The Demon Suppression Division's gates were as imposing and cold as ever.
Two Bi'an stone statues glared with wide-open eyes, as if scrutinizing every living thing that approached.
Ordinary folk who passed by would detour two streets away, afraid of catching even a whiff of that Killing Intent that could make children cry themselves to sleep.
"Slurp—"
A wildly out-of-place sound shattered the grim silence.
Fang Mo carried two oil-paper parcels in one hand, a half-eaten, golden-crisp fried dough stick dangling from his mouth. With his trademark bowlegged swagger, he barged inside as if he owned the place.
Steam billowed from the parcels. The rich aroma of soy milk mingled with the oily scent of scallion-flecked dough sticks, charging through the frigid air and forcefully diluting the suffocating reek of blood at the Demon Suppression Division's entrance.
The two black-armored guards at the gate lowered their spears with a clatter, crossing them to block his way. Their spearheads gleamed coldly.
"This is a heavily guarded Demon Suppression Division facility. No unauthorized—"
The guard on the left didn't finish. His voice cut off abruptly, like a duck strangled mid-quack.
Fang Mo didn't even lift his eyelids. He kept stuffing fried dough stick into his mouth with his left hand, while his right casually brushed his waist. A dark Black Iron Token dangled from his fingertips, swinging twice before the guards' eyes like some worthless trinket.
The guards' pupils contracted.
That was the waist token personally bestowed by the Thousand Household Lord!
To see the token was to see the lord!
"Clack!"
The two spears were pulled back at once. The guards straightened their backs in perfect unison, their iron armor clinking crisply as they gave the greasy-mouthed prison guard the highest form of salute: standing at attention.
Chewing on his fried dough stick, Fang Mo mumbled, "Thanks for the effort," and kept walking, striding straight through the gate that struck terror into the hearts of countless demons.
So this was the taste of power.
Delicious.
Mirror Hall.
Li Mingyue seemed not to have slept all night.
She still sat behind the large rosewood desk, piles of case files spread before her. Faint shadows darkened her eyes, but they did nothing to diminish her beauty. If anything, they added a touch of cold, fragile melancholy.
"Good morning, my lord!"
Fang Mo pushed open the door and familiarly set two breakfasts on the desk.
"You're made of iron, but food is made of steel. Skip one meal and you'll be starving. You've been working so hard for the country, my lord, but you still have to take care of yourself, right? Here, eat while it's hot. This shop's tofu pudding is the best in Wannian County. I specially asked the owner to add extra chili."
Li Mingyue looked up. Her gaze fell on the greasy paper parcel, and her brow furrowed almost imperceptibly.
"This is the Demon Suppression Division, not a teahouse."
Her voice was cool, like ice beads falling to the ground.
"I know." Fang Mo didn't care. He opened the other parcel and slurped down its contents. "But that doesn't stop us from discussing business."
Li Mingyue set down her vermilion brush and rubbed her temples.
"Go on. What is it?"
She knew this little prison guard, who never rose early unless there was something in it for him, all too well.
He was like a greedy Taotie: the moment he caught a whiff of blood, he'd pounce.
If he'd come here, he must have made some discovery.
Fang Mo wiped the grease from the corner of his mouth, his expression turning shifty.
He leaned closer and lowered his voice. "My lord, those three monks... confessed."
Li Mingyue's eyes sharpened. Her weary body straightened at once, and a fierce aura burst from her.
"They confessed? So quickly?"
She knew those three monks' background well. The Western Desert Blood Monks were famously hard-mouthed and hard-boned. Ordinary methods of interrogation were useless against them.
It hadn't even been a full night. And they'd confessed?
"How?" Li Mingyue stared at Fang Mo.
Fang Mo cleared his throat, his expression righteous. "I showed them compassion. Pure compassion. I told them about the Great Gan Law, about cause and effect, until my mouth was dry. In the end, the three masters saw the light, wept bitterly, and confessed to everything—even sneaking a peek at a widow bathing when they were children."
Li Mingyue let out a cold laugh.
As if she'd believe a word of that.
But she didn't care about the process. Only the result mattered.
"The important part."
"The important part is..." Fang Mo dipped a finger in the tofu pudding broth and wrote a few characters on the table.
Red Sleeve Beckons.
Li.
Li Mingyue looked at the characters, her pupils contracting slightly.
Red Sleeve Beckons?
That was the Divine Capital's largest house of pleasure, with a tangled web of connections behind it. It was said to be linked to several princes. And the character Li...
"Only the surname, no given name?" Li Mingyue pressed.
"The old monk only knew that the contact was surnamed Li." Fang Mo spread his hands, looking helpless.
"You know how it is with people doing dirty work like this. They'd never reveal their real names. But before the old monk—cough—confessed, he said the meeting was sometime in the next few days, at the Pavilion of Listening to Rain in Red Sleeve Beckons."
Li Mingyue fell silent.
She was weighing her options.
Red Sleeve Beckons wasn't an ordinary place. Even the Demon Suppression Division couldn't barge in and search without solid evidence.
But if they didn't investigate, and that batch of Blood Spirit Pills entered the Divine Capital, the consequences would be unthinkable.
"Is this information reliable?"
"I'll stake my head on it!" Fang Mo thumped his chest. "Those three monks were so ashamed, they passed away on the spot. A man on the verge of death speaks the truth. They had no reason to lie to me."
Passed away?
Li Mingyue gave Fang Mo a long, searching look.
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