The Weasel Pays New Year's Calls to the Chicken, and the Chicken Still Has to Moonlight as a Weasel

When Fang Mo walked out of the Demon Suppression Division's gates, the sun had just climbed above the battlements.

He glanced back at the two snarling Bi'an stone statues, then patted the hundred-tael banknote tucked against his chest. The corner of his mouth curled in the faintest smile.

The fire had been lit.

That woman Li Mingyue might have been as cold as a block of ice, but the blade in her hand was hot.

Passing her the news about Red Sleeve Beckons was like tossing a bloody chunk of meat into a still lake.

Whether the crocodiles beneath the water took the bait was secondary. What mattered was that the water had been muddied. Only then would the things buried in the silt be startled into thrashing about.

Only in chaos could he fish.

"I just don't know if Miss Li can withstand the backlash." Fang Mo muttered, but didn't slow his stride.

Still, he wasn't going to stake all his chips on an outsider—especially not a Demon Suppression Division Battalion Commander who might chop his head off along with everyone else's at any moment.

"Only strength of your own is real strength."

Fang Mo rubbed his chin and quickened his pace.

With his current strength, he was no more than a slightly larger grasshopper in the Divine Capital. If he ran into a vicious opponent at the Organ Refining Realm or above, even these Golden Bones of his might not withstand many blows.

It was nearly time to report for duty. Being late would mean a fine, which was a small matter; letting someone with an ulterior motive catch him in a mistake would be turning a minor loss into a disaster.

After crossing several streets and alleys, the gloomy, oppressive Divine Capital Heavenly Prison came into view.

The prison was unusually quiet today.

At this hour, the break room was usually already full of guards bragging and joking around, either discussing which household's widow was pretty or grumbling about how many strings of cash they'd lost the night before. But today, the moment Fang Mo reached the passageway, he sensed something was off.

Now, however, there was nothing but dead silence.

Fang Mo paused briefly, his gaze sweeping over the two guards on duty at the entrance. They stood ramrod straight, their expressions taut. He understood.

A big shot had arrived.

He straightened his clothes, put on a cautious air, and hurried through the passage with his head lowered.

What a spectacle the moment he entered.

The usually chaotic break room had been cleared out, leaving a broad patch of empty floor.

A long bench stood in the middle, where a man in a silver Flying Fish Robe sat with his legs spread wide.

Lei Heng.

A Hundred Households of White Tiger Hall in the Punishment Department, and the ruthless sort who'd scrape three feet of dirt off the ground if he could.

To his left sat Prison Overseer Li Yan, wearing a false smile. To his right was the fat warden Wang Youan, who usually did nothing but pick his feet and count money.

As for the guards who usually shouted and swaggered about, they were now huddled in the corner like quails, not daring to breathe too loudly.

Old Huang was tucked away at the very back. When he saw Fang Mo enter, his wrinkled features bunched together until his whole face seemed to crumple. He blinked frantically, signaling for the boy to come up with a plan.

There was no avoiding it.

"You! Get over here!"

Wang Youan stood up and clamped his fan-sized hand onto Fang Mo's shoulder. His grip was astonishingly strong; he nearly squeezed a sound out of Fang Mo's newly forged Golden Bones.

He grinned, his cheeks bunching into a flower. "Boy, your good days are here! Hurry up and pay your respects to Lord Lei!"

Fang Mo lowered his eyes, stepped forward, and cupped his fists as he bowed, putting on a thoroughly respectful display.

"Fang Mo, a guard of Block C, Room Shen in the Heavenly Prison, pays his respects to Lord Lei!"

Lei Heng toyed with an exquisite jade Thumb Ring in his hand. His gaze was like a pair of awls, scraping over Fang Mo from head to toe.

After a long moment, he casually waved a hand.

"You may rise."

Lei Heng stood and circled Fang Mo once.

His heavy official boots struck the stone slabs. Each step seemed to land right on a person's heart.

"What a fine set of bones."

Lei Heng stopped behind Fang Mo, his voice somewhat airy. "Plentiful qi and blood, sturdy bones. If half the good-for-nothings under Gu Yichuan had a physique like yours, they wouldn't have died so miserably. You're a lucky boy."

Fang Mo kept his head lowered, staring at the tips of his shoes. In his heart, everything was crystal clear.

Lei Heng still suspected him.

Gu Yichuan's death had been fishy. How could an old hand in criminal investigations like Lei Heng be so easily fooled? He had no evidence and wasn't willing to let it go, so he planned to keep Fang Mo right under his nose and slowly roast him.

Before Fang Mo could say anything, Li Yan beside him smoothly picked up the conversation with a smile.

"My dear nephew Fang, you've struck it lucky this time." Li Yan stroked his beard, wearing an expression of warmth and kindness. "Originally, Warden Wang begged and pleaded just to get you into the Punishment Department as an ordinary Captain. But now our Lord Lei appreciates talent and wants to bestow this enormous fortune upon you."

Li Yan paused, then raised his voice. "Gu Yichuan died in the line of duty a few days ago, leaving a Junior Officer position vacant in White Tiger Hall. Lord Lei has decided you'll take his place!"

Fang Mo felt a headache coming on.

Junior Officer?

Promoting a lowly prison guard straight to Junior Officer in the Punishment Department would be a meteoric rise in anyone else's eyes.

But to Fang Mo, this was clearly a death warrant.

Gu Yichuan had died at his hands, and he'd handled it cleanly, leaving no loose ends.

But an old fox like Lei Heng didn't need evidence to suspect someone. By promoting Fang Mo and keeping him right under his nose, he had only two aims: