Fang Mo Never Plays Empty-Handed

The Demon Suppression Division's gates remained as imposing and frigid as ever.

Two Bi'an stone statues glared with wide, furious eyes, as if scrutinizing every living being that approached.

Ordinary folk would detour two streets away when passing by, afraid of being tainted by the malevolent aura that could stop a child's nighttime cries.

"Slurp--"

An extremely ill-timed sound shattered the somber atmosphere.

Fang Mo, carrying two paper-wrapped parcels and with half a golden-fried, crispy oil stick in his mouth, swaggered in with his signature pigeon-toed walk.

Steam rose from the paper parcels, the mellow aroma of soy milk mingling with the oily scent of scallion oil sticks. It crashed through the cold air, forcefully diluting the suffocating smell of blood at the Demon Suppression Division's entrance.

Two guards in black armor at the entrance crossed their long spears with a clatter, the tips gleaming menacingly, blocking his path.

"This is a restricted area for the Demon Suppression Division, unauthorized per..."

The left guard's voice was cut off like a strangled duck before he could finish.

Fang Mo didn't even lift his eyelids. His left hand continued to stuff the oil stick into his mouth, while his right hand casually swiped at his waist. The dark, heavy Black Iron Token dangled from his fingertips, swung back and forth before the guards' eyes as if it were some worthless trinket.

The two guards' pupils contracted.

That was a waist token personally bestowed by the Thousand Household Lord!

To see the token was to see the person!

Clack!

The two long spears were instantly withdrawn. The two guards straightened their backs in unison, the clatter of their armor ringing clearly. They gave the jailer, whose mouth was slick with oil, the highest form of salute.

Fang Mo mumbled something about hard work indistinctly while chewing the oil stick, his feet never stopping as he strode directly through the gate that struck fear into countless demons.

This was the taste of power.

So fragrant.

Mirror Hall.

Li Mingyue seemed to have not slept all night.

She still sat behind the large zitan wood desk, piles of case files before her. Faint dark circles shadowed her eyes, but this did nothing to diminish her beauty; instead, it added a touch of cold, broken fragility.

"Good morning, Sir/Madam!"

Fang Mo pushed the door open and familiarly placed the two breakfast parcels on the desk.

"People are iron, food is steel; one meal missed leads to hunger. You've been working hard for the nation, Sir/Madam, you must take care of yourself! Here, eat while it's hot. This tofu pudding is the best in Wannian County. I specifically asked the owner to add extra chili."

Li Mingyue looked up, her gaze falling on the oily paper bag, her brow furrowing almost imperceptibly.

"This is the Demon Suppression Division, not a teahouse."

Her voice was cool, like ice beads hitting the ground.

"I know." Fang Mo was unconcerned. He opened another parcel and began eating noisily. "But that doesn't stop us from discussing important matters."

Li Mingyue put down her vermilion brush and rubbed her temples.

"Speak. What is it?"

She knew this jailer, who never did anything without a reason, too well.

He was like a greedy Taotie, pouncing as soon as he caught a whiff of something fishy.

Since he was here, he must have made a discovery.

Fang Mo wiped the oil from the corner of his mouth, his expression becoming furtive.

He leaned closer and lowered his voice, "Sir/Madam, those three monks... they confessed."

Li Mingyue's eyes sharpened. Her previously tired body instantly sat upright, and a sharp aura erupted from her.

"Confessed? So quickly?"

She knew the background of those three monks. The Western Desert Blood Monks, known for their stubbornness and tough resolve. Ordinary interrogation methods were useless against them.

And after just one night, they confessed?

"How did they confess?" Li Mingyue stared at Fang Mo.

Fang Mo coughed twice, his expression righteous. "Indoctrination, pure indoctrination. I spoke to them about the laws of the land, about cause and effect, retribution. I spoke until my throat was dry. In the end, these three masters had a change of heart, wept bitterly, and confessed even to the time they secretly watched a widow bathe when they were children."

Li Mingyue let out a cold laugh.

She wouldn't believe a word of it.

However, she didn't care about the process, only the result.

"The key point."

"The key point is..." Fang Mo dipped his finger in the tofu pudding soup and wrote a few characters on the table.

Red Sleeve Beckons.

Li.

Li Mingyue's pupils contracted slightly as she looked at the characters.

Red Sleeve Beckons?

That was Divine Capital's largest establishment for pleasure and entertainment, with an intricate network of connections, rumored to be involved with several princes. And this surname, Li...

"Just a surname, no given name?" Li Mingyue pressed.

"That old monk only knew that the contact person was surnamed Li," Fang Mo spread his hands, looking helpless.

"As you know, people who do dirty work like that wouldn't reveal their real names. But that old monk, just before... cough, when he was giving his final words, said the meeting would be within these 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 was no ordinary place. Even the Demon Suppression Division couldn't barge in and search without concrete evidence.

But if they didn't investigate, the consequences would be dire if this batch of Blood Spirit Pills flowed into Divine Capital.

"Is this information reliable?"

"I'll stake my life on it!" Fang Mo patted his chest. "Those three monks were so ashamed they achieved Yuanji on the spot. A dying man speaks the truth; they had no reason to lie to me."

Achieved Yuanji?

Li Mingyue gave Fang Mo a deep look.