Fairness, fairness—damn it, it was still fairness!
After the martial artists' faction joined forces with the Party members, this was the word that appeared most often on the leaflets handed out in every street and alley, and on the slogans hung throughout the city. Young people selected from all walks of life to become martial artists had been bombarded with modern propaganda. The first thing they often did was lead even more martial artists in delivering heavy blows against the old order of their respective industries!
What the hell was nepotism? What the hell were bribes and gift-giving? What the hell were clan rites and laws?
Layer upon layer of nets left people gasping for breath, unable to resist.
The meager scraps they could obtain were leftovers from what others had eaten, rewards tossed down like food for stray dogs. And not only did those people throw the scraps down—they demanded that you kneel in gratitude.
And then, in the blink of an eye.
You had barely gnawed twice at those mostly fleshless bones before they would invent one pretext after another, seize them back by hook or by crook, and even demand that you pay tribute several times over.
After becoming martial artists, your fists were harder than steel, harder than iron.
Now...
As long as you had talent, or had caught an Immortal Master's eye, you could become a martial artist.
What you couldn't get in the past, you could now seize for yourself!
The Immortal Master had come, and fairness had arrived! The martial artists had come, and the clear blue sky had arrived!
In this age, too many people struggled on the edge of hunger and cold, or even on the line between life and death.
A young master seated in a motorcar chewed Western fast food, while outside, farmers with sorrowful faces sold their sons and daughters to survive. No one didn't want to wolf down Western fast food, and no one wanted to sell their children just to keep more family members alive. In the past, when faced with gun barrels, most resistance had been a last cry from people driven into a dead end.
That cry would soon be drowned out by a dense storm of gunfire.
Now, things were different.
To drown out the cries of martial artists, guns alone were not enough. You needed satchel charges, artillery, the thunder of ironclad warships! As luck would have it, the martial artists had guns too, cannons too, and ironclad warships too. How fair!
"We're revolting, we're revolting! You mob of rioters! You wretched rabble! You've destroyed three generations of my family's estate. You'll all die horrible deaths! The Heavenly Soldiers of Great Qing will surely exterminate your Nine Clans!"
"Spare me, spare me! Martial artist lord, we really didn't sell piglets abroad! We only pimped women to earn a little money from their flesh!"
"Let go, let go of me! I am an important official of the Imperial Court. What right do you rebels have to put me on trial? A few mere wretches dare to accuse me? So what if I feed you to the dogs?"
"Those demonic priests will surely be punished by Heaven! You've harmed the common people so cruelly and extorted wealth on such a grand scale. What legitimacy do you have? What future do you have?!"
Dean, the president of an Indian transport company, was driving himself and growing increasingly agitated over the dreadful traffic. The roads in the urban district, especially around the streetlamps, were in utter chaos.
The sporadic gunshots, the martial artists loudly reading proclamations, and the clamor of citizens rushing to expose one another all told Dean that the city was bleeding. The mobs, egged on by that evil mage, were committing inhuman atrocities against respectable gentlemen. Even people like them, who were not subject to Star Han's laws, had been caught up in the turmoil.
And the occasional approving comments from his wife, Philia, in the back seat only made Dean so irritated that he wanted to kill someone.
All of this was because of Lan Yi, that evil mage!
As long as he disappeared,
this peaceful, prosperous, obedient, and tranquil land would return to normal, and the women bewitched by his magic would come to their senses as well.
That damned mage was arrogant and careless.
He had not hidden his movements at all.
Lan Yi still needed to eat and breathe. He would never imagine that there were women beside him who had not been bewitched, and that one of them had already given him a slow-acting poison today. Even less would he imagine that while he was cavorting with other people's wives and daughters, assassins had already either buried satchel charges or strapped them to their backs, persuaded Albert and the others, and prepared to send him to hell.
Besides that, Dean had also managed to contact the fleet commander leading the expedition south to punish the martial artists' faction.
The moment the commander heard that Dean had Lan Yi's coordinates and the time,
he immediately thumped his chest and guaranteed that naval guns would arrive at the appointed time to send that debauched and depraved mage to hell.
Besides that.
Dean had also obtained from the most devout priest a cross personally blessed by the Vatican Bishop. He had already sharpened the cross to a razor's edge and placed it in the hands of his wife, Philia, whose sanity had been restored by the cross and who had agreed to his request.
All that remained was to wait...
The moment Dean imagined his coldly beautiful, chaste wife being sent to Lan Yi's bed by his own hand, his eyes reddened, and he pounded the horn with several times more force.
Endure!
"Philia, I'm sorry to make you suffer the evil mage's violation again. Your beauty will certainly leave him bewitched and make him lower his guard."
"Oh." The president's wife's voice turned several degrees colder.
"Don't worry. I swear, as long as our plan succeeds, we can return home immediately. Not only will the Prime Minister favor me, even the Empress will ennoble me."
Dean prattled on, describing their glorious future.
He remained utterly unaware that his beautiful wife's cold, striking face had grown even icier.
Sometimes, for a woman, beauty was not the most worthy or dazzling thing to boast of. Instead, it could be an intense insult and blow.
When rational, the sensitive Philia could distinguish that clearly.
The man who had made her sink into indulgence, who had given her the sweetness and longing of falling in love again at eighteen, valued her abilities more highly than her beauty, rather than caring only about her looks.
That really was... intoxicating to her.
The International Journalists' Club.
This Western-style villa had now become Lan Yi's residence and workplace.
A group of martial artists and Party members had moved in as well. The reasoning was simple: whoever could get closer to power could possess more power.
Naturally, the place was teeming with visitors, with carriages and horses crowding the roads. Those coming and going included not only martial artists, merchants, technicians, and officials, but also citizens arriving to pay their respects, curious foreign reporters, spies from the north, martial masters coming to pledge their service, and learned men hoping to display their talents.
If they could meet Immortal Master Lan Yi,
it would be the same as ascending to Heaven in a single step!
And if Immortal Master Lan Yi valued them and entrusted them with an important task, granting them Bestowing Martial Arts or weapons, they would become part of the clear blue sky. The smoke from their ancestors' graves would shoot straight into the heavens!
Under normal circumstances, it was basically impossible for Dean to meet Lan Yi.
Even if he carried weight among the foreigners.
What did foreigners count for?
In the eyes of the Party members and martial artists, foreigners were people too—and people with plenty of shortcomings.
But if Dean was bringing Mrs. Philia for an interview, the martial artists responsible for inspection and security had no reason to stop him. Not only did they not stop him, one after another they waved this foreign lord who was swallowing his humiliation through with strange smiles. They even waived the inspection because of Philia.
Dean felt as if a ball of fire were burning on his face.
As he nearly bit his gums until they bled, the corner of his eye caught several Indians who looked little different from Star Han people slipping in with the bustling crowd.