the exact same time, and we can speak to different versions of 'him.'"
Orlin recalled that mysterious figure whose true appearance—or even whether they were male or female—remained unknown, and understanding immediately dawned on him. With a sudden lightness in his tone, he asked, "So the West Coast Faction's attempt failed?"
Cassian gave an affirmative grunt.
"It seems this Mr. Chen is a talent held in high regard by Great Shun. That's why their delegation didn't hesitate to back him."
"Ah, I have to correct you on that," Cassian said. "Fan Zhentong is a staunch Great Shun nationalist, and an exceedingly traditional one at that. He looks after all his subordinates with the paternalistic care of an Eastern family patriarch."
Orlin had visited Great Shun before, so he tried to wrap his mind around the concept. "So he treats every one of them like his own child?"
"From where I'm standing, yes."
Orlin shrugged. "Fine. I just spoke with Tu. Great Shun is taking a very hard line this time; they clearly won't budge. Since the West Coast Faction failed, we have to rein them in. Otherwise, the negotiations won't be able to move forward."
"I agree," Cassian said. "The Consul's plans cannot be compromised. This concerns the future of the Federation. It's time the West Coast Faction showed some restraint."
Their thoughts aligned completely. Had the West Coast Faction succeeded, they might have tacitly accepted the result. But who asked them to fail? In matters like this, failure was disgrace, whereas the victor remained beyond reproach.
"Then we should also adjust our stance toward the Great Shun delegation," Orlin noted.
Cassian nodded. Their previous silence had merely been meant to put pressure on the other side. Since prolonging the issue yielded no benefit and risked derailing the agenda because of the West Coast Faction's entanglements, there was no point in dragging it out any longer.
"As for the West Coast Faction, though," Orlin said, "they'll definitely use this as an excuse to cause trouble for us in Congress."
Cassian replied decisively, "We don't need to block them. If they want to, they can resolve it themselves—unless they want us to step in." He let out a sneer. "Do you think they will?"
"Those lunatics? Hardly. They only live in their own little world," Orlin scoffed in agreement.
Cassian knew the matter was settled for now. After the failure of their prior operation, resolving the issue by force would require dispatching a Throne martial artist.
In reality, every Throne martial artist was an instrument of state power. Not only did they have numerous critical sectors to safeguard, but their activities within the internal world were also subject to international oversight, requiring advance notification to the major powers before any deployment.
Of course, projecting only a fraction of their power fell outside that framework. But if even that failed to stop or subdue the target, it proved that conventional forces could no longer resolve the issue.
"What about the Astral Spirit Throat? Are we just giving it up?" Orlin asked. "What is the Executive Office's view?"
"That region hasn't crossed the Central Rift Ridge yet. Strictly speaking, it belongs to the West Coast's jurisdiction," Cassian said. "If we can't secure it, let the First Folk and the West Coast Faction tear at each other's throats. Besides, compared to that other place, the Astral Spirit Throat is nothing."
"Fair enough. If that's the case..." Orlin mused, "then I suppose we can use this as a bargaining chip to show our Great Shun friends some goodwill. Hmm... let me think. How do they say it in Great Shun?"
Cassian spoke in clumsy Great Shun speech: "*Shunshui renqing*—a favor carried by the current."
"That's the one," Orlin said, patting Cassian's belly with a chuckle. "A favor carried by the current." He checked his watch. "Time is almost up. I should go see the Consul."
***
Meanwhile, Tu Haisheng and Fan Zhentong returned to the Great Shun Legation and reported the situation to the head of the delegation, Jiang Hongzhi.
Jiang Hongzhi was in his early fifties, but exceptionally well-preserved. He stood straight-backed with thick, jet-black hair, and the contours of firm muscle were evident beneath his formal suit, giving him the appearance of a man barely in his thirties.
After hearing the report, he turned to Fan Zhentong. "Mr. Fan, are we certain Section Chief Chen resolved this entirely on his own?"
Fan Zhentong said, "When I arrived, Section Chief Chen had already settled the matter. He wasn't noticeably injured either. I can confirm he handled it alone."
"Mr. Fan, I don't understand the inner workings of you martial artists, but I know full well the enormous chasm between each tier. Can such a thing truly be achieved?"
Fan Zhentong pondered for a moment before answering, "Theoretically speaking, yes."
"Theoretically?"
"Yes. As long as someone clears every bottleneck without the slightest flaw and draws out their potential to the absolute limit, they can forge a physique and spirit vastly superior to those at the same level. If it's someone like that, I believe it's possible."
"Have there been precedents in the past?"
"There have," Fan Zhentong nodded. "For instance, that one from the Liu family."
Jiang Hongzhi thought for a second. "The one originally slated to be sent to Jibei Dao?"
"The very one," Fan Zhentong said. "There were also quite a few 'people' in the former imperial household who could do it. Because they underwent deeper metamorphoses, they acquired an additional set of mutated tissue beyond ours. Usually, the older they grew and the deeper their mutated tissue transformed, the more powerful they became."
Standing nearby, Tu Haisheng remarked coldly, "In the past, the former imperial household enslaved the realm precisely through those metamorphoses."
Jiang Hongzhi paused in thought, then turned to his assistant. "Bring me the previous dossier on Section Chief Chen."
The assistant immediately retrieved the prepared document from a briefcase and handed it over.
Jiang Hongzhi looked through it, noting the resources Xie Xinmin had previously requested from the homeland on Chen Chuan's behalf, and showed the list to Fan Zhentong.
"Mr. Fan, are these for your cultivation?"
Fan Zhentong glanced at the page. "Yes. They are all medicinal resources used for cultivation at his current stage."
Jiang Hongzhi asked, "Are these enough?"
"For an ordinary practitioner, plenty," Fan Zhentong replied.
Jiang Hongzhi gave a nod. "Then, in my name, submit an application to the homeland for another batch of resources on Section Chief Chen's behalf."
The assistant quickly took out a pen to write it down, then looked up. "Head Jiang, what reason should I list for the request?"
Jiang Hongzhi said, "He killed three, possibly four martial artists of the Longevity View realm, withstood the assault of a Dongxuan View martial artist, relieved the defensive pressure on Kawatua, and accomplished the mission entrusted to him by the state far beyond expectations. Isn't that enough? I'd say that is more than sufficient."
The assistant promptly wrote it down. Once Jiang Hongzhi signed his name, the assistant said, "Head Jiang, I'll send the telegram right away."
***
At this moment, representatives of nations and corporations, along with numerous spies and intelligence operatives, had gathered in the federal capital. The clash at the Astral Spirit Throat could not be kept secret, and fragments of information regarding the incident soon began to leak.
Following the battle in Jibei Dao where he defeated the active conscious entity, Chen Chuan's name and dossier once again entered the sight of upper echelons across various nations.
However, foreign intelligence personnel generally believed that his success in handling the clash owed not only to his own strength, but also to the intervention of Fan Zhentong, a formidable martial artist hailing from Great Shun.
This assumption was deemed reasonable. Bolder theories had crossed some minds, but given how contrary they were to conventional sense—and lacking verified intelligence to substantiate them—they could only place faith in information that aligned with logic and established facts.
***
Alantawa Continent, Suvalun Town.
This was a typical peripheral industrial town reliant on a Center City.
Many of the town's residents were former immigrants from the Noros Theocracy, along with laborers hailing from the Sanmawojia Continental Association. Equipped with the cheapest implants, they performed the lowest, most grueling manual labor.
The buildings here reflected architectural styles from forty or fifty years ago: neat, rigid rows of reinforced concrete blocks. The tall streetlamps along the roads cast harsh, glaring light, spaced out at wide intervals.
At the foot of one such building, an intense skirmish was drawing to a close. In truth, barely five minutes had elapsed from start to finish.
More than a hundred gang members lay sprawled across the building entrance and the plaza out front. Spent bullet casings and twisted limbs littered the pavement, and a thick stench of gunpowder hung heavy in the air. Yet it was evident that every man had perished instantly from a single lethal blow, spared any prolonged agony before death.
Having dispatched the final opponent, the doll gripped his walking cane and walked out in silence.
The moment he stepped outside, a harsh clatter echoed as row upon row of headlights snapped on, pinning him in their glare.
Flanking the vehicles were dozens of armed figures loaded with live ammunition. Yet the doll didn't even blink. He walked forward without an expression, his pace unhurried and steady, while fresh blood continued to drip slowly from the wooden cane in his hand, leaving a trail of crimson droplets across the ground behind him.
A rotund figure stepped forward, clad in a formal suit and a top hat. Squinting his small eyes at the blood-stained cane, he said, "Ah, Mr. Blood Cane. It seems you've already exterminated the vermin of the Gray Rat Gang. I truly wonder if there's anything in this world that could pose a challenge to you."
Chapter 1095